Sanitarium?

Friday, 31 May 2002

5.31.02 EXT. NORTH QUAD 8:50am DAY

if i were to go to a san­i­tar­i­um and com­mit my­self in­to their care for no rea­son ex­cept that i ‘felt like it’ would they take me? the on­ly ab­nor­mal­i­ty i would have would be my de­sire to com­mit my­self to a san­i­tar­i­um. i’m not crazy. but then again what sane per­son puts them­selves in a san­i­tar­i­um for no rea­son? if i think i am mad, am i mad? does it work as a self-ful­fill­ing prophe­cy, a re­verse catch-22? sort of like sam fuller’s flik Shock Corridor, where this grahzny re­porter type veck (oops that was yes­ter­day) sneaks in­to an asy­lum to find a mur­der­er and ends up one wave short of a ship­wreck (name that song folks…) him­self.

A Clockwork Orange

Thursday, 30 May 2002

5.30.02 INT. NIEUWLAND SCIENCE BUILDING 2:14pm DAY

it took awhile to get used to the malenky slovos in A Clockwork Orange but on­ce i got it through my gul­liv­er to un­der­stand what it meant to go out with your droo­gies and use your rook­er in or­der to tol­chock some grahzny veck and smeck about while the red red krovvy flows due to a few knocks on the lit­so (i’m de­scrib­ing ul­tra-vi­o­lence), go­ing and find­ing some de­votchka with re­al hor­row­show grood­ies and razrezz her plat­ties and get a lit­tle bit of the old in-out in-out, and grab some pret­ty pol­ly (or cut­ter, o my broth­ers) to put in the car­mans of my plat­ties, it filled my mozg with vi­sions of Bog and All the Heavenly Saints with fas­ci­na­tion. i vid­died very hor­ror­show the type of vesch that Burgess was go­ing for.

A Clockwork Orange func­tions on mul­ti­ple lev­els of mean­ing and seemed to me to fluc­tu­ate back and forth over nor­mal pro­saic forms and rad­i­cal ex­per­i­men­tal struc­tures. there are echoes of Orwell’s 1984 and a bit of the com­ing of age of A Separate Peace. but on the whole it seems that Burgess cre­ates a provoca­tive look at the ef­fects of a fu­ture in which a so­ci­ety has the pow­er to ‘med­ical­ly’ force con­for­mi­ty on a per­son. this re­sults in a to­tal in­abil­i­ty of the brain­washed in­di­vid­u­al to func­tion. (i be­lieve the un­der­ly­ing po­si­tion of this is that life = vi­o­lence and strug­gle = nat­u­ral com­pe­ti­tion). so when some­one is phys­i­cal­ly un­able to com­pete, they are de­stroyed. read it my malenky lit­tle droogs and ptit­sas.

MovableType?

Wednesday, 29 May 2002

5.29.02 INT. HESBURGH COMPUTER CLUSTER 10:08am DAY

more goof­ing around on my blog. i might down­load this pro­gram called move­able type. it is free and sup­pos­ed­ly will make my page a lit­tle more or­ga­nized. i al­so did a lit­tle re­search in­to my spir­it guide, but there is very lit­tle on the net about jakalopes. al­though i did find a cou­pla pic­tures.

man, hu­mans are strange.

what is your fa­vorite myth­i­cal beast?

Two Girls

Tuesday, 28 May 2002

5.28.02 EXT. NORTH QUAD 4-6pm yes­ter­DAY

yes­ter­day was sur­pris­ing­ly en­joy­able. i went and lay out in the sun for a cou­ple of hours and when i woke up there was a pret­ty girl lay­ing about ten feet away from me. SHE struck up a con­ver­sa­tion with ME! then lat­er on i was play­ing fris­bee golf with seth and ANOTHER pret­ty girl asked to join in. what hap­pens here dur­ing the sum­mer? any­way fris­bee golf was re­al­ly fun.

INT. HESBURGH COMPUTER CLUSTER 9:30am DAY

af­ter surf­ing the net for 3 hours i de­cid­ed to con­tin­ue read­ing A Clockwork Orange which is a pret­ty black com­e­dy on­ce you get used to the slang. The Book of Five Rings was in­ter­est­ing and needs con­tin­u­ing re­flec­tion and prac­tice, un­til i will un­der­stand it.

i’m tired of writ­ing about the minis­cule de­tails of my life and would much rather dis­cuss deep philo­soph­i­cal things, but right now it is pour­ing down rain and the sun is shin­ing at the same time. why pon­der the mys­ter­ies of life when you can just watch it flow be­fore you. i love rain.

