Farewell to This Class

At the end of every semester comes a time for saying goodbyes. I always find this bittersweet in classes that I have enjoyed....to say goodbye not only to the class and the material, but to the person that I am now. We will never have these moments again.....we will have them unending. As of now, I am not registered for any Sexson classes next semester, a fact that leaves me uncertain and uneasy. I have made a point of attending his classes for the last year and a half of my academic career. How will we go on without the shaman, the enchanter, the maker of Kool-Aid? Today in class I found my answer.

It was us all along. The magic, the meaning, it was us.

At the end of the day, at the end of the story, our tempest, the magician removes all his powers to reveal this simple truth.....to reveal the illusion, the mystery and the magic. Dr. Sexson told us of this experience when he related the story of the woman on the plane. "I only meant to please you". I feel as if Dr. Sexson has been preparing us throughout the semester for the loss of this art, for the time when we would inevitably go on and become our own enchanters, magicians, and artists.

I want to say thank you to Dr. Sexson for making me excited about university classes after a first year of ultimate disillusionment and wanderings. I took an AP English class my last year in high school, and it wasn't until I found Dr. Sexson's classes that I felt that excitement to attend, that passion to analyze and dig deeper that I had experienced before. I have found this on my own, by my own means always, but finding it in a class has been somewhat more difficult. Thank you, Dr. Sexson, for that.

As always, I want to thank my fellow students for nothing more than being in this class. We always come together as a community (cult members....) even with the divisions of lowbrow and highbrow coming to the foreground. We were new and we were ancients. I love hearing Dr. Sexson mention one of those literary inside jokes from another class and hearing the kids who were there laugh out loud. =) I hope any students who were new to this class get to experience that in further Sexson classes. I've learned from you guys and laughed and even read of tragedies, all with you. I hope in all earnest that if we happen not to meet in classes again but fortuitously run into each other on the street that you will drop a line from Nabokov or the Four Quartets, or even Finnegans Wake *shudder* =) and we'll laugh at the connection. We really are highbrows now, aren't we? =)

Of all the courses I have taken from Dr. Sexson, this has not been my favorite. I do not mean to say this with any disrespect to the class or the materials. Beckett, for one, gripped me. Eliot was another. And I will say that this class was so multidimensional (thank you Rio) and full of great blogs and lectures, the whole nine yards. However, I can't shake Nabokov at all. I don't think I want to. I think I am very much still enchanted with that semester and those works, too in love to have room for more......(should I prescribe myself some kenosis here??).

As the semester draws to a close and I slowly and agonizingly cross essays and drawings and critiques off my list, I can't help feeling that I haven't had the time. I never have the time, as subjective as time may be. At times I feel tossed into a tempest, swirling and struggling to stay upright in the storm, loving every minute of it yet fighting to the last. (for something? against something?) Both. I want the time to really think about all of this. I want the time to have revelations and to struggle and to dig myself into the work and let it consume me for a while. I want the time to breathe a bit, the time to finish (or even start) all the works that are in my mind. I want the time to find out what I want to say in art. I want the time to write real thoughts, without the need for rush and time constraints. I want the busy and the calm. I want a paradox.

This is all becoming very stream-of-consciousness. Perhaps it's time to sum it up. Simply put, I'm just....happy to have experienced all this with you all and with the works and with our leader. If this is a cult, we are members for life.

"Oh, you took his class too, didn't you?"

Farewell and I'll see you around, undoubtedly. =)

Individual Presentations--Day Five

James--entertained and informed us with his very highbrow presentation of what he has been working with in regards to the tempest all semester. He wrote this quote on the board, "If I thought my answer were for one who might return to the world, this flame would return without further movement. But as none ever did return alive form this depth, without fear or infamy, I answer thee." (T.S. Eliot from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock). He spoke about Caliban as Cannibal. What does he eat? words, words eating words. Miranda is the art. This is not real!! Ariel is effected immortality. (see Nabokov quote at the end of Lolita)

Abby--read us the entirety of her beautiful paper about her experiences in this class. Abby, I don't know the "ins and outs" of this department either, and this is my third year..... =)

We talked today about our fifty point final exam for this course. I'm not sure what it's going to be about as most of the stuff we wrote on the board were broad concepts. If past experiences with final tests in Sexson's classes can be trusted, however, READ THE BLOGS!!! I'll see you all on Wednesday......and hopefully by then I will no longer be limping to class.

Individual Presentations--Day Four

Well I've changed my mind. I think I'm going to continue blogging on the individual presentations and only after they are complete, submit my final entry to this blog. Farewells are always bittersweet. We will never be in this place, literally or metaphorically, ever again. I don't feel it would be right to sum up a class that hasn't come to a close yet. With that said, here are the notes from today's individual presentations:

Erik--wrote about his experience with his broken ribs in relation to Beckett's character of Moran's suffering. He read to us a list he wrote that was, much like Beckett, poignant, humorous at times, and sad.

Caitlin--was inspired by the quote from a movie clip in the group presentations, "What we do in life echoes in eternity" she analyzed many of the themes in class in regards to movies.

Jon Orsi--said this class was ultimately close to a religious experience for him in regards to the revelations he has achieved this semester. Jon wrote the quote "If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite." by William Blake. He wrote on Jorge Luis Borges as well.

Zach Smith--wrote about the rose and the yew tree. He said these are like two sides of the same coin. Parts of infinity exist in life and life in infinity. only through life do we understand the infinite or need the infinite. He saw the image of the rose in his mind shadowed under the lofty branches of the yew tree. The yew tree, at first seems the noble one. Why would it allow the rose to live here? Then we see the rose, and life itself, as the noble and regal one, rather than the yew. Now we see that the yew protects life.

Shelby--what do I know now that I didn't before and her journey through highbrow literature. Highbrow literature may be perceived as a "snobbery of the literary elites" but it is really, "an obsession that cannot be helped"

Jennie Lynn--wrote about transmutation in Eliot's Quartets in relation to our transmutation while reading them. She spoke of their associations with the four elements and of Kenneth Graham's idea that there is a fifth element here, the idea of quintessence. Jennie says this quintessence is the reader. To isolate and know the meaning we must isolate and know ourselves. So our reading becomes a purification of self.

Craig Stephenson--talked about Hamlet, strangebrew, and Fishing with Ghandi. relating all these to a defense of the lowbrow.

Jennifer--sang us a song holding a candle flame in the dark as the sole source of illumination. Later, a thunderstorm appeared on the screen. As I understood it, her paper was on Eliot and god and the "spirit" that can be found therein.

Individual Presentations--Day Three

Here are some notes from today's individual presentations:

Lisa--performed a ribbon dance on metamorphoses and The Following Story

Zach Morris--performed a song he wrote involving the themes and imagery from the class

Rachel--wrote about dreams and The Following Story. She spoke about three major themes, the world as dream, life as fiction, and the 20 minute lifetime. Mussert's life is a dream and death becomes his reality. This is the mysterious mental maneuver.

Justin--wrote about the 5 themes in relation to several comic books, and read from his award winning poem! Congratulations!!

Thomas--plerosis and kenosis in relation to lowbrow and highbrow literature. He drew a straight line representing all literature starting with Everyone Poops and ending in Finnegans Wake. He says it's simply not that simple. Really, a circle should be drawn showing the relation of one to another on a continuum. Thomas also read to us the story of The Giving Tree.

These are all the presentations from today.... I know there will probably be more on Wednesday, but seeing as how that is our last blogging day, those presentations will not be listed in my notes. =( Still, congratulations to everyone on a job well done. and good luck on Wednesday!

The Dawn: Revelation in Darkness

We are happy and productive little worker bees, coming and going as we hum a simple tune, never deviating from our present course. We like our world, with its rules and obligations clearly set for us, where we don't have to confront greater dilemmas or search for ultimate truth. This is a world where everyone smiles, and such niceties as "Well, how are you today?" and "Oh, I'm doing well, and you?" are commonplace. We like to ignore...the darker side of life. There are times, however, when this great and terrible darkness can no longer be ignored. These are the times when we force ourselves to face everything we have abandoned, denied, and held back all of our lives. In Samuel Beckett's Malone Dies, the reader is held captive by the written word and forced to witness the death of a man. We have no protection from the horror of this sight, and to keep the fallacy of our happy world alive, we fall back on simple niceties--dismissal and denial.

