Ocean paralax; the reference point

Transcendence is integration and dissemination. The ultimate singular density of the nucleus and the ultimate emptiness of vast space, pulling opposite directions toward the same nothingness. This forms some mathematic image that probably explains time if not time travel, but I have a hard time believing it so deeply that I set the intention to truly understand it. The assumption that a serious intention manifests immediately--ie back to the future--is still to me just a concept. I lack the faith to have true intuition. It's not that I'm scared of trying just that faith takes work and I'm a lazy one.
But that's never the end of the story. We're not giver uppers. It's just that all the serious intentions I've ever set have had a built in escape hatch: time. The rate at which we have come to understand events and then build bodies and worlds that can exist in this matrix precludes, or at least discourages simultaneous inflow and outflow. But when we catch glimpses of it, when our egos forget to set objectives and we realize that the infinite happening of each moment is happening in all directions and at all moments; that's when we start to believe. But what if we never didn't believe. Don't worry child. Of course those cars just passed in opposite directions and of course they didn't crash and of course you knew they weren't going to. You were just perceiving multiple events going on in your brain at a single moment. You saw with two eyes. Not just two but ten thousand eyes. You felt with your entire haptic system the being of that moment exactly at the moment of happening. And now you want to know what it all means but you can't even remember what it was. Don't worry, little boy. That's just your soul trying to integrate itself into the universe. What happens if you let it happen?


Sent from my iPod

tzbin oil

It has hasn't it. And our really big plans, oh how differently they manifest themselves when we let ourselves fall backwards into the unknown. The clouds carry us like tides to places we can't help but have predicted but could never have carried ourselves all by ourselves. Do you know why I start every entry in this manner? What is this invocation? Well, as a matter of course, I only ever feel like typing things when it comes time to think about things. When life places me comfortably directly in between past and future and my vision into either is relaxed enough to translate something in a written-down sort of way. See. One is always the consumer. The future getting sucked in with each breath, getting metabolized and spat out as the past. And the pause between breaths, just before taking on a whole new lungful of future, that is a period of let's-say peace. Of respite? An opportunity for contemplation? A time of minimal consumption. Not very distracted, not very lazy, not even drinking coffee everyday to help my mood.
What has happened in the world since last time can be crammed into one sentence, but I will not search for that sentence. I will say this: teaching science in new york for three years is not always the best plan. Remember plans versus intentions. Look how intentions have no choice but to manifest themselves given a little time and a little faith. And plans. Well, I plan on getting a job and staying alive long enough for my intentions to make sense.
So it never hurts to state intentions.
I intend for all living creatures to reach enlightenment. That's lofty but easy to say so I say it.
I intend to spend enough time in Bali to have built a reputation, a carreer, and maybe a school there. As far as I can see, this starts with getting a job here in Providence for six months, teaching english in Seoul for like a year, and volunteering somewhere in Bali until the river carries me through the veil. That is the future.
The past holds some lessons.
There is no excuse for laziness. There are only results and we all know what they are. Failure, sickness, squalor, stagnancy. When you let those sense organs dictate your behavior the rewards are short-lived and disastrous. So, with all of the unpredictability of life, taking it all in stride does not mean inaction. Instead, flexibility and a smile, but always with purpose. If the body is still, so must be the mind. If the mind is active, let the body do something creative or difficult. Let it not erode itself and cause seasonal depression or atrophy. This is an important thing to be vigilant about as the winter approaches.
People die. And that is beautiful. Life is all the more important when there are less people living it, and death is the glorious reward for putting up with the pain of existence. Once you're through that veil, it doesn't matter what you left behind. And for those left behind, remember every moment is one step closer to that reward so is there any option but to earn that reward to the very best of your ability?
And in all things be honest and respectful. Negative emotions belong only to those experiencing them. So why make it worse for them. Why take things personally? It is one thing to protect your stance and express your inner strength, but it is very ungraceful to express anger. Let anger inform your own shortcomings and fix them before engaging others. If you find yourself concealing your actions, calmly and confidently bring them to the surface, and let them work themselves out. Conflict is a mental and social exercise, and a valuable one. The best way to make use of it is to explore it thoroughly and objectively, but not heatedly or with too much outcome in mind. Again, please, let every action be one part intention, two parts gusto and the rest pure faith. Faith in one's own intuition, faith in that of others, faith that physical laws are not predestination, but that things will work out in only the very best of an infinitude of possibilities.
Now. With all of these and other reminders kicking around in my head on a daily basis, I will ride my bike aimlessly around providence. I will have contacted no less than three jobs and one volunteer opportunity by the end of the week. I will research TEFL courses and asian living situations and ask the opinions of everyone along the way. There. Calibration complete. Onward.

