We are all filled with a longing for the wild. There are few culturally sanctioned antidotes for this yearning. We were taught to feel shame for such a desire. We grew our hair long and used it to hide our feelings. But the Shadow of Wild Woman still lurks behind us during our days and in our nights. No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed.
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Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Phd. Foreward.
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Friday, August 08, 2008
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Tom Noyes
The universe is a barbershop quartet, one ongoing medley that won’t be interrupted, even for applause. When you get a red light, someone else gets a green, and it is good. The traffic flows. If you dig a hole, the next thing you do is fill it up. You inhale then you exhale. Too fast you faint, too slow you suffocate. You stay in step despite yourself.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
drabble
The apples were shining with the condensation of early morning sunlight. Overhead, a distant crow called forlornly into the crisp air. From somewhere off in the distance came the whistling lull of cars passing through puddles.
George laid on his back, looking up at the light reflecting off of the leaves and fruit above him. His back was stiff and cold with the chill of morning. It almost ached beneath him (or was it inside him?) as he breathed disappearing wisps of smoky breath. He had no knowledge of how long he had been laying there. The dullness of his bones made him feel that he had been there most of the last night.
Last night there had been cider, spiked cider. There had been the taste of apple pie on a lover's lips, sugary and sweet, warm like a kitchen fire. Last night there had also been yelling. Had there been a fight?
Yes, George thought, pulling a night's worth of spiderwebs off this memories. There had been a fight.
This solid memory awash in a morning that seemed so cold and frail, moved George to sit upright. The spinning of his head reinforced the memory of spiked cider. He looked at his hands. Bruises there reinforced the conviction of the fight. A knuckle, swollen and red so that it resembled a crabapple, throbbed steadily beneath its frigid dullness.
George laid on his back, looking up at the light reflecting off of the leaves and fruit above him. His back was stiff and cold with the chill of morning. It almost ached beneath him (or was it inside him?) as he breathed disappearing wisps of smoky breath. He had no knowledge of how long he had been laying there. The dullness of his bones made him feel that he had been there most of the last night.
Last night there had been cider, spiked cider. There had been the taste of apple pie on a lover's lips, sugary and sweet, warm like a kitchen fire. Last night there had also been yelling. Had there been a fight?
Yes, George thought, pulling a night's worth of spiderwebs off this memories. There had been a fight.
This solid memory awash in a morning that seemed so cold and frail, moved George to sit upright. The spinning of his head reinforced the memory of spiked cider. He looked at his hands. Bruises there reinforced the conviction of the fight. A knuckle, swollen and red so that it resembled a crabapple, throbbed steadily beneath its frigid dullness.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
EB fun.
Nick: Dostoevsky gets me hard.
My response, via email:
Note from the Underground:
A Nasty story of the insulted and humiliated Idiot possessed the raw youth as dictated in a writer's diary in the village of stepanchikovo, poor folk. Pulled a double on Netochka Nezvanova, so he had to take some crime and punishment, but he always was a gambler. Now he's off in the house of the dead.
What a major piece of work!
My response, via email:
Note from the Underground:
A Nasty story of the insulted and humiliated Idiot possessed the raw youth as dictated in a writer's diary in the village of stepanchikovo, poor folk. Pulled a double on Netochka Nezvanova, so he had to take some crime and punishment, but he always was a gambler. Now he's off in the house of the dead.
What a major piece of work!
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Oh Proes!!2!!
Thomas stared at her blankly. This was too much.
"Jen, I can't take this," He said again.
She placed her hands on the desk. Her fingernails clicked on the wooden surface, "Why? Don't want it?"
"No, it would just..." Thomas leaned back against the doorframe. The letter dangled from his right hand.
"It would be inappropriate," Jennifer finished for him.
Thomas let his knees buckle and slowly sank to the floor. A ball of fur attached itself to his slacks, but he didn't notice.
The cat turned its head and looked at them. Grey whiskers bristled and its tongue darted out to taste the air.
Jennifer began to drum her fingers on the deak. The clicking of her nails filled the room.
"I understand that you're upset," Thomas said, bringing his hands to his knees, "I'm sorry."
Jennifer stared at him. Her ice blue eyes bore into his. She had set her mouth in a line and her pale skin looked as if it was made of stone.
"You broke up with me, remember?" Thomas said, not moving his eyes from hers.
The cat suddenly stood. It walked between them and out th door. Neither of them moved. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed, it echoed.