As easy as it would be to dismiss the works of Beckett as dismal, dark, and depressing, this would be a mistake. What Beckett puts forth to us is a series of revelations achieved through kenosis. This emptying out of self is demonstrated through the suffering and decay of Malone, the central character. His plight is dreadful and horrific to witness, yet we must be this witness, in order to reach a core of deeper revelation within the ever-present darkness. What Beckett offers us is the meaning within the darkness in our lives. Through this emptying of self by the witnessing of Malone's degeneration, we are, paradoxically, filled. We are reborn.

The narrative starts out simply enough, with the words, "I shall be quite dead at last in spite of all" (179). Malone seems to have accepted his fate and proposes the telling of stories to pass the time before he dies. He, very clearly delineates four stories he will tell, followed by an inventory of his belongings. This overtly practical approach to his own death only serves to tell us of how close he is to life. He clings to the way in which he has lived, where the projected image of competency and calm must be maintained at all times, despite any pain and emotion on the part of the individual. Malone's final act is the creation of stories. He clings to his ability to create as the ultimate connection to his humanity. Why?

One must consider this need to create as a need for immortality, a need for one's existence to continue, no matter how wretched. Through the arts and the act of creation, we strive to combat our mortality, living forever in the mind of another. This, at first, does not seem to be Malone's aim in the completion of this narrative. He addresses the sacred task before him as a mere game, something to entertain him as he watches his body grow weak in decay. However, as we move a little further along in this process, despite himself, Malone says, "I have time to frolic, ashore, in the brave company I have always longed for, always searched for, and which would never have me" (193). Malone, unlike his fellow man does not attempt to combat his mortality through the written word. Rather, he seeks the recognition of a witness at the end of an unwitnessed life. Alone and destitute, he uses this immense godlike power of creation to form beings, fictional as they may be, to accompany him into death.

What does it mean, then, to create a living being in the form of written word? On the first level, this creation is pure fiction and therefore open to dismissal. After all, no matter how raw and burdening a story may be, in the end, we can simply say, "That wasn't real". So we must ask ourselves, what is real? Malone creates fictional characters who are not physically living and therefore are not real. In creating others, however, Malone is creating himself, for the only record we have of him is through the written word, through his manuscript he leaves behind. Malone himself is a creation, a fictional character from the mind of Beckett. One could argue that we, the reader, are modified or created anew through the process of reading and our connection with these fictional creations. Without art and without the process of generation through art, man does not exist. Our only immortality comes in our living on in the mind of another by means of the written word, by means of the creative force of their imagination and memory. The character of Humbert Humbert in Vladimir Nobokov's Lolita states, "And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita" (309). Humbert Humbert creates his enduring image of Lolita, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that man's only form of immortality is in "the refuge of art" (309).

Malone says, "I shall try and make a little creature [. . .] a little creature in my own image, no matter what I say. And seeing what a poor thing I have made, or how like myself, I shall eat it" (226). Here, parallels can be drawn to the ancient myth of Saturn devouring his children. The god who creates destroys his creations. This is hardly a new theme in the course of mankind. So, with the value of creation comes an accompanying power of destruction. The darker side of life emerges and must be recognized. Now comes the chilling thought: Malone creates these beings, gives them life through the written word, and ultimately murders them. He offers up his creations as sacrificial victims to accompany him into that ever-present darkness.

By creating the character of Lemuel who eventually murders his other creations, one could argue that Malone calls forth his own destruction, as he dies shortly after this. Lemuel, therefore, acts as a great avenging angel and agent of death. Why must his characters die, simply because Malone must die? At first, this seems a selfish act. Malone needs someone to go with him in the end, just as a small and frightened child needs a parent's reassuring hand to venture out in the darkness. Malone fears "the impending dawn. The impending dawn" (194). This dawn is the final revelation that occurs when one has succeeded in emptying oneself of self. When the man who would be the Buddha empties himself of all human experience, existing solely as an emaciated figure beneath the Bhodi tree, he finds his long-awaited enlightenment. Perhaps then the "white light" so many individuals experience as they fade into death is but the light of knowledge, or the epiphanic experience of ultimate truth. Can one ever know this truth without having passed through the darkness before it? I would argue that Malone's final act of destruction, through the body of Lemuel, is not a selfish act. Malone realizes that this eventual end, this light at the core of his suffering must be faced alone. Like a Christ figure, dismissing his disciples to wander alone in the garden of self, he goes out to meet the light at the end of his journey.

The record of Malone's plight, his exercise book, signifies not the mere setting for his wanderings, but rather the entirety of his existence. Malone implies countless times throughout this short narrative, that he has been alone in life. Even now, he dies completely alone, witnessed only by the viewer through the avenue of his words. He says, "all I ever had in this world all has been taken from me, except the exercise-book, so I cherish it, it's human" (270). When all the human dignities have been put aside, when Malone has nothing, he will still retain the one thing that makes him human, his ability to create. The exercise book itself is not only his creation but represents his life as a whole. Malone outright tells us, "This exercise-book is my life" (274). When the words run out, Malone will run out. Malone is made up of words as a fictional creation, and when the "Gurgles of outflow," the written word and his life-blood, cease to be, Malone will end (287).

From the initial words of this novel, the reader sits quietly in the room with death itself and watches, almost perversely, the destruction of a man. We are culpable participants in that by continuing our reading, we advance the story. We, the reader, are responsible for the suffering of this man. We are responsible for his inevitable demise. Our hands are far from clean in that respect. Beckett creates the experience by writing, effectively defining his readers even as he focuses on his characters. Through the act of reading, we are creating the figure of Malone; Malone then writes to create his own characters. This cycle of generation continues, unending. Even as Malone is emptied as the novel progresses, the reader is filled. We gorge ourselves on the act of creation. We fill our souls with this mortality, immortality, death, life, and light. An act of emptying, our reading, fills us up. "The render rent. My story ended I'll be living yet. Promising lag. That is the end of me. I shall say I no more" (283). Malone the individual dies, but Malone the creation, the construct, lives.

We cannot ignore the darkness in our narrative or risk losing the revelation. Not all awareness comes from darkness, but these epiphanies hit harder, last longer than those we gain unearned. These are moments in life wherein, rather than resisting the pain or sorrow, we must open ourselves up to that experience, allowing it to flay us alive. These are moments when something has to be felt, as difficult as this may be, in order that we may know ourselves. "The impending dawn" is our objective, but there cannot be a dawn and following day without the night that bears it.

Individual Presentations--Day Two

Once again, today we watched some great individual presentations and heard lots of great ideas. Here is a summary of sorts based on my notes:

Tyler--"On Liberation through Illusion" . Tyler referenced the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Molloy and Mussert. He mentioned a series of divine lights that we must come to accept and become part of. This is our liberation.

Lissa--(read Lissa's blog by the way) wrote about time and related it back to novels and movies. She says time was created by man and we obsess over it. Time is altered in the Tempest-->Prospero uses books as a means of altering time by bringing up the tempest. Lissa mentioned The Following Story, Twilight, Peter Pan, and other disney movies to illustrate these different aspects of time and it's effect on our lives.

Maggie--analyzed the last lines of Little Gidding specifically speaking of the fire and the rose becoming one. She says this is the "rebirth of life" (fire being rebirth, the rose standing for life) We are cycling through types of being but also cycling through worlds.

Rio--the phalanx (referenced a clip from Troy). Rio realized everything we've done in class has overlapped one another similar to a phalanx, so he couldn't find just one topic to talk about. He wrote his paper, "What I Gno," as a story of not knowing. He moved chronologically through the books talking about the major themes. In the end, these themes become a part of life and reflecting on them is a self-reflexive endeavor.

Joan--wrote about purifying the soul through alchemy. She spoke of the five stages or symbols of alchemy. She realized, however, that the soul does not need to be purified. It is already pure. It is the humanity that surrounds the soul that must be purified. This becomes an act of resurrection, but she says this resurrection cannot be done alone (see major characters in the novels we read) She connects all this back to the fire and the rose, the burning away of humanity. Sexson said this is the simplest way of talking about gnosticism: It is the soul descending into the material world where it gets "stuck in the muck". Now it needs purifying and cleansing to remove the muck of humanity and the physical.