Our Big Plans

"Do every day or two something for no other reason than its difficulty, so that, when the hour of dire need draws nigh, it may find you not unnerved and untrained to stand the test." –James

I got up this morning, rising with purpose. Everybody else had up and gone to work at seven in the Sunny Sunday morning, and I had the opportunity to sit silently in our Sunny Den and compose my day. Step by step, my needs came into focus. Things that need doing, distracted/tempered by things that have to be done first. It is the great Sunday question, and to think I feel like I am getting the hang of it! I managed out of the house and into K-dog where internet and the Times of New York are there with coffee and bagels. Just the place for everyone in my neighborhood who is getting or has the hang of Sundays.

Later on in life, I want to become the best public school teacher I can become in three years time, and then travel to some warm and mountainous place and learn the secrets of the earth and the methods of Animal Husbandry, and then build these masteries into a last-chance boarding school for urban emergencies. Okay? Now, I have little plans and I have big plans. Or maybe it is better just to say that I have intentions. Right? If things don't go according to Plan, then the plan has to change. But intentions are a more dynamic calibration–adaptable yet ever-present.

Mark the difference for me. Mark it, mark it.

It seems to put a maybe-satisfying spin on the boring old question of whether or not things happen on purpose. At least, for me, it makes me want to think about it again. Here is how I got from 'Sunday Morning Coming Down' to Intelligent Design:

Aside from the fact that everything leads me back to that discussion lately, and a multitude of things already written and said about dynamic equilibrium, I was just directed to learn a thing or two about Laminin, and it seemed like a very apt corollary. Laminin is basically a protein that ties our living cells to their non-living environments. (By 'our', of course, I mean animals; and by 'animals' I mean humans.) The non-living environment, also known as the basement membrane, is a network of proteins, fats and fluids that bind cells together. Just like our cells this extra-cellular matrix is made of Carbons, Hydrogens, Oxygens and Nitrogens, but unlike our cells, it does not have life unto itself. These proteins, fats and fluids are assembled by some cell and then used by other cells the way a city bus is built by some people and then used by others. In other words, our lives are completely dependent on the non-living materials we manipulate.

So laminin for example, does for the structure of a body what cement does for the foundation of a house. Dead, inert, but sturdy. Its familiar shape (see figure 1) has been invoked by many as proof of the awesome power of symbolic imagery, but for my purposes on a Sunday when thinking about purpose it is an example of microscopic tool use.

Humans are of course not the only ones who have realized that dead stuff makes a reliable home. Spiders make webs out of dead, gluey protein substances, beavers build entire lake towns with the leftover flotsam of a living forest. On and on, animal life is all about tool use, and the tools are almost always inert objects–nobody wants a hammer that gets up and walks out of the room. So laminin, collagen, keratin, melanin, and so on, towards a million billion in Life's little toolkit.

So cells use tools too. I guess the only reason this reminds me of determinism is that it is yet another reminder that Intelligent design and Random mutation are both self-disproving concepts when they are set as opposing viewpoints of nature. That is, while both of those arguments leave the details up to an ineffable or incomprehensible Other, it is nice to know that our human bodies are made in our own microscopic image. We are self-fulfilling.

One more time now: Life is not life without the nonliving things with which it surrounds itself, and I would someday like to conclude that Life can only be defined in terms of Death. But to pull it together, the difference between Making Plans and Having Intentions is close enough for me to the difference between a Life that is haphazardly melting into chaos despite its flailing and one that is purposefully carving a niche for itself and imbuing the rocks and stones with its awesome power.

You are not satisfied, but there will always be more to be satisfied later.

A little light

The affairs of God, be they balancing reactions, cyclical or spiral, predictable or stochastic, or all of the above, are beautiful to watch. I am tempted to believe that the patterns of the universe can be understood, but then every time you understand them completely, they deepen just enough to require more work. Like, we spend a lot of time seeking rest or respite, but we also spend all our time trying to avoid death, the ultimate rest and respite. Why are there two sides to everything? Because we are actually moving in two directions at once.
Like, when two things collide--hydrogen atoms, say--their opposite inertias cause a little extra spin, which I've heard is why planets form, and fly around the resulting stars, and spend all their time spinning--circles within circles; and so it is not surprising that everything on the planets is spinning just as furiously. It’s where we get all of our energy for life, and I would say it comes close to defining energy in slightly less general terms than ‘the ability to do work’. Now, when something spins, it is moving in infinite directions, but it always knows that for every direction, there is an equally true and simultaneous opposite direction.
So, with infinite directions to explore, but with life putting its intentional spin on things, there is some sort of pattern that Always seems to emerge. It resembles order, or at least you can infer some sort of order. In fact our lives are linked to this order so intimately that we sometimes have to squint to see the forest through the trees of our habituated environment. Immediate experience, as it is commonly called, is a self-contradicting concept--how can experience be immediate if we are talking about it right now?--as long as you treat it as a 'concept'. Of course we don't need to be talking about it and it still might find a way to conceptualize, thereby nullifying its existence. So a tendency to build order into our perception tends to prevail.
But, in the face of this, we leave a good portion of our affairs up to chance. 'These patterns simply cannot be understood, so let's all hope they have our best interests at heart.' Ironically, we throw up our hands pretty easily when something highlights that predictable monotony in a way that seems probabilistically unlikely, either by exceeding our suspension-of-disbelief-capacitors or just being too random. 'Why venture to understand the great order of things when its only measure is disorder?'
Well, so anyway, now here it is MLKing day, and we are 'changing the world', I've just learned. I can't wait. I mean, if I am doing my part, and I hope that I am, then I have to assume that everyone is pulling equal weight. And if everyone assumes this about everyone else, as I assume everyone does, at least somewhere, maybe, it might be enough to at least credit ourselves with changing the tide and spend all sorts of time wondering what would have happened if we hadn't done the things we had. Thank you, Mr. Obama, for raising once more this discourse in the human spirit. It is a healthy exercise. That, at least, is my ignorant assessment of my own control over destiny. Hard work and exercise. These are our response to entropy. Chaotic commitment to Order for its own sake, for the sake of taking sides the way blood cells fly to one side of a test tube in a centrifuge. A centrifuge. Around and around and around.
So where does this get us? Tomorrow's Tuesday and the next day is Wednesday. I live in a city and I won't someday. I need to buy a broom and get my bed off the floor. I should go figure out where my drum set is and get ready for my new job. Anyways I'm tired of K-dogg all of the similar little people similarly using their Holiday to read the New York Times in public. Hard work and exercise Hard work and exercise.