"Yes," Jennifer replied. She looked away from him. Her fingers stopped drumming on the desk. She brought her hands to her lap and pulled the sleeves of her blouse over them. Her fingers began to twist and wring the cuffs. It made a soft rustling noise.
Thomas straightened his back. He folded the letter again and placed it on the floor beside him.
Jennifer looked at the letter. The lightness of the paper reflected on the hardwood floor. Softly, she asked, "Would you like to know why I kept it?"
Thomas looked at her and then the letter. It was next to his right shoe. "Do I want to know?"
With a creak, Jennifer rose and walked over to Thomas. She leaned against the wall next to him and dropped into a sitting position. She drew her knees to her chest. The letter was on the floor between them.
"It gave me hope," she said slowly, "I never really believed someone like you could love me, at all. After you left, it was the only thing to remind me that you did."
Thomas stared ahead.
Jennifer looked at her and Thomas' feet. She was wearing an old pair of tennis shoes that had begun to grey. The shoelaces were frayed. Thomas was wearing a pair of brown leather shoes, meticulously polished. They began to swim in her vision as her eyes filled with tears.
"I didn't send you a wedding invitation," Thomas said. He let his head fall back to rest against the wall.
"I understand," Jennifer said. A tear escaped and she blinked. Two wet streaks began to extend from her eyes.
"I figured you would be too proud to come," Thomas went on, "but it bother me that I couldn't have someone there who meant so much to me."
He brought his hand up and ran it through his hair. It began to stick up. He looked over at her. He saw the wet streaks and his hand instinctively reached over and touched them.
She turned, facing him. Their eyes locked. She brought her hand up and placed it over his. She dimly noticed how large his hand was. It covered her whole cheek.
They kissed softly. His full lips met hers. Niether seemed to move. They held themselves together for a long time.
Thomas pulled away first. He withdrew his hand and stood. He walked over to the bed and grabbed his coat, pulling it on over one shoulder.
"Tom?" Jennifer asked, wrapping her arms about her knees.
He walked in front of her. She looked up at him.
"I'm sorry, Jennifer, but I've got to get going. I'm meeting somebody for dinner," he said, pulling his leather gloves out of his pockets and putting them on.
She rose as he passed to the doorway.
"Tell her I said hello," she called softly and he was gone.
"Jen, I can't take this," He said again.
She placed her hands on the desk. Her fingernails clicked on the wooden surface, "Why? Don't want it?"
"No, it would just..." Thomas leaned back against the doorframe. The letter dangled from his right hand.
"It would be inappropriate," Jennifer finished for him.
Thomas let his knees buckle and slowly sank to the floor. A ball of fur attached itself to his slacks, but he didn't notice.
The cat turned its head and looked at them. Grey whiskers bristled and its tongue darted out to taste the air.
Jennifer began to drum her fingers on the deak. The clicking of her nails filled the room.
"I understand that you're upset," Thomas said, bringing his hands to his knees, "I'm sorry."
Jennifer stared at him. Her ice blue eyes bore into his. She had set her mouth in a line and her pale skin looked as if it was made of stone.
"You broke up with me, remember?" Thomas said, not moving his eyes from hers.
The cat suddenly stood. It walked between them and out th door. Neither of them moved. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed, it echoed.
"Yes," Jennifer replied. She looked away from him. Her fingers stopped drumming on the desk. She brought her hands to her lap and pulled the sleeves of her blouse over them. Her fingers began to twist and wring the cuffs. It made a soft rustling noise.
Thomas straightened his back. He folded the letter again and placed it on the floor beside him.
Jennifer looked at the letter. The lightness of the paper reflected on the hardwood floor. Softly, she asked, "Would you like to know why I kept it?"
Thomas looked at her and then the letter. It was next to his right shoe. "Do I want to know?"
With a creak, Jennifer rose and walked over to Thomas. She leaned against the wall next to him and dropped into a sitting position. She drew her knees to her chest. The letter was on the floor between them.
"It gave me hope," she said slowly, "I never really believed someone like you could love me, at all. After you left, it was the only thing to remind me that you did."
Thomas stared ahead.
Jennifer looked at her and Thomas' feet. She was wearing an old pair of tennis shoes that had begun to grey. The shoelaces were frayed. Thomas was wearing a pair of brown leather shoes, meticulously polished. They began to swim in her vision as her eyes filled with tears.
"I didn't send you a wedding invitation," Thomas said. He let his head fall back to rest against the wall.