Kevin--wrote about Lost as it relates to the themes of the class. He mentioned the eternal return, dolce domum, The Tempest, and the Four Quartets. In lost these themes translate into the characters' return to the island, déja vu, time and time travel (time present and time past in time future), and the act of them living on the island as a way in which there is no ecstasy.

Jessie--the themes of the class are affecting his music choices. Jessie connected dolce domum to Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone", life as fiction and language to Lil Wayne (demotic language), 20 minute lifetime to the songs themselves (we live a lifetime in a mere 3 or 4 minute song), and quote from the Alchemist talking about love as the language of the world (the majority of songs are about love). One of the most interesting parts of Jessie's presentation was his talk about plerosis and kenosis in relation to the blues. He said the blues speak to the heartbreak of the soul, emptying you out, but there is a filling up with sorrow that occurs as well.

Kelsey--finding the beginning at one's end. She spoke about Haroun's dream in relation to the 20 minute lifetime. She also mentioned Finnegans Wake wherein the end of the dream is the beginning of one's day.

Kyle--wrote about "now" in the Four Quartets. He says he is more confused now than ever. =) He spoke of two different moments in the 4 quartets: the intense moment isolated containing all eternity (love occurs here, when time ceases, as does consciousness. He says as beings trapped in time, we are not conscious) and the moment of complicated pattern (lifetimes of all men exist here...old stones that cannot be deciphered). Kyle says that in the end, there can be no distinctions between the two. The patterns between the metaphysical and the physical are so complicated that they only get more so, and no clear distinctions can be found.

Sarah Knox--wrote a foreword and story. The girl becomes a rose petal. ?

Great job to everyone who went today! Good luck to all those Monday presenters!

Kudos to Rio

After writing the two last blog entries today, I realized I had forgotten to say something of vital importance.

Thank you Rio!

Your help with virtually all the group presentations and even with the individual presentations today, has been amazing. The class would not be the same without your technological powers. Thanks again! =)

Individual Presentations--Day One

Term paper presentations have begun! Today's presentations were all so good. I can't wait to see what the rest of the class does with their time. Here's a recap of today: (And I apologize in advance if I misspell anyone's names....)

Elissa--wrote about Beckett and his parrot joke, etc. There is happiness or humor in the negative as well

Maxton--will relate Haroun and The Following Story to his own journey through the class by relating his journey to that of Max in Where the Wild Things Are. He spoke about three major themes, separation, initiation, and return. Max read us the story just like storytime as a child, making sure everyone could see the pictures. Thank you Max! Dr. Sexson added that Max looks into the eyes of these wild things (in emergent literature) and learns to tame them.

Adam--Spoke about the Last Temptation of Christ by Nikos Kazantzakis in which Christ lives an entire lifetime in his final moments on the cross. This is his last and greatest temptation. Adam says God and Satan use dreams as a language of communication and influence. Sexson adds, this is a gnostic fable or fantasy.

Bizz--drew a big X on the board just as Sexson did on "March 10th" =) then drew an inverted V next to it with the Big Bang being the point of the v and us being somewhere in the middle near the base. She said the universe is expanding downward. We seek the origin as a way of defining ourselves as individuals or as a race, but when we meet that origin we must only start over again. Does this mean our existence is meaningless? Bizz mentioned we are composed of hourglasses, tiny moments changing and repeating in differing orders and sequences. and It is not about redeeming past action through this return to origin but about choosing new actions. Our redemption is in our future not the past, which is always present.

Sarah Burke--wrote a short story based on the idea of "what I know now", relating that back to the themes in the class under the structure of an encounter in a coffee shop and Finnegans Wake. She says sometimes fiction is better than reality. Her story was.....honest. It was beautiful, full of feeling, smart in its construction....and there were layers of meaning. I loved it. Thank you Sarah for reading your beautiful story.

Brianne--did a rap! for the class. One of the themes I picked up on was the idea of divinity within the self. It was very brave of you Brianne, and we all enjoyed it immensely.

Jon Certo--related the 4 quartets to reggae music, specifically Bob Marley. He mentioned Marley's song "Exodus". He says he never realized the mysticism in the lyrics, never realized because he never truly listened.

Sam--wrote about Alchemy. She talked about an artist who transforms scrap metal into art. She mentioned another artist, Deborah Butterfield who uses driftwood to make sculptures and then casts them. Sam related this to Alchemy by talking about the transformation of "the rubbish of life into art" but one must not forget its origins. "ink and stink" from Finnegans Wake made an appearance in Sam's presentation. Alchemist turning his excrement into art by using it as ink (Shem-->Alshemist).

Zach Eggemeyer--wrote about Charlie Kaufman's films and the exploration of myths as paradigms to how we should live our lives. If our actions return and recur exactly as they did the first time, how much weightier are our actions? The plight of man and true weight of being is this. We must consider our actions as recurring eternally, giving our actions much more importance than we may immediately realize.

Alicia--wrote about Alchemy in relation to the 5 themes of the class. She did a lot of research into the history of Alchemy and presented some of us to that in her powerpoint presentation. One interesting idea: that we do not reincarnate into self-same physical beings but as energy forces on the same plane.

Doug--talked about tarot cards and the wheel of fortune. He mentioned a play, "Oh Fortuna" wherein each character is in a state of rising or falling much like the characters in the Tempest. Prospero is the only character that completes the circle and brings it back around. Doug explained the origin of the tarot cards and the major and minor arcana therein. He says each card is but a fragment in the story and each are dealing with an aspect of the human story of ascending and descending. The fool and the magician are one. Top and bottom (highbrow and lowbrow) are one.

Great job everyone on your presentations today! Good luck to everyone on Friday.

Group Presentations

Sadly, I have neglected this blog as of late.... I won't make excuses....too much. When everything in the world is due at once, time and commitments get reshuffled. I hope to make up for it this week if I can.

Well, we are through group presentations now. I thought I would recap some of the highlights.

On the first day of presentations, Groups 4 and 2 presented in that order. Group 4 had the theme of life as myth and dream as their focus. They performed a play involving most, if not all, of the elements discussed in class, a journey and a returning home. To recap this presentation would take ages, and I'm not sure I alone captured many vital details in my notes. Of note, however, was how this group used powerpoint and images, some moving and some still, to enhance their presentation, really embracing the hybrid nature of this class even in this, their final presentation.

Group 2 did an EXCELLENT job with their video presentation of the 2o minute lifetime. The movie was fluid, it was multidimensional, humorous and instructive. As of last week, one could find the video on Youtube under "copy of film", but I'm not sure if it is still posted. This group also incorporated other aspects of class, the dream, characters come to life, t.s. eliot, etc. in their video. Great job Group 2!!

On the subsequent class day, Groups 3 and 1 presented their creations. Group 3 presented the theme of life as fiction and language in a video about a fictional support group, "Characters Anonymous". Each of the group members embodied one character from one of the works we read, struggling to discover the nature of his reality. They have to come to terms with the fact that they are fictional. How does this concept translate into our "real" world?

Group 1 presented the myth of the eternal return. From gas we come and to gas we return. They illustrated this through methane gas and in the lowbrow sense, farts. I wrote down one line, "from goo to you by way of the zoo" in my notes. Of note was the distinguished "Al Chemist" presenting to a class of english majors. Of course this concept of return relates back to T.S. Eliot (from fire to fire).

On the last day of presentations, Groups 5 and 6 presented. (finally some order to this numeric chaos!! =) Group 5 used movie clips to illustrate quotes from each section of the Four Quartets in order to represent the theme of Dolce Domum. This group set the mood with a table spread with candles. One will remember these candles were red and white. Coincidence??