predicatable seasonal transitions

I have been dormant for a pair of winter months. Let's just say this is the last day of the hibernation and that the thaw will begin shortly. Whether or not the actual weather agrees with this schedule is irrelevant. Traditionally: educators--especially rookies--get rejuvenated around this time of year and I guess I'll just go ahead and buy that. It makes sense. January is kind of like the Wednesday morning of the school year.
The overwhelming sentiment so far--besides all the wonderful ups and downs and progress and adventure and excitement--has been, I can't wait for next year. But at the same time I really can wait for next year. I have learned so much so far that I would love nothing more than a clean slate, but I also know that four MORE months will probably double this feeling at least. So it makes sense. Ready for a new beginning but fully aware that I could and will become exponentially more ready by the time it actually happens.
Then again, there is pertinent news:
I have been excessed. Now, that isn't even a word. It is an aggressively-verbed form of excess, which means too much. Too much teachers! Wasn't the whole point that there was too much not enough teachers? Well that is the way in this economic climate, and maybe it would be a chance for some sort of economic hibernation (ie. not getting a new job and still getting paid, which is sort of the deal if I so choose). I could do that I suppose, but I was blessed with a principal who looks out for his own, even if 'his own' has only been around for four months. So I got hooked up with a brand new job at a five-year-old school (not a school for five-year-olds), teaching tenth-grade-science (Earth Science), fifteen-minutes-bike-ride (estimated) from my house. So, this is sort of a new beginning right in the middle of the year. I don't really know from earth science, but perhaps that will keep me on track for simply preparing students to take a standardized test. That's a horrid thought, but it makes some kind of horrid sense. They come into this system expecting coverage, and not really primed for so-called 'uncoverage' (which is the obviously-preferably-nouned version of the word uncover which means discover). So if we start with coverage, as I have learned the 'hard way', we all begin on a page entitled: This is a Classroom: get ready to Learn. It's called structure. We can always deconstruct later on, but we can't deconstruct if there's NO DAMN BASIS.
So that's that. I'm moving to a new job on February 2nd, and I'm taking the day off today to reset my calibration. One final push over at Transit Tech, and then I have 'a new lease on life', so to speak.
If this was my personal journal I would write all about growth and the organization and emergence of annual patterns of human behavior both globally and locally, but that would keep me on a tangent for longer than I can reasonably sustain here at K-Dogg's Coffee shop; and it probably wouldn't hold my interest long enough to write, let alone for anyone out there to read. Unfortunately, I have just transgressed the unspoken boundary in the otherwise limitless world of 'blog journalism', where I have hinted--hinted, mind you, until this, the next logical, perhaps, thought--as to my relationship to whatever audience this writing might have. This opens a whole can of speculation as to who I even think the audience is, and whether I am writing to anyone in particular other than myself. Again, with the hesitancy to use the pronouns you and me, I have to ask us together, what is the basis?
In the absence of faith in a so-called basis, I tend to find that faith IS the basis.