How to Kill a Crayon

Monday, 27 May 2002

5.27.02 INT. 450 SIEGFRIED, ADAM’S BED, THE ASSCRACK OF DAWN

i woke up last night hang­ing halfway out of my bed (head­first) with my eyes stuck to­geth­er with gunk and my tongue fused to the roof of my mouth since all mois­ture in my mouth had evap­o­rat­ed. i had been hav­ing a nor­mal dream in which i was read­ing a pam­phlet en­ti­tled “How to Kill a Crayon,” com­plete with di­a­grams and pic­tures show­ing the end re­sult of the “ter­mi­nat­ed wax mod­ule.” (even in my dreams the per­son­al na­ture of death is ob­scured by bu­reau­crat­ic jar­gon). any­way, i walked down the hall and drank about a half gal­lon of wa­ter then re­turned to my nest to com­plete my night’s rest. i think my dream is re­lat­ed to my cur­rent read­ing, which is all about how to live your life and kill peo­ple with a katana (i think i want to be a wan­der­ing samu­rai or ron­in). not be­cause i want to kill peo­ple (or crayons) but be­cause i think it is sexy (like pre­tend­ing to be the Terminator is sexy). (i like paren­the­ses).

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Sunday, 26 May 2002

5.26.02 EXT. MOD QUAD. 6:03pm DAY

i think the ex­treme con­ser­vatism here at Notre Dame has made more of a lib­er­al out of me. the hypocrisy, bu­reau­cra­cy, and op­pres­sive na­ture of ‘tra­di­tion’ that i am con­stant­ly faced with has slow­ly forced me from my rather apo­lit­i­cal fence­sit­ting in­to a slight­ly more rad­i­cal stance where i wel­come ef­fec­tive change and re­bel­lion again­st blind, stag­nant, pa­tron­iz­ing au­thor­i­ty. per­haps i am wrong and my lib­er­al arts (even though it isn’t called that here) ed­u­ca­tion has changed me…

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was a good read. i wasn’t ex­pect­ing to be con­front­ed with the ex­ten­sive philo­soph­i­cal dis­cus­sion that it con­tains, but it was much eas­ier to un­der­stand than say, Descartes “Discourse on Method.” The sto­ry­line is very good and i could have used more of it, but i un­der­stand that it mere­ly func­tions as a frame to con­tain and di­rect the in­quiry in­to val­ues. i would def­i­nite­ly rec­om­mend that you read it, but be pre­pared to have your ways of thought chal­lenged on a fun­da­men­tal lev­el.

there is a new link in ‘peo­ple’ to some rat­bas­tard and an­oth­er one in the ‘oth­er’ sec­tion to all my po­et­ry (which sucks and you’ve al­ready read be­fore).

Applied Philosophy

Saturday, 25 May 2002

5.25.02 INT. HESBURGH COMPUTER CLUSTER KIOSK 1:42pm DAY

i know why i like an­thro­pol­o­gy so much. i think i have fi­nal­ly un­der­stood the holism of an­thro­pol­o­gy. an­thro­pol­o­gy is ap­plied phi­los­o­phy. i’ve read so many things that de­scribe types of be­hav­ior and dis­cus­sions of what de­fines re­al­i­ty, etc that seem to­tal­ly un­aware that an­thro­pol­o­gists deal with the­se con­cepts as a mat­ter of course, not on­ly meta­phys­i­cal, but doc­u­ment­ed and ob­served in a va­ri­ety of cul­tures. i was dis­cussing with Hani the oth­er day about con­cep­tions of re­al­i­ty and this man named Rorty says every­one has their own re­al­i­ty, some­thing sim­i­lar is posit­ed in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. i heard/​read the­se things and thought…of course! the re­al­i­ty i know is struc­tured from the so­ci­ety and mythos i am sur­round­ed by. my re­la­tion­ship as sub­ject to ob­ject, “Quality” in the book, is de­ter­mined by the as­so­ci­a­tions learned and ex­pe­ri­enced by ex­is­tence. those who are ter­med ‘in­sane’ are those whose learn­ing and ex­pe­ri­ence have formed ana­logues that are sig­nif­i­cant­ly dif­fer­ent from the so­ci­etal norm. their re­al­i­ty is not invalid…just dif­fer­ent. the con­flict aris­es be­cause the re­al­i­ties can­not co­ex­ist and re­main in har­mony.

af­ter that di­gres­sion i will at­tempt to be suc­cinct.

i think when­ev­er a new philo­soph­i­cal ar­gu­ment aris­es, the per­son who comes up with it should head to their lo­cal an­thro­pol­o­gist to find out if there is doc­u­men­ta­tion of the be­lief sys­tem in the re­al­ly re­al world.

chances are there is.

the more i shuf­fle my an­thro­po­log­i­cal knowl­edge and sup­ple­ment it with oth­er forms, the more i un­der­stand what the hell hu­mans are.