Group 6 was my group. We had the theme of the eternal return.....again. If the groups had gone in order, this may have been more profound as we truly would be returning to our starting point once again in a cycle of recurrence. Alas, this was not the case. We did a skit centered around the idea of the sun's recurrence as a means of illustrating this theme. We brought in Vico with the idea of the descent of language from the language of the gods, to heroes, to chaos. Our versions of this was the god (Aaron) and his poetic verses on the sun, to the heroes (Brianne and Sarah....complete with towel capes and heroic underpants) relating their impressions of the sun, to Sarah Burke and myself who were stoners philosophizing in our own way about the sun and its meaning. The play started over twice (the return), only the second time, each group's reflections of the sun were more meaningful or with more insight (although the stoners didn't even notice the sun's temporary disappearance). Here we illustrate the eternal return, but each cycle brings us closer and closer to true understanding. James played our sun. How can one ever forget his rising out of the dark (trashbags) light in hand? What an image. =)

Great job everyone with the group presentations! Now on to the individuals!

Term Paper Topic

Well, our days are winding down to a close, and paper topics loom before us, frightening and captivating. If only there was more time..... My sister commandeered the Internet for most of last night, so I apologize for this blog being a bit late. However, here it is.

When thinking about possible term paper topics, I knew I wanted to write about Beckett. Earlier on in the semester, I wrote a blog...more like a rant of sorts, about people dismissing the darker side of life as "depressing" and moving on. I railed on those who would rather not feel these emotions, deny their existence, rather than walking through that avenue of fire to find the revelation and discovery on the other side. Some things are worth being felt....deeply. I really connected with Malone Dies. Though he strips away everything from his characters, I found this absence, this nothingness, was full. Just as when true silence abounds all around you and you feel it like a physical presence or force, I found this emptiness to be deafening.

In my paper, I will be adressing this process of kenosis or emptying out of self to reach the core. This term relates to alchemy in some ways, but is more connected to a process of awareness in my eyes as opposed to a process of purification, though this absolutely comes into play. There is a certain sense of endurance in Malone, a desperate clinging to life combined with unattachment and breaking down. I find the paradox of emptying self to find self incredibly engaging. In my paper I want to describe or dive into this process and see what results.

Finnegans Wake Annotated Page (457)

As always when reading Finnegans Wake, I realize there is no real means of full understanding. After annotating my page, page 457, I was by no means closer to understanding the page as a whole. I could only latch onto vague trends and other noncommittal understandings. There seemed to be a lot of sexual references on the page. One example, for instance, is "drawhure deelish." Hure is the German word for whore, quite literally meaning prostitute. Deelish, I considered to contain several puns, for instance, deal-->concerning money such as the deal between the prostitute and here customers, delicious, also dervish--> sources of wisdom in the middle eastern Sufi faith. Dervish means "one who opens doors" in Persian, and the whirling dervish is a dance to achieve religious ecstacy.

Along with several sexual, or at least sensual, references on this page, there are a lot of religious references as well. Could Joyce be meaning to draw a parallel between the two?? I think so. "penitent Ferdinand" could refer to Ferdinand in the Tempest, but perhaps more aptly refers to Ferdinand King of Leon and Castille and member of the 3rd Order of St. Francis. This king of Spain fought to free spain from the Saracens and married the pious daughter of the then King of Germany. Ferdinand dedicated multiple churches to the Blessed Virgin Mary, here contrasted with references to whores and prostitutes on this page.
The "Devil a curly hair" passage refers to The Devil and The Farmer, a short story from England in 1893 which tells of a wager a farmer made with the Devil. In order to escape the bet, he told the Devil he could not straighten a curly hair on an anvil. When the Devil could not, he left the farmer in peace.

One reference that I found particularly interesting as far as how Joyce transformed the language of the actual quote in the rhythmic way he does is the passage that goes, "a tear or two in time is all there's toot." Literally it sounds like" a tear or two in time is all there is to it". Could this refer to the loss of virginity? The words also refer to a passage in the Bible that goes, "a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak". This passage is from the Ecclesiastes 3:7 and speaks about the "vanity of human life".

The end of this page seems to be a conversation between a man and a woman. She "tactilifully grapbed her male corrispondee". Working with the word "tactilifully", I basically did a word association or simply stated, a calling to mind of similar words this could be referring to. I found, tacit-->unvoiced, unspoken, implied; tempus-->tempest, time, tempus fugit--> Latin for "time flees"; temptation; impetuous; tumultuous; turbulent. Also the word "grapbed" could reference "grappled" and quite obviously "bed".

The tone of this page seemed overtly sexual but also connected to religion. I found that marriage of seemingly opposing systems of thought intriguing. Of course there have always been saints who have referred to their relationship with God in sexual terms. See The Esctacy of St. Therese by Bernini below for a visual example of this concept. But Joyce does this in an entirely new and subtle way. I wonder what this means to the work as a whole. However, I know there is no "meaning", no final truth, no unifying theme. This continues to upset me about Finnegans Wake...I don't think I will ever be reconciled to the idea of a world without too many references and yet without universal meaning at all....

Pick a Blog, Any Blog

As always, there comes a point in the semester where Dr. Sexson asks us to specifically mention a fellow blogger's work that has influenced us in some way. And, much like every semester before, I am unable to choose just one person to recognize. Each and every blog has offered us something that we needed, and if any one of those blogs was missing, the map of the class would be altered irreparably. We would be at a loss. Sam's blog is a wealth of information, offering us a detailed record of Dr. Sexson's lectures as well as providing us all with so many outside references to dive into. Rio, our "resident geek", offers us an entirely new dimension to the class, transforming it from a simple lecture and note-taking atmosphere into an multimedia, interactive environment. Jon Orsi has gone mad, thankfully. His dedication to exploring certain themes or concepts in depth through the texts (especially Beckett) is something to be admired. James' blog reads as poetry and raises so many questions to ponder over. Sarah Burke's blog shows how much she is thinking about the themes in relation to life. I could go on and on, mentioning every blog and every classmate.

The wonderful thing about blogging in the class setting is that it allows us to see just how varied our classmates are. It allows us to learn from each other, to laugh even as we grow in all directions. Dr. Sexson's classes are far from the question-and-answer, fill-in-the-blank, mindless regurgitation of information courses that I have experienced in the class. We take charge of our own education , for ourselves, even as we follow our cult leader and his wisdom. =) I could hardly choose just one classmate, or one blog out of this riotous stream of information.

Define: Alchemy

"An Alchemist in his Workshop" by David the Younger Teniers

This week's assignment: to blog about what "alchemy" is.

Well, at first I thought I would search the internet for relevant videos and articles on the subject of alchemy, but a simple google search on multiple variations of this theme seemed useless. I was flooded with images with "healing properties", doomsday prophecies set to pictures, and historical presentations on how alchemy has been perceived throughout the ages. In the field of art, I came across countless images like the one above depicting an elderly scholar surrounded by the clutter, often with an apprentice of some sort, attempting to achieve some transformative power.

None of these images or ideas seemed to align with the idea of alchemy as we discussed it and as I believe it to be in relation to ourselves and our world. Alchemy, simply said, is the power to transform. It is the quest to control one's environment, the quest to control and transform the self. When one thinks about the stereotypical idea of turning lead into gold, one must think of it as a simple metaphor. This is what we must do for ourselves....as an action and a process. We must transform the low-brow into the high-brow, and I think that is the goal of this class. How do we move from the state of lead, of demotic language, to a state of gold, into the realm and language of the gods?

I think the vital difference between an "alchemist" as Coelho would define him and the average man is the mentality of control and observation. We often become restricted by our surroundings, believing the illusion we have been born into, illusions such as place and specific identity. Without going into the "soul of the world" and "personal legends", I think it is safe to say that the process by which we break out of these restrictions or limitations is the process by which we become, rather than passive observers in our lives, truly active, engaged, and creative controllers of our own selves. Call it a transformation of soul, call it a hero's journey, the process remains the same. It is the shift of values, the shift between worlds by a P2C2E, the waking up to our simulation and the act of revelation. This is "alchemy," the active recognition and taking part in a process of realization and transformation.

The Throwing of Books

This semester seems to be one of book throwing. Now, I know for English majors, the very idea of hurling a book across the room at full speed and considerable force seems reprehensible, even an act of sacrilege. But I confess! I have committed this blasphemy several times this semester. I think the first book that I threw across my living room was that of Finnegan's Wake. I was frustrated with a language that wasn't language and yet all language. I was frustrated at not being able to read. In conventional terms. I don't really blame myself for that one though; Sexson warned us this might happen.