We're not gonna talk about parent teacher conferences, in fact we're not gonna talk about parents at all

First scarf day came and went, and accordingly I went and came back. Went again to Great Hollow Wilderness School, had glorious many friendly interactions and a slaughtered and stuffed, bronzed bird of beast, and made it back by 5:30 in the morning to start again the work set out for me. The youth of America then spent two weeks making me doubt the abilities of a mild mannered slacker (ie. me) in reversing the systemic momentum of bad parenting (sorry to lie in the subject line but that's the end of that I promise) and institutional injustice and oppression. Why wouldn't they assume that I'm out to get them just like everyone else does(is)?
A couple items restored my faith in the all-powerful goodness of hard work.
The main thing being this: When I used to imagine doing this for a job, I was attracted to it by the idea that maybe I could inspire one or two out of every thirty students. Really inspire them though. As in, inspire them to become great people in the world.
In the process of getting this job, training, talking, preparing, debriefing, briefing, interviewing, accommodating, and everything else, I got a little distracted by any one of several things such as: certain of my colleagues' goals and apparent effectiveness at reaching at least the success rate of whole groups rather than individuals, if not really inspiring their quest for greatness, goodness and success; also the explicit stated goal for me that every student has the chance to learn and everyone should pass, making the testgrade into the true gamut of my success and therefore happiness; and maybe also a little residual albeit never agreed-with memory of several of my peers' insistence that they would not be happy unless they were fixing the world for every one of their students. That and more.
In this mess, I forgot that original, maybe low-sighted goal of simply playing a positive role in one or two little lives. But I was reminded yesterday by this one little dude, who saw me in the hallway during my long-awaited free time of the day, and said, 'Hey mr. tote, would you tutor me?', and of course, I said, 'right now?' and he said, 'yeah. I have lunch.' And I said, 'What do you want to know?' and he said, 'anything interesting.' So I said, 'well I'm technically supposed to have tutoring hours right now anyway, so let's talk,' thought, gosh. I don't need to force my exuberance on anyone. They'll find it where they find it, and if that happens to be in my class or during my ordained tutoring hours, then I am fortunate enough to have fulfilled my modest goals in life.
Now, I have set loftier goals. It is true. But as it is I am happy today for once again without noticing it during the process, I have achieved yet another benchmark for life. Always complacent, always patient. Glory glory hallelujah.
I am surprised to find that this blog is more about me than it is about the world, considering how much the world has to offer in terms of subject matter these days.
Tuesday was an exciting night in every city in the world, and I was happy to be in one of them. It just doesn't make sense anymore to be anything but optimistic about our species. We as humans seem to be nearing a culmination or tipping point as Terrence McKenna used to say. Electing a cultural icon as a world leader during a time of crisis is just what everyone seems to want. I don't care so much about the nitty gritty political details, although I am paying closer attention to them than I used to. I just think it's nice that the entire planet got emotional about the very same thing at the very same time Tuesday night, and it was emotional on the side of hope and happiness rather than war and destruction. Walking around Tuesday night with a helpless grin and seeing the same grin on thousands of others who filled (at least) ten blocks of a city street was a profound experience that I think brought us closer as friends and families. But the world is still the world, and this closeness has to be cultivated now that our global moral compass has been re-calibrated.
But this is about me; at least it's supposed to be about me, so here's me at the moment:

Look at previous post from same day for musical incarnation of today's sentiment, brought to us by Brooklyn's Daily Strom.

ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ ओ

व्हेन इ गोत हिरेड

Fall Fashion blog post.
When I got hired, I decided I should get some pants. The Marlboro uniform needed some intentionality. A little tweak. People like it when they think you've put at least a little effort into your appearance. So I got some new pants. Then, recently, I bought two new sweaters. I decided, Fall's here for sure. Time to bundle up, in a respectable manner. So you might say I have improved my wardrobe considerably since starting this new career path. And I would say I look darn good. I'll be honest about this and tell the American people that I spent $24 per sweater. That's a total of $48 on sweaters alone. The pants ran me $10 at a thrift store on second avenue. Banana republic. Sturdy, respectable chinos. So maybe there was the new flannel I bought out of gluttonous insatiability when it comes to flannels, and we can tack on another $12 just to bring our total spendings since September to $70. I would even be willing to round that to $100 to account for maybe my most recent fedora and anything else I might have forgotten. Now, if I was running for political office, say, vice president, I might consider it a job approximately 1,500 times more important than teaching, and accordingly adjust my garment budget. But what I don't understand is, why aren't people selling Mr. Tote glasses on ebay and Mr. Tote wigs/fake beards for hundreds of dollars? I guess there is an appropriate 1,500 times de-sensationalizing of my life that accompanies me not running for a prominent position. I don't know. I guess I just wish I was getting slightly more recognition for the conservative professional, salt of the earth persona I have cultivated since becoming mildly famous to 120 people. I'm a household name gosh darnit! Why don't they sell household items with that name on them is all I'm really saying.
Well, patience. Patience and good faith.
Report on parent teacher conference night and first scarf day coming next.