"I understand," Jennifer said. A tear escaped and she blinked. Two wet streaks began to extend from her eyes.
"I figured you would be too proud to come," Thomas went on, "but it bother me that I couldn't have someone there who meant so much to me."
He brought his hand up and ran it through his hair. It began to stick up. He looked over at her. He saw the wet streaks and his hand instinctively reached over and touched them.
She turned, facing him. Their eyes locked. She brought her hand up and placed it over his. She dimly noticed how large his hand was. It covered her whole cheek.
They kissed softly. His full lips met hers. Niether seemed to move. They held themselves together for a long time.
Thomas pulled away first. He withdrew his hand and stood. He walked over to the bed and grabbed his coat, pulling it on over one shoulder.
"Tom?" Jennifer asked, wrapping her arms about her knees.
He walked in front of her. She looked up at him.
"I'm sorry, Jennifer, but I've got to get going. I'm meeting somebody for dinner," he said, pulling his leather gloves out of his pockets and putting them on.
She rose as he passed to the doorway.
"Tell her I said hello," she called softly and he was gone.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Oh Proes!!1!!
Thomas O'Connor entered the room with a heavy step. He took off his hat and let it linger in his fingers for a moment before setting it on the desk. His blue eyes searched the room quickly and efficiently. It was dirty. A bookshelf covered the northern wall, filled with old tomes and pictures frames that were dusty. There was a cluttered desk covered in papers and books that lay to the south and against the western wall was a small bed with a tattered blue blanket. All of this was illuminated by the sun that streamed in from the east window. It was almost midday.
Walking a few steps in, Thomas removed his dress coat and turned it inside out with his leather gloved hands. He could not think of a place to put it down. A thin layer of dust had settled over the room and its contents and the fur of an absent cat had clumped together in all of the ignored nooks and corners.
"Hello Thomas," said a voice behind him.
He turned to face the woman who stood in the door. She was clad in a pair of old jeans. They had some tears that were fraying on her calves. Her shirt was slightly wrinkled. She wore no makeup and her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a halfhearted bun; tendrils of brown escaped here and there.
"Hello Jennifer," Thomas replied. He played with the coat in his hands.
"Well, make yourself at home. I can't have you standing about when you've traveled so much today," Jennifer said, taking his coat into her hands. She walked across the room and put it on the bed. Thomas took off his leather gloves and put them in the pockets of his brown slacks.
He sat quietly on a rickety chair that stood by the desk. The wood creaked beneath his weight. Jennifer smiled at him and walked back across the room until she leaned against the doorframe opposite him. She leaned back and slowly let herself drop into a sitting position on the floor.
"You're looking well," Jennifer said, placing her hands on her knees.
Thomas nodded in thanks. There was a brief silence. Jennifer moved her arms to her sides and let her hands rest on the floor. She reconsidered this a moment later and returned them to her knees. Thomas picked a stray cat hair off of his hunter green sweater.
"Things have been busy around here this fall," Jennifer said, "Mom's been trying to finish her Master's degree online and my sister has been busy with my nephew. He's starting first grade next year. Amanda's trying to get him to learn the alphabet ahead of time, but he has trouble remembering anything past P," She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I don't think he'll ever be a librarian."
Thomas leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Daniel says that kids today get too much stimulation. They have so many things presented to them incessantly that they can't even begin to desire to retain anything. There's always something shiny, obnoxious, and new to distract them."
Jennifer considered this. Her eyes, also blue, seemed to focus inward momentarily and then she replied, "I suppose, but I think a lot of stimulation is good. You can't ever learn anything if you're not exposed to anything. And, you can't ever be interested in something if you don't know it's there, you know?"
Thomas began to drum his fingers on the desk. The soft rhythm quietly supported him as he asked, "How's your brother doing?"
With a quick snort, Jennifer replied, "Oh, he does what he wants. It makes him happy."
A grey tabby cat sauntered into the room. Upon seeing the two of them it began to purr loudly. Jennifer extended a hand and the cat nuzzled it. Bits of pink showed as it ran its muzzle across her palm.
"This is Copernicus. He's my room mate," Jennifer said with a smile. Dimples formed in her cheeks.
Eyeing the cat, Thomas asked, "When did Galileo die?"
The cat's ears swiveled around after he had spoken. A yellow eye turned on him. Then, purring loudly, the cat walked over to Thomas and starting rubbing the length of its body on his leg.