Next, I threw Beckett.....lovingly. I had just read a particularly mundane passage in Molloy and frustratingly let the book fall to the floor with a satisfying thud. The important thing about Beckett though, is that I picked it back up. And I loved reading Malone Dies.

After throwing a Shakespearean play the other day (I'm beginning to detect a trend: This class is bleeding into others) after muddling through its lengthy introduction, I picked up The Alchemist. Mere hours later, I had the unmistakable feeling that this would follow the others. Turning the pages with restrained vehemence, I voiced my opinions to my sister and roommate. She had already laughed at me when, without provocation, I had thrown the book I was reading previously at least four feet to a clatter of pages on the floor. Now she laughed again. I'm glad I was some sort of amusement for her, at least. =)

I didn't like The Alchemist because it didn't engage me. It read like a self-help book with talk of "Personal Legends" and the "Soul of the World" etc. I noticed that after each revelation that Coelho presented, the narrative voice would change to describe in great detail how the boy now believed this, was certain of that. It seemed to me that Coelho presented the idea and then took the reader, embodied in the boy, and told that reader "you belieeeeeve me......you belieeeeeve", like a sorceror or a simple trickster whose trick was all too evident. Without a doubt, the greater themes of definitions of place and of dreams are of vital importance in anyone's life. Truly, we can often only know a place by leaving it, or at least by having a mentality that allows one to distance oneself from attachment and self-limitation. However, in the Alchemist I feel this theme is diluted or diffused even as it is staring me in the face like a brick wall. Is there anything wrong with wanting to find the truth for oneself, in wanting a book to engage me and entrap me like, say, a Nabokov novel??

I suppose I have become spoiled by a semester of reading Nabokov. I want to be so engaged in the details and their relation to the whole, grand master scheme that I almost physically cannot put the book down. I want to know there is something more beneath the surface, something tangible and concrete, even if that "reality" is an illusion as well. I am quite content to peel back the layers of one of his novels incessantly. As horrifying as it is to say this, I simply don't feel that connection or sense of being vividly engaged with the material this semester. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the low-brow is too obvious to be compelling, and the high-brow, such as Finnegans Wake, is like a fearsome giant looming over me. I have no weapons. I feel the works of Nabokov are every bit as difficult and meaningful, if not more so, than what we are reading.

I'm frustrated and wondering, why do I feel the constant need to throw something at the nearest wall?? I think Beckett may be my saving grace in the end, but only because Malone Dies gripped me. I simply don't know what to do about the throwing of books. Quite frankly, I don't think they can take much more abuse. =)

A Three Hour Tour =)

When presented with the idea of having three hours to live and the question of what to do with one's remaining time, the temptation is always to say dangerous...life-affirming things we usually would not do. "I would go skydiving, mountain-climbing....(fill in your favorite extremely dangerous activity here....)". Others seek to treasure what they know to be great and that they already have, the simplest pleasures of life we often take for granted. "I would spend time with my loved ones, finally finish that book, watch a sunrise". The reality is that most of us would probably waste our remaining moments in this world by freaking out about our imminent doom and striving to prevent it.

For me, I would like to believe that I could face the discovery of my soon-to-be end with some measure of strength. I like to believe that if it came to that, life would be sweeter to me, even more than it already is, more vivid. Even now, as I have no idea when my end (beginning??) will be, I have a sense of taking everything into myself. I used to be obsessed with the idea of capturing all the....beauty....the value of this world in art. My personal revelation came with the knowledge that one never truly captures that vision (of the intrinsic value of all things), one can never....really equate it. One can only come close. This fact disturbed me greatly because I was forced to confront the impermanence of even that immortality......immortality....framed?...in impermanence? I discovered that I did not have to capture it. I could let it move through me.


Now I don't mean to channel here any eccentric notions of energy travel or "flow"...though I will not be the one to discount these theories either. It was, rather, a certain process. I would be struck by something....the exact light of a tree-branch lit by a street lamp....the quality of the sound of a single drop falling from an icicle into a mud puddle...the divinely infinite reflection of the sky on a street wet from recent rains. Rather than seek to capture it, memorize it, assimilate that vision into myself, I would identify it. I would give it the time and the attention it deserved in that moment, and having paid that spark what it was owed, I let it go. I let it move away from me, accepting that the exact shade of the sky or the exact feeling of recognition between strangers for instance would be lost......but.....not altogether lost. I had lost the need for containment, limited definition perhaps. Call it what you will.


I would hope that my last three hours on earth would be spent with this experience or a similar one--only the beauty and richness of that experience would transcend even itself. I would hope that my time would be spent....living....because I consider this...underlying value and beauty, the framework that underlies our menial existence, I consider this to be....life.

The Storm

Continuing with the cave theme, here are some images from the cave of Les Trois Freres. The first is a description of the set of drawings as a whole. The figures overlap each other, move into one another and with one another in a swirl of activity. This abundance of action in the scene echoes the storm in the tempest, (no, I don't mean the physical storm...remember this is all an illusion). I am speaking of the storm of illusion, make-believe, and deception wrought by the magician figure in the book, Prospero. The second image in the three I have posted, is a detail of one figure in the mix, and is said to be a shaman figure with the power to shift into the mind of an animal, assume its physical shape, etc. See how the figure's hands and feet are human rather than animalistic in order to depict this synthesis. The third and final image is a hybrid of man and beast yet again and is described as a lesser sorceror with a musical bow. This figure seems to parallel Ariel whose powers in the art of deception enable Prospero to enact his own magic. The musical connection between the two can be seen here as well.

What The Tempest describes for us is the idea of submitting oneselves to be voluntarily deceived. We adopt "matrices" and other illusions, immersing ourselves in art and literature in order to achieve our own immortality to be sure. But there is another element to this willing participation in a cycle of lies and passing dreams. Why do we go out to see movies, the most literal version of the images played for prisoners in Plato's "Allegory of the Cave"? Why write great literature and subject ourselves to the ongoing struggle of differentiating or synthesizing art and immediate life? Why believe the lie, once we know it is a lie? In essence, "what's the point of stories when they aren't even true"? I feel this is a major theme presented in this class, and one that deserves our prolongued attention. Why make art? This is a question that has endured since the very conception of art, as can be seen in cave painting such as these.

There is a power there, in the deception. What strikes me time and again is the idea that we gain insight about ourselves and our world through deception. Through gates of deception, illusion, and falsehoods do we find what we call truth. Yet there is an aspect of the unveiling that must not be forgotten. Perhaps it is not the falsehood that captures us but the revelation, the epiphane achieved only through art rather than direct experience. How is this sort of revelation different than that achieved through one's own interactions with the world through physical means? Which is more valid? Can we even speak in those terms?

In this article on the caves at Lascaux, these ideas of creation, the dream, and surrogate versions of "reality" are explored in more detail. It reads fairly quickly and, I believe, raises interesting topics for discussion. Here are a few excerpts from the article:

"What is interesting about these creations is that they were the forerunners of the symbolic and sensory realm of art, drama and literature, which has become increasingly elaborate with the progress of civilization. Each in a different way, has allowed humanity to escape the literalness of its surroundings, to raise our collective noses off the ground, as it were, and produce a vision of other ways of living and other possible worlds, which are enough like this world to seem plausible."

"cave painters and their descendents had to journey inside them, and leave the rest of the world behind. The images were lit by flickering lamps, which must have added to the sense that they were in a world apart, a world modeled after their own fears and desires, and perceptions. [. . .] (and are) an expression of our desire to escape into seemingly human worlds, made lifelike through the application of art and technology, in which the landscape is that of the imagination."

"Today, as we increasingly live inside lifelike fictions, and re-create our surroundings as an endless form of immersive fiction, one has to wonder what will become of human nature. Will it change, as well, or will we end up reenacting the same things our ancestors did, but in increasingly spectacular forms?"