नोट एवें अ मोमेंट तो ब्लिंक

Well, I am here at the morning to midnight asian convenience in east village new york city. It is 1:2o AM and I might suggest wondering why this is the situation. Well, suffice it to say, it just is. It just is. I have tea. I have cookies. No cake. I had a long and eventful day, full of new experiences, seasons, and excitements. Unfortunately, none of it quite crossed the line into story-worthy in its transferability to other people's business. Still, here I am, with only one thing to do but reflect by way of blog, and perhaps I can weave some colorful language and hyperbole together as an exercise in literary what have you.
well that was a poor start at least/best.
here's a photo of me right now to put the place to a face and both in perspective:

Ok. Now if you notice the furrowed brow, you might assume correctly that at this hour I am physically just a little thin blown. But what you might not notice is the incredible, seasonally appropriate sweater. (I am hoping to surreptitiously turn this into a fashion/food blog, considering the hope that it might attract an audience/money.)
But anyway, the internet connection at the asian convenience tea shop assumes that I want the subject line of this posting to be written in asian, but really I don't care one way or the other.
I substituted the first day of saturday school today. I woke up late and found the subway had literally shut down for the weekend. What's the alternative, I asked of some fellow passengers. They had no idea. So I went up to the street, up to Franklin ave there where the Prospect Park shuttle drops you, and noticed a couple of folks getting into a silver crown victoria. I had heard just the night before of these 'illegal cabs' and realized there simply was nothing else for it. So the next silver crown victoria I saw pull up to the corner, toot its horn and look around for a moment, I gave a wave and hopped in. I felt like a real know-it-all. So he brought me to school, even though I was tempted to ask if he would like to stop for breakfast. I didn't barter the price because I was in a rush and I had no basis, but he was definitely leaving the door open for it when he aid, 'uhhh, 18?'
I don't know from cabs.
So I was an hour late to school. But the four students in the class didn't seem to mind. One of them was the track coach and he helped me out, suggested we take a field trip up to the third floor to find some earth science books.
Since I've never taught earth science, it was an interesting experience. basically read the first sentence of the first chapter and started talking.
Began with the shape of the earth. Why it's spheroid but not a sphere. This led to about a half hour journey from the birth of the sun to the development of latitude and longitude and maps. By now there were not four but eleven students, mostly seniors, looking at me and asking about climate change. Oh boy. Here comes the idea of building a giant straw to space and hovering it exactly at sea level, so every time the water rises a vacuum sends it off into space. And what would happen if we just had less water in our system. Would it cause a chain reaction of some sort? Would the ice form an asteroid and come crashing back to earth? This was a lively and hilarious discussion. And then we played the green glass door, and they got it wen I started telling them which ones of them could get through and which could not. It was hilarious and made me want to teach seniors.
Then I had a biology class of about 20 sophomores. That was just less fun. Several of them I, I noticed, had been at summer school. Well, you must really like biology I said. So I gave them ecology up to food webs and then had them draw food webs until the end of the day. Getting them to stop throwing things wasn't easy. What a bunch of idiots. What's the point at some point?
Well, so then I had to eat something, so I stopped at daily song studios for my half a burrito from the night before, and then went to Manhattan to see I/O, a technological eletronic music/dance theatre art performance starring KimKim and several others with their own PA systems, with which they would converse using a sort of Morse code to create sound scapes using loops and crinkling potato chip bags and movement. It was funny at times, and caused a bit of beard stroking at others. Then we went to Georgio's with Mrs. KimKim for dinners, and then to the Sound genius's apt for wine drinks and talking with the director and a couple of the cast and crew, and me. Pretty random, pretty new york. The director drove us across the bridge, which pretty much brings me back to the asian convenience sushi diner, where I have set up camp to play on my computer and drink tea.

The green glass door

Yes I guess, I oughta get 'back' into a steady habit of posting relevant things rather than infrequent cerebral oozings. I wouldn’t say I ever criticized teachers for lack of collaboration or self-study, but I certainly wondered how they could get on without deep and experiential teamwork. Of course, now I understand the mindset of full-on teaching, where once the bell rings all that’s left for it is a lot of cerebral oozing. But it’s still an issue.
I spent a night and a half, and a day in between, at great hollow wilderness school, as run by Joe and Aimee, and it was very hard to leave. Pedagogy is in the air along with mountain air and mosquitoes and nature and dirt and rock climbing and compost and ropes courses and knotweed. The teachers there live in a house, sharing a bathroom and a kitchen, occupying couches and tents, and exchanging stories and word games and meals. Complete collaboration, and it had me imagining what would happen if there was that level of investment in a full time school. They do summer camp and day trips and overnights, so the 'clientele' changes pretty rapidly. But the teachers live together and go to work to play with techniques and work together to provide positive experiences for people.
So imagine if there was a school like great hollow, except for that it is a boarding school. Where the students are as invested as the teachers. Their time would be structured and they would be given no slack in the discipline department. But at the same time they would be offered unstructured activities that require them to take leadership and creativity upon themselves. The perfect balance if everyone is there all the time.
Anyway, that’s for later. What I am interested in now is going back to deep hollow again, and then again and again, seeing as how it’s not so far away. I could literally spend every weekend there, thus solving the housing crisis of sub-prime island seclusion. I don’t just want to bring kids there; I want to learn campy name games and group building activities and put a vaguely science spin on them and call that a curriculum. Along with formulas and vocabulary of course.
The future is prisons and math.
And the leaves are changing.

daily song

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like robin hood, and like jericho

Like for example on the radio, they're saying that some unknown/unnamed party snuck some language into the sketchy bailout plan that allows for 'stock injection', which is better for everyone except for the bank because it means that everyone buys a little stock in the bank rather than just buying more imaginary 'good' vibes from the bank like we're used to. It means someone in there was thinking about justice rather than just a way to help the sinners start sinning again.
It sounds to me like subtle economic super-heroism, but I am in over my head. Just that it sounds good, despite the insanity of the whole situation.

soviet so be it

I used to envy rodents. I would see them darting about and I would think, they don't have to be at work. They don't have a plan to write. Their lives are simple simple simple. They don't even wear clothes because they grow them all over themselves.
But lately, I have noted a shift in this thinking. I see a rodent ie. a squirrel, and I think, poor bugger. Has to work so hard for its food. Spends its whole life just securing food. I also must admit that most of my decisions must take the security of food into consideration, but I have so much predictability in my life, and if that fails I can really rely on the altruism of our species alot more than a squirrel can on that of squirrels. Of course people have a schizophrenic crisis of altruism vs. nihilism, but at least they're thinking about it. At least they're trying. So as I am growing, I am developing away from a sense that we are a curse on the planet, that we are the deathtoll of life on earth and that the animal kingdom is the ultimate ideal of serenity and honesty. Maybe not moving completely away from it, as these things are no doubt true, but I am in the process of adding a whole new layer to the whole situation, where we can, and -- if given the choice--most often do choose to try to show compassion and generosity.
Verily, this triumph of the spirit is more wonderful than rigid morals. Verily, strong morals are important, but they should come from a place that values goodness overall, even over self-discipline and especially over self-involvement (ie vegans). So, out of respect for the millions who believe it is our unavoidable destiny, or the billions more who have simply no choice in the matter, and the inspiration of several others who know who they are, I ate a bit of meat yasterday. I didn't like or dislike it and probably won't do it again for awhile, but I feel a little more in touch with reality. And isn't that the point after all? That and the security of food?

Blessed are the ninety and nine

Happy Holy RoShoshanna.
I am writing to the sound of sarcastic civil war drums, stationed currently in Daily Song Studios, Brooklyn, NY. It has been a few weeks, full of comings and goings. Plenty of goings, plenty going on. I think it's time to take a day for team building activities. Some improv games,or just a couple rounds of 'whoosh!' could really break up the monotony. For example, Kid 1 and Kid 2 don't even know each others names, but they really want to fight each other. Blows were almost exchanged yesterday, which was very intense. Desks were cleared and Kid 1 was ready to ruckus, and Kid 2, after a moment's hesitation was also ready. "let's go right now" I believe was the actual battle cry. Out of nowhere too. They don't even sit anywhere near each other, which gave me time to call the neccessary folks. But then I was able to maintain the rest's attention for a pep talk that lasted almost the rest of the period. But they need to see that they/we are all on the same team.
I'm working on, and I'll let us know how it goes.
Someone is moving out of this apartment building and it is making me think of wanting to move in. I don't mind Sarah Palin's backyard, but Brooklyn is more fun. Staying in my current home requires that I sacrifice completely my belief in things like fun, comfort, convenience. In favor of solitude. Deny the flesh. I like it for that, but I also like (probably more) the idea of living in Daily Song Studios, Brooklyn, NY. I can still deny the flesh here, no problem. Something else I'm looking into/have been up to.
At the moment nothing else jumps to mind a being particularly worth mentioning. But there's alot of hustle and bustle here at Daily Song Studios, Brooklyn, NY. I'll be back after the Jewish Holdiay.

squeaky chalk dust under the fingernails

Wild and wonderful! Slung down and tore up. Trampled over and under slept. Physically and mentally, just some words to describe it right now. But there's something very comforting about it all. I have no way of making my life comfortable or easy right now. Well then it's not my job to make my life comfortable or easy. I am having a constant out-of-body experience. "There's me," I say, "doing this thing that I could never do." I am aware of several discomforts from time to time, but so what? Life goes on. Life will end. Terrific.
I just have to keep it fed and it will take care of the rest.
My first period of the day is very fortunate. Since it's at 7:30 every morning, it weeds out the ones who don't want to be there, so they don't get in the way of anyone else. So the class is smaller and more receptive. Double whammy. I actually get to go off on tangents about perception and health food and college. Hopefully I can just trim the fat some other way in the other classes. Hopefully without just getting rid of people.
Which reminds me, I have some phone calls to make. Period five is getting its mother called.
Well, yuck for now, I have another appointment to keep.