In this last paragraph, we see the emergence of the theme of eternal recurrence. The goal, then is to relive each cycle in greater splendor then the last, to be more, reach for more, to really "know a place for the first time". Perhaps we must also know ourselves anew. This is the key. We need to be like Miranda in that we view the world with fresh eyes in every moment. We must be aware of the cycle, be aware of the illusion (self-created or imposed on us i.e. the Matrix) yet still retain our transformative powers as creators....whether this be transforming the self or transforming one's own sphere of influence however large that may be. This is the vital importance of Miranda to the storm. We must incorporate into ourselves each of the powers here represented in order to "release them from their bands with the help of our good hands". From Caliban, we gain natural powers, from Miranda this sense of wonder and revelation, from books the power to transfrom; the list goes on. What role do we play on this stage on which we are "merely players". Are we then to become Prospero, master of our own illusion? I leave the answering of this question to my reader.

The Caves at Lascaux: Lasting Significance

Today in class, Dr. Sexson spoke of the cave in The Tempest in relation to the caves at Lascaux, France.

According to the Wikipedia article on the caves, they were first discovered in 1940 by four teenagers and have been deteriorating ever since due to the overabundance of visitors to the site. A second set of caves were created in 1983 with replicas of the paintings in order to preserve the original artwork. The paintings date back thousands of years to the paleolithic era. One of the most enigmatic images is this one, wherein a man with a bird head lies prostrate next to what appears to be a large bison. There is of course the mysterious bird on a stick in the same frame.

Theories as to the meaning of this piece are varied, and debate continues as to its actual meaning. Some say the narrative is that of the hunt or of a ceremonial ritual relating to the hunt. Others theorize that the three figures represent stars and that the entire cave system is a map of the skies. In this interpretation, the three figures represent the three stars, Vega, Deneb, and Altair. Together, these three make up the Summer triangle as illustrated in the above diagram. The mythological significance of these three in relation to the constellations to which they belong is referenced in the hyperlink to their names. Some say that through this gateway, one can travel to new realms of consciousness. In Chinese mythology, however, there is another myth relating to the three in the story of the Herd-Boy and the Weaver-Girl. To sum up the full story (see hyperlink) the herd-boy stumbles upon seven immortal maidens who have come to earth to bathe in a stream. Parallels can be drawn here to the nine muses. The herd boy , seeing the youngest of the maidens, falls in love and steals her clothes so that she cannot return to the heaven. The article states, "She must marry him after he sees her unclothed, as was the local quaint custom of the time." Here, we can draw parallels to Ovid's telling of Diana and Actaeon. The theme of vital importance here is the witnessing of some secret ritual, the initiation of the unknowing.

The story continues when his wife must return to her work in the heavens and the lovers are separated. The boy sneaks into heaven to see her by hiding himself in the skin of a water buffalo, but the two are separated again by a great river (the milky way). Here we have a great river, the river of dream? (The river of everything in the world, Finnegan's Wake??) Eventually, it is agreed that the couple can meet on the seventh night of the seventh month but only if the river is small so that the birds can form a bridge for the two to be together.

Regardless of any mythological significance, or perhaps in relation to it, the three stand as a gateway to higher consciousness. (See the Matrix and Plato's Allegory of the Cave). Dr. Felicitas Goodman theorizes that this depiction of the bird-man is the depiction of the shaman indulging in a "trance state". She says he is on a "spirit journey to the upper world". This article, explains the relation of the Lascaux images to her work on Trance Postures as a whole. Goodman theorizes that by adopting different postures depicted in multiple works of ancient art, one can achieve an altered state and transcend the physical. By doing this, one gains higher realization and interacts with a realm of existence we earthly bound know nothing about. More on her work on trance can be found here.

The tradition of cave painting for social commentary and further exploration of our world continues to this day through graffiti artists. One such artist is the infamous Banksy. I have included several of his more pertinent images below. Through artists such as these stretching back in time to the earliest man, we find our way through the caves of memory to infinite truths.

Plato's "Allegory"

The other day in class, Dr. Sexson showed us a diagram of Plato's "Allegory of The Cave" which he thought was less than satisfactory. As the resident artist of the class, I've redrawn it. Now, I sketched this out very quickly, so go easy on me. =)

The prisoners of the cave are chained to the wall. They can only see the projection of the puppeteers behind them and therefore believe this projection is real. One prisoner, having escaped his chains, makes his way up to another world to witness the true sun with delight and amazement.



The allegory forces us to question the nature of our existence and of illusion. What we know to be real may in fact be the product of another's imagination. "Little do we know," there may be puppeteers or even a narrative voice behind even the most mundane things we do....we simply haven't heard it yet.

Life as Dream

Sometimes while surfing the web for themes in this class, I stumble on hidden gems. Today, I found a play, La Vida es Sueño (or Life is a Dream) by the celebrated Spanish author Pedro Calderón de la Barca. This play analyzes the idea of life as illusion or dream throughout. This dilemma is brought to a breaking point in one speech delivered in prison by the main character, Sigismundo. Several sources state that this speech is the "To be or not to be" of Spanish literature:

"I dream that I am here/ of these imprisonments charged, / and I dreamed that in another state/ happier I saw myself. / What is life? A frenzy. / What is life? An illusion, / A shadow, a fiction, / And the greatest profit is small; / For all of life is a dream, / And dreams are nothing but dreams"

Here, the main character questions the very fact of his existence. Perhaps this is all a vivid dream? If so, what happens when we wake up? If this is true, then what happens when we finally hear the narrator, summing up our own actions??

Second Glances

Yesterday in class, there was a lot of discussion about how "depressing" Malone Dies is as opposed to Molloy. I beg to differ.

Throughout my high school and college academic career, there have always been works or events, pieces of art, that my fellow classmates have deemed "depressing" and turned away from. To be clear, I hate this blanket term. We use it all the time, in a society who would rather not dwell on....well.....anything, to dismiss something that hurts or confronts us. A heart-wrenching story on the news may give us pause as we cycle through channel after channel, but a simple "that's depressing" frees us from it. We move on, hardly giving it a second thought. I had a similar experience this morning as I toured the exhibit of Goya prints at the Museum of the Rockies. After viewing the entirety of what is an amazing collection of original prints by this master, a fellow student commented on the disturbing nature of the series. She asked a question (the kind of question that is really a statement) saying, "Wasn't Goya schizophrenic? Isn't that their explanation for this sort of work?"

Ah yes. Schizophrenia. Let us forget the fact that the work is an indictment of a corrupt society. Let us forget the artist's despair at the futility of it all, his despair at having recently become deaf due to an illness. Let us forget all this, and with a simple word, dismiss the man and his masterpieces as the product of his alleged condition.

We can look at Beckett and Malone Dies in much the same way, dismissing the art, the talent, and the vision as simply "depressing".....or we can take the time to appreciate something that doesn't make us smile. We have this mentality ingrained in us that we have to be smiling to everyone else. Life has to be okay; people have to be okay. What do we do then, when things are not okay? Who do we turn to when the entire world becomes a masquerade of smiling faces without feeling and without humanity? I spoke recently to a friend of mine who spent much time overseas, and she told me everyone she spoke to in Europe said they could tell an American tourist a mile away. They smiled at everything.

We cannot smile at Beckett. And yet we do. This is the beauty of his work, that one can be horrified and wallowing in the decay and descent of a man and yet feel mirth. Even in the darkest of moments, there is joy, inexplicably. Moreover, there is a rawness to certain passages in Malone Dies that I personally found nowhere else in Molloy.

"I am far from the sounds of blood and breath, immured. I shall not speak of my sufferings. Cowering deep down among them I feel nothing. It is there I die, unbeknown to my stupid flesh. That which is seen, that which cries and writhes, my witless remains. Somewhere in this turmoil thought struggles on, it too wide of the mark. It too seeks me, as it always has, where I am not to be found. It too cannot be quiet. On others let it wreak its dying rage, and leave me in peace. Such would seem to be my present state." (Malloy Dies 186)

"the sounds of blood and breath". This is a living....dying....being. How do we equate this horrific beauty with anything but the divine? How can we walk past it, like a corpse on the street, without a second glance? It is beautiful! This body, this thing, it "cries and writhes" in the darkness, waiting for the "impending dawn. The impending dawn" (194). Far from "depressing"....this is heart-wrenching. Rather than imprison ourselves on the rack of these emotions, it is far, far simpler to turn our heads, far simpler yet to ignore the spectacle of death, hiding it away behind the doors of nursing homes.