Palin Comparison

Tell your rich friends:
http://www.donorschoose.org/donors/proposal.html?id=210178
Every car of the Long Island Railroad, on which I spend about 1/8 of my time, has seats that face both directions. Divided half and half. This means that I spend on average about 1/16 of my life flying through space backwards. Flying through space backwards today, I closed my eyes for a moment. In this moment I thought I might trick myself into believing I was flying forward. It took practically no convincing whatsoever. Despite what I consciously knew, there was no perceptual input to convince me of anything besides the fact that I was moving. And since the most active neurons are the ones that perceive forward movement, it was a natural default, but a pleasantly disorienting feeling. I enjoyed this feeling until I fell asleep and woke up horribly disoriented. Even when I looked out the window for a moment I had to actively assure myself that things were indeed, as we say, flowing inward (with a slight lateral movement, owing to the fact that I was looking out the window of a train; true inflow never occurs from that perspective. [a parenthetical reference to my plan of concentration]).
So, in the sensually-deprived condition of sitting on a train car backwards with my eyes closed, the fact that sight was necessary--but nearly sufficient--for correct assessment of direction reminded me of something, but I can't remember what.
More on that later. I have to run.

Marlboro High School for Urban Youngsters

the web site is under construction.

the jurnee

On my way home on Tuesday I sat on the train thinking, 'Ha! I'm a teacher.'
On my may home yesterday I sat on the train thinking, 'Ha! they pay me to teach.'
And on my way home today I sat on the train thinking, 'Ha, I dress like a teacher.'
Checkmate, right? The year's locked in. It's not easy, but it works. The train comes and goes, the day happens, situations arise and then the bell rings. And somewhere in there, some high school kids learn science. What's interesting is how comforting disenchantment can be, as long as it goes hand in hand with enchantment. Hand in hand, back and forth, hither and yon.
It's actually been suspiciously easy so far, which will change, but by then I'll have rhythm, reputation and experience. So my theory is that it will remain easy as those functions neutralize each other.
Which reminds me, I gave away the universal principle of balance yesterday.
I also gave away my hidden agenda of teaching etymology instead of biology.
I also gave away my secret opinion that those two things will pretty much guarantee success.
So far so good. Now I just have to follow through. So I will make a lesson plan every day, or five every week, and the rest of the day is a whirlwind of action and reaction of the sweetest kind.
The plan, starting next Monday: a day to cap/recap thermodynamics for more overview in support of the use of universals and the existence of a universe. Then two weeks focus on inquiry: The scientific method is thinking, slowed down. Then we learn biology through that scope.
Putting in hours, building credibility, changing lives. Whatever.
On a personal note, I learned about factorials today, as well as excessive, defective and perfect numbers. Great!

Shark attack

My first day is tomorrow. They haven't yet told me what classes I'm teaching. Let's hope they do and let's hope it's biology.
Also supposed to move into new place this weekend. I'm just going to close my eyes and scramble, and when I emerge, it will be thanksgiving.
So, we'll see.
Right now, I have an outdated, but never really outdated bumper sticker to add:

By the way,






A pretty epic team, probably the two best ever candidates for president actually on the same car magnet! But Doesn't that car magnet look suspiciously more like something else out of the corner of your eye? Just sayin.

my bleeding heart

My building is an old factory warehouse full of residences. Mice are part of the deal; something to accept, embrace, and deal with maturely. That means knowing the difference between 'having mice' and 'having a mouse problem'. It means keeping your food in containers and out of reach, and keeping the place generally free of crumbs and so forth. In other words, a mouse problem is most often a human problem first and foremost. There are those, however, who are primarily interested in preserving the sanctity of home and the sovereignty of human dominant occupation of the sanctified and purified home. Asking the questions of responsibility and acceptance do not enter into it. Seeing a mouse translates directly into eliminating the pest. It's a matter of wiring, and it's nobody's fault. However, it does not excuse the use of sticky traps. And there's, as they say, the rub...
A few days ago, our resident dog, by sniffing and acting generally questionable, alerted us to the presence of these sticky traps in our apartment, and their efficacy at catching--but not physically harming--small pesky varmint. The presumptive purpose of this type of 'pest control' is that the human now has the messy business of yanking the poor bugger's mortal coil. Maybe that's supposed to teach us a lesson, but I of course did not set the trap, and felt unfairly saddled with a moral burden. I, of course, don't need no lessons.
For help in this matter, I of course turned to Google with the question: can a mouse survive if it is coated in a layer of gunk that causes it to stick to everything?
Blogged anecdotes of the past and complaints like this one were all I found, and they all led to a depressing conclusion: there's no hope. They either suffer or you end it for them. And so, it was a tough morning. For the sad record, I opted for drowning, as I concluded that it offered the cleanest chance for the spirit to leave the body. Ample preparation and then fade, and we won't mention the panic. I gave it apology and blessing, and watched it happen, every moment, and I do believe it was better than the suggested 'whack it with a shovel' or 'toss it in the dumpster' methods.
Sure that I had done the best I knew how to do, but suspecting there was a better way, I went on with my day. I did an inspection of the apartment to make sure there were no more of these horrid traps around.
But I was less than thorough in both of my investigations, as I would find exactly 24 hours later.
So the next day, which was yesterday, I emerged from my room to find the dog behaving suspiciously yet again, and I immediately knew what was happening. So I had a lesson to learn after all. Determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past I did some deeper investigation. And apparently, a coating of vegetable oil at least causes the glue to lose its immediate effect of sticking to everything. So I peeled the victim off of its deathbed, and bathed it in oil. Lo and behold, when placed in a bucket--yes, the very bucket in which the previous mouse was sent to its doom--our second specimen now had the ability to scamper and leap. And now, I have a pet.
I have learned from this experience that it is best to investigate and analyze completely until the immediate emotional impulse--or panic--has worn off. Bob Engel once taught me this, and it therefore must apply universally. If you think your jacket has been stolen, wait a day or two before tossing around accusations, because you might find the jacket in that time. It's a lesson that will pound you over your head your entire life until you really learn it.
I am sorry to mouse number one, and thankful to mouse number two. Together, they have improved me.
So what's next for number two? Well, banking on survival, I'm thinking... class pet? For the moment, I have named it Norman 252-B.

multipicture gardenpost

8:30 am

two-picture photopost

sum'd summer














and

oh those shadows.

I blended some roots for the ancient herbal strategy of sleepytime tea, but didn't have lucid dreams all night long, nor do I ever expect a plant to offer such a gift anymore since college, incidentally where I did all of my lucidifying practices.
I do expect myself to take better control of my physical-mental state as a monk this year. Working hard is good for the spiritual state and love is good for the emotional state, but concentration and exercise are the two parts that need to be honed for a 'well-rounded' existence. And all of course are good for each other, hence the image of a circle invoked by the cliche.
---
Just to make sure we're all on track here, I have secured employment in the big city of new york at East New York Transit Tech High School, where will I teach Biology, and did practice during summer school there. That will offer many details for this story.
I spent the summer in a converted warehouse in greenpoint brooklyn, which offered a great place for if I was a starving artist, and plenty of roof space for my vegetable garden; more on that later, with pictures I'm sure also.
But moving on I decide today that the city is as the city does, and I would rather live in a cabin on long island; to hell with the commute.
So that's what I've been up to. I cook and clean and have gone to ikea twice since it came to brooklyn.

In lieu of a substantive post, I bring to the table a proverb:

"An imperfectly fronded souls
sells its buttons downstream."

What I'm up to right now

I just finished a day of teaching biology to middle school students. I am now using iTunes to watch a very old James Watson tell the story of how he figured out genetics using tinker toys. This is the hardest time of year to be a substitute. For two weeks I am teaching at a harmless Christian private school where you can get kids to stay in their seats if you threaten to tell their parents. But even though it's the end of May, and most of these kids are probably writing these two weeks off and resenting any learning that slips past their guard, I still want them to care. Even though I don't take it personally because they're not my kids, and they have already decided that school=slave labor, I wish they would feel differently about my class. More appropriately I wish they would feel differently about all of their classes.
I am in the Science Lab, and school has been dismissed. Echoing down the hall is the triumphant sound of the choir practicing its songs for Jesus. A moment ago it was a piano tune with a solo vocalist singing a dramatic praise and now it's a pop punk message of telling the world some sort of good news because 'some people haven't heard.' This is the school I attended, and I remember the feeling very well. As a student, the only redeeming factor of the whole experience is that there's other chumps in the mess with you. Misery loves company. And ironically, in this case, it does not love Jesus, because Jesus is the ultimate symbol of arbitrary authority. Not a symbol of compassion, but a contradictory trap that makes life for these poor schmucks quite hopeless. But this is a religious place, and they Expect you to Love Jesus. They Expect you to spread the good news. But a vast majority of these kids don't see the news as good, so they take on the mindset of 'just survive. Avoid detention until you're old enough to make your own decisions.' In addition to just being a stupid kid and doing stupid kid things with other stupid kids, my main activity at this middle school was silently repeating the mantra 'wait till I'm older.'
Interestingly, there was always an asterisks accompanying this thought, and that was this: 'if there is such a thing...' In other words, if there is a world by the time I am old enough to do things differently, and if the rules are still the same, and if I am not dead... (probably a result of the indoctrination of the 'end of the world' concept as shown through the book of Revelation; an interesting point, as I am asked daily if I think Revelation is going on right now, or if I know how the world will end...)
Well, here I am. Not only did I make it to the eighth grade, through High School and even through College, The Rules Are The Same And I Am In Charge. So I think that's something worth thinking about... The very first thing I ever wanted to change about the world was how terrible and contradictory school is, and here I am, in a position to change it and I am mostly just trying to survive. Interesting. I guess that's why we have faith. Approximate bearings led me here and I must have faith in those approximate bearings to lead this experiment to success.