Malone stands unwitnessed. He begs a witness to his death, to his life. Therein lies the driving need to create, to finish his story before his last breath is drawn. Though he dismisses the activity as "play," one cannot deny the prevalence of a need that wrenches itself from him painfully and painstakingly to the very last. Even upon reaching this moment, he writes "never there he will never never anything there any more" (288). A dying man's last words...

No, not depressing. Real.

Stones

While searching cyberspace for Beckett resources, I stumbled across these two videos.

The first is just for fun I suppose. It's a video called Pitch 'n' Putt with Joyce 'n' Beckett. I suppose the most accurate way to describe it is by saying it's what would happen if Joyce and Beckett went golfing together.

The second is a video of the passage Dr. Sexson quoted in class. It's called Store of Sucking Stones. The actor plays the role of Molloy at the seaside. I watched this video for the first time before class the other day, and to be truthful, it held no great interest for me other than illustrating how the dilemma of numbers and cycles of different stones would play out with actual stones. After hearing the passage again in class, however, I had an epiphane.

The process of taking out stones and putting them in other pockets in a certain order creates a cycle similar to the cycle of literature and of life. We have the kenosis on one hand, an emptying out, and a plurosis on the other hand, a process of becoming full again. The cycles are inexorably linked to one another. "And if in the cycles taken together utter confusion was bound to reign, at least within each cycle taken separately I could be easy in mind, at least as easy as one can be, in a proceeding of this kind" (Molloy 73). Molloy's dilemma then, is how to go about this filling up and emptying out. He wants the process to be orderly and to follow reason, yet he wants variety, a sense of chaos. But even in this, he is torn because he desperately wants these things and wants to want nothing. Yet even in the face of this personal crisis he realizes the unimportance of it all and loses the desire even to solve it. Once he has his great epiphane of how to proceed, the stones themselves are unimportant, even his being a part in that cycle (the act of even having a stone to suck) seems irrelevant. I'm still thinking through this idea of the cycle and of what each individual stone would then mean to the whole....

Suffice it to say, when before Beckett and I were not on very good terms, I am now starting to find some revelation in his writing. His works and I can now be in the same room together....without threat of physical violence. =)

Spellbound

Today after an enchanting class on the act of storytelling, I found myself obsessing on the full range of any exploration of the act of storytelling and of the analysis of art. One of Vladimir Nabokov's major emphases was on the role of a good reader. I hope everyone remembers the quote James mentioned in class today. If not, it goes something like this: "The good, the admirable reader identifies himself not with the boy or the girl in the book, but with the mind that conceived and composed the book. [...]The admirable reader is not concerned with general ideas: he is interested in the particular vision". Here Nabokov seems to be saying that the specifics of character, time, and place are unimportant in themselves. It is the weaving together of these details in order that one may partake of a particular "vision" that makes them of vital importance to the reader. This is the act of storytelling and the role of the enchanter.

While listening to Dr. Sexson tell his story of the meeting with the "Scheherezade of the Skies," at one point I became distanced from myself and I realized.....I was spellbound. I was literally hanging on every word, and every pause was excrutiating. My thoughts were akin to "what comes next?!" "will he go on or leave us in this place of unknowing?" Even as we left the class and as all the elements of the story seemed to be revealed, I had my doubts. To be a good reader, one must never trust what one is told. I'm not exactly sure whether or not the woman did indeed have a "real" tattoo on her arm....just as I am not sure whether or not this encounter "really" took place. I find myself asking, does it even matter? Does the veritability of a given story change its impact? Why this obsessive need for "reality" when we have no proof that this physical reality exists at all? WHAT....IS....."REAL"?

This is the unanswerable question of our time. Yet this is also a question we must ask in order to ascertain whether or not we are "real". For this reason, we turn to stories. In stories we are immortal; we live on in the imaginings of others. Humbert Humbert states "Imagine me: I shall not exist if you do not imagine me". In this way, by examining art we are not solely attempting to become better readers. Rather, we are attempting to become better at reading ("living"?) our own lives. Here we find the reason for the obsessive list-making of seemingly mundane items. It is the taking of time to delve beneath the surface of an item that we are incapable of. "For most of us, there is only the unattended/ Moment, the moment in and out of time,/ The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight". Is it even possible to live in a manner where every object, every moment, every single word, has a tangible meaning in our conscious lives? In Finnegan's Wake, we see this concept is achievable in dreams, but how do we make sense of it all? Where do we make connections, and where do we let the torrent of words, of concepts, of syllables, wash over us like a river of stories, a river of dreams?

The truth is, every object or experience we may encounter does have meaning, but in order that we may stay sane, we must leave a fraction of that veil of illusion in place. Once we tear that final curtain and know ourselves for the first time, once we become the man behind the curtain, there is no going back. "Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is." As Plato demonstrates in his Allegory of the Cave, we cannot unsee that which we have seen, nor would we wish, at that point, to return to a state of ignorance. This tearing of the veil (see biblical reference in hyperlink) is, I propose, the goal of this class. The difference here, however, is that instead of the uninitiated being granted access to god himself, we, the self-same uninitiated, are granted access to our immortality.

Through our realization that time is a relative concept, we become aware of its amazing paradoxical quality. We are immortal in that art is immortal throughout the course of time, yet that immortality is fragile and subject to the whims of future generations. Time will destroy us in that we die, yet it also secures our immortality. "People change, and smile: but the agony abides./Time the destroyer is time the preserver." We are ignorant as to its true nature, yet we can witness its effect on our persons. We are taught to transcend time by stepping outside of its control through the realms of art or enlightenment. This, we are told, is immortality......a myriad of lifetimes in a single breath......and on and on and on.... Dolce domum.

>Sidebar: I found this quiz online about time and how we think of it. It takes literally seconds to take and I found it pretty interesting.

As a final note, at the end of our semester with Nabokov, Dr. Sexson proclaimed us all to be mad. But we cannot help it. Everywhere we go, we, the now initiated, will be looking for the enchanter's work, the man behind the curtain. In finding him, we will find ourselves, for he is but a mirror to our own nature, our frailty and immortality abiding nonsensically in the paradox of time.

A Few Links

(Scheherezade)

Here is a link to the short story Dr. Sexson mentioned, An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge. It is the story of a man who in the last moments of his life.....he lives another life. One instant in which a lifetime, of sorts, is lived.

Here is the trailer to the movie Idiocracy wherein the intellect of the world has declined to the point of absurdity.

This is the re-release trailer for L'Année Derniere a Marienbad. The movie is in French , but the preview has subtitles. Here, the concept of deja-vu is explored....does time exist? What is real and what is imagined? These are a few themes presented by the trailer.

Finally, the full story about Solomon and his ring that Sexson told us in class can be found here. What's more, there is a setup to the story, the reason Asmodeus works against Solomon to begin with. That story can be found here. I also found a wikipedia article about the ring itself here . I've included a simplified picture of the seal of solomon which is said to be on the ring. As the wikipedia article states, the star is made up of two triangles representing two of the four elements. When juxtaposed, they create the other two elements. Legends of solomon say that with his protective ring, he was able to control the elements.

List oh List!

I think one of the most important things about making a list is the act of selecting each item with care....the taking of time to consider each object for what it is and also that object's relation to the whole. Our minds are already programmed to list, to categorize, so the process comes naturally. We, for the most part, like to put each anomoly, each deviation from the acceptable norm, within the safety of its own category, where we no longer have to consider its apparent difference from the rest. While at times this act could simply be a way of oversimplifying the things we find unsettling, the act of making lists itself, this careful consideration, may be our only semblance of control over a chaotic world. In the end, one question begs my asking: is our listmaking merely another self-imposed illusion (delusion?), or rather, through lists, can we achieve greater insight and understanding.

I chose to list some small landmarks that I consider day after day on my way to class in the early morning.

Starting from the parking lot where my days begin, there is:

>one small creek, meandering its way through the city. I wonder where it starts....and where it ends.

>one small-ish tree standing alone that changes its appearance as the light changes
>the screams and laughter of children playing in a nearby playground

>one large reddish tree that is lit up practically supernaturally by the sunset at night

>one small beaten path through the snow that leads to the greenhouses that are lit up at night like the glass pyramid in front of the louvre

>one crooked crack at the end of the sidewalk just before

>one choice: dirt path or asphalt drive

>one beaten and graffitied trashcan that never moves

>one silver keypad on the door to the art building. Inevitably, my brain recites the after-hours code even without me needing to enter it (* * *)

>one relic of a heater just inside the door that dates back decades, yet still stoicly warms the hall

>one wine-stain, barely noticable, from a recent art show

>several assorted posters for upcoming shows, the colors and lines change often, a flurry of activity

>one tiny key in the company of many that opens my locker where I keep my art materials.

>one tall pillar just outside the front door casting dark shadows over any passerby

>one mysterious chain...is it art?....draped between buildings.

>one long expanse of sidewalk stretching out in front of me and flanked by scattered trees like lazy sentries

>one or two ducks fly overhead

>one busy intersection before

>one arch

>countless grains of grit and salt so that walkers fail to trip

>one stranger passes on the left (going to the art building perhaps?)

>another on the right (music major?)

>countless more, a river of students, follow, some of whom meet my eyes, others who find the mysteries of life rooted in the sidewalk....line....line....line....look up dont trip....careful....line....rock...line....destination

>two moving doors at Reed and the cluster of smokers congregating outside

>one wrapping around bench where judges sit for the....catwalk...head up!

>one sprawling mudpuddle in which the sky is captured. Springing over the mirror...

>one precarious landing

>one path to my left unchanging despite seasons cuts across lawn just to save a few steps. I'm tempted.

>one chain link fence around a beautiful building

>one makeshift stairway and

>one army man walking up, inside

>three massive guardians of trees casting long shadows over

>one sheet of ice over which I glide

>one twisting tree whose branches frame the sky.....

>ten gloved fingers simply...itching...to capture it

>one walkway suspended in air over which banners are draped. "Vote *insert name* for Homecoming Queen"

>(in spring)one dog, eyes sad, leash tied to

>one tree

>one doorway on my left. Do I want to walk inside?

>one doorway further forward. Is there any room to wait?

>one collection of trees and sleeping flowers (on my right) I am secretly, exceedingly, glad that exist

>one black metal bench to my right now covered in snow where I like to sit in Summer

>one more further on, out of sight...remembered pictures

>(always) one recollection of the warm golden light that fills and touches all things here in summer

>four couches on my left on which I could sit

>one set of stairs going upward to a maze of office space above me

>one clock on the wall....still have time

>four numbers

>four numbers

>four numbers

>four numbers

>four more

>one doorframe my fingers touch as I come around the corner

>one seat among many.....third row....center

>one podium

>one table

>three (or four) minutes until class will begin.

Word Games

Well, I had hoped to embed some videos on this blog post, but my laptop doesn't want to cooperate today. Sorry guys! But here are a few wordplay links I found to be entertaining. Dr. Sexson spoke to us about using a variety of puns and word games on our blogs. I'm not especially good at this, but these people are!!

The first video is of the International Pun Champion (yes, there is such a thing) in I believe Austin Texas. What he does is truly amazing.

The second video is of a British word game called Wordplay. This one goes out to all you Nabokovians (I know you're out there), especially those of you who read the index to Pale Fire.

Now this third video is really just for laughs. This one shows the original version of the game show Password with guest Carol Burnett. Note the name of the female contestant.......can anyone tell me where she/our professor is found in Finnegan's Wake??

Babe.....I've got you babe....

"Okay campers rise and shine! And don't forget your booties 'cause it's COOOOLD out there!!"

To be honest, I didn't know what greater enlightenment I would attain by paying any closer attention to today, Groundhog Day, over any other day of the year. Nevertheless, I diligently set my alarm for 6 am regretting only that I did not have an "I've got you babe" song to wake to. This was after a night spent catching up on homework and catching up with my sister into the wee hours of the morning. I am very sleep-deprived as I write this on what is.....now....the day AFTER Groundhog Day.

My day started rather mundanely. I followed my usual routine, even putting on a movie while I got ready for school. I had decided to simply observe, and to let the day go where it will, rather than try to force some grand realization. So I went about my normal routine with only the flashes of recollection as to the Groundhog Day significance underlying everything I did. I went to printmaking where we learned a new print process. I met friends for lunch. I drew for 4 hours in my drawing class. Then my plans changed. I had planned on attending another life drawing session (talk about the eternal return...I actually wanted to repeat the last four hours of drawing) after my first class had disbanded. Instead, a friend of mine convinced me to go to my little sisters orchestra concert. Today was a day where everything fell within the same time frame....my class, my sisters concert, a movie invitation, another movie watching invitation. Everyone planned for 7. If I was Bill Murray, and I was forced to repeat today over and over, I wonder if this would be the choice I would have to make again and again. Who do I devote my time to? Wherein lies the greatest experience? How do I live a well-rounded.....profoundly vivid....life?

Now that I reflect upon my day, I can honestly and without question state that it was a beautifully full day. Every second of consciousness, I was moving; I was productive; I had a purpose....even if that purpose was the simple appreciation of another's company. The reason we (or Bill Murray) have to repeat the same action over and over, is to learn from that action. We learn how to be the fullest version of ourselves that we possibly can be, and that person is able to transcend the cycle and move on towards even greater development. If I were compelled to repeat today, it would be that ultimate choice of who to spend my time with that I would be forced to repetitively address. Today's choices seem the best, for they led to a complete and purposeful, moreover, an enjoyable day. Perhaps my ultimate realization, if you can call it one is that, it is the people that we see and the way we interact with them that changes the day.

Portmanteau

When Dr. Sexson asked me to draw a "portmanteau" I wasnt exactly sure what that was. I went online and searched for some images to give me a better idea, but for what I saw, it seemed to be, for the most part, a leather suitcase. Here are a couple sketches as to what that should look like. I hope they work...

"Save me from those therrible prongs!"

Well, after Wednesday's little fiasco with my car door, I was ready to have a day with less stress and excitement yesterday. It was not to be. I'll make a long story short and simply say that I locked my keys in my car. I have NEVER locked my keys in my car, and suspiciously, I did this the very day after having to pry back the locking mechanism in my door? What are the odds of that?!? (1 in 3) After several hours spent figuring it out, I finally found a friend of mine who helped me break into my car. Yes....break into... my car! If the superstition is true and bad things really do come in threes....I'm absolutely terrified as to what's next. I think my car's out to get me. =D

One of those days....

Well....I've had a morning! Any of you who have been in Sexson's classes that I have attended know that I NEVER miss a day of class. The fact that I missed today is really upsetting.

After waking up rather late and reluctantly, I managed to get everything together and set off for school with enough time to make it to class....or so I thought. I drove to my favorite lot (just behind the art building) thinking there would be, as there usually are, multiple spots available. I was wrong. I circled the lot for a while....circled the next one.....and then the one even farther than that one....nothing. Well, I thought, I'll just have to park waaaaaay out there (practically off campus) and book it to class. After finally finding a parking spot (more like beating two GIANT trucks who were tailing me to the punch), I, quite naturally got out of my car and shut the door. SLAM. .....SLAM. Yep. It wouldn't shut.

The locking mechanism in the door frame was jammed down (probably due to this lovely cold snap). I had no tools with me. I tried prying it up with a key, some loose change, even some scrap metal I had rolling around in the trunk. Nothing. But in the process I managed to cut open a recent nick in my hand. Now I was getting fed up. So I called a network of friends....all of whom were either in class or didn't have a screwdriver with them to help pry it open. Understandable. Who carries a screwdriver around... just in case? After this I may be one of them. Well, no one from campus police was available, and I didn't think triple A would be much help. It was time to take matters into my own hands.

I had a length of rope in the trunk, so I decided to attempt to tie my door shut and make it home where I would have SOMETHING to help me pry that latch up. I hope that I made at least a few people laugh as I drove home, rope looped around the left side mirror then tied through the door latch, and around the drivers seat. But it worked! After the perilous, and perhaps a bit ludicrous, journey home, I was finally able to pull my car into the garage. I heated up the metal with the help of my handy blowdryer (lifesaver in all situations), and with a few hits of a screwdriver I was in business. I looked at my phone and.......yep. Class was just now letting out.

So that is why I was absent from class this morning....to my deepest regret. However, I now know how to tie my door shut quite nicely (if ever the need arises). Can't think of any other scenario where it might.