Thomas shifted his leg a little and the cat followed it. With a soft sound, the cat plopped onto Thomas' shoe. It looked up at him, still purring, and twitched its tail.
Jennifer shifted again. She crossed her legs and straightened her back. "He died three years ago. It was a few months after you left."
Thomas stopped drumming his fingers. Not wanting to look at Jennifer, he bent over and reluctantly began to pet the cat. "I'm sorry to hear that. I liked the thing."
Jennifer laughed, "You hated him. Remember when he used your bookcase as a scratching post? You wanted me to get rid of him. You told me to get a fish."
The cat, enjoying Thomas' attention, purred louder.
"It was an antique," Thomas said, "Anyway; I never made you get rid of it. I even let it sleep in the bed once, when you had that nasty cold," he laughed, "There were tissues all over the place and you drank all of the green tea. I made you chicken noodle soup, remember? And we laughed because I'd forgotten that you're a vegetarian."
Jennifer, laughing, reached over and began to pet the cat as well. Accidentally, her hand brushed against Thomas'. They looked at each other. Thomas sat up and began to pick cat hair off of the cuffs of his sweater.
"How is your fiancée?" Jennifer asked. She kept her eyes on the cat.
Thomas shifted in his seat. He replied, matter-of-factly, "Doing well. We're going to the orchestra with her parents next week."
Jennifer smiled politely, "How lovely. I've heard that the orchestra is sounding wonderful this season."
The cat, bored suddenly, stood and walked over to the bookshelf and began to groom itself. Jennifer brought her hands to her knees.
“Her father keeps telling me that we should have a Catholic wedding, but Heather doesn't think that's a good idea. She doesn't want the ceremony to be too long and have the guests sitting there bored."
"She's anxious to be Mrs. O'Connor," Jennifer said. She followed the cat with her eyes. It was grooming its tail.
Smiling, Thomas stood. He walked over to the bookshelf and ran his fingertips over the spines of the dusty tomes. Then, he ran the fingertip of his index finger over the glass of a picture frame. It left a streak.
Jennifer stood and leaned against the doorframe. She crossed her arms. After a moment, she walked over to the desk. The sound of rustling paper filled the room. Thomas turned to watch. "What are you looking for?" He asked.
Searching a moment more, Jennifer grabbed a slightly yellowed piece of paper. It was folded into a small square. She turned to face Thomas, "Here, I'd like you to have this."
After giving her a confused glance, Thomas took the piece of paper in his hand and looked at it. It felt fragile. He recognized his handwriting. "What is this?"
Jennifer sat in the chair. It creaked. "It's the letter you wrote me from Cambridge," she said coolly.
Thomas unfolded the paper and began to read it quietly to himself. His lips formed the words silently. He did this for about a minute and then said, "Jen, I can't take this. I wrote it for you."
Jennifer looked him in the eyes. He noticed how blue her eyes were. No, he had known that. He'd just forgotten.
"I know what it says. I don't need it," She said crisply.
Walking a few steps in, Thomas removed his dress coat and turned it inside out with his leather gloved hands. He could not think of a place to put it down. A thin layer of dust had settled over the room and its contents and the fur of an absent cat had clumped together in all of the ignored nooks and corners.
"Hello Thomas," said a voice behind him.
He turned to face the woman who stood in the door. She was clad in a pair of old jeans. They had some tears that were fraying on her calves. Her shirt was slightly wrinkled. She wore no makeup and her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a halfhearted bun; tendrils of brown escaped here and there.
"Hello Jennifer," Thomas replied. He played with the coat in his hands.
"Well, make yourself at home. I can't have you standing about when you've traveled so much today," Jennifer said, taking his coat into her hands. She walked across the room and put it on the bed. Thomas took off his leather gloves and put them in the pockets of his brown slacks.
He sat quietly on a rickety chair that stood by the desk. The wood creaked beneath his weight. Jennifer smiled at him and walked back across the room until she leaned against the doorframe opposite him. She leaned back and slowly let herself drop into a sitting position on the floor.
"You're looking well," Jennifer said, placing her hands on her knees.
Thomas nodded in thanks. There was a brief silence. Jennifer moved her arms to her sides and let her hands rest on the floor. She reconsidered this a moment later and returned them to her knees. Thomas picked a stray cat hair off of his hunter green sweater.
"Things have been busy around here this fall," Jennifer said, "Mom's been trying to finish her Master's degree online and my sister has been busy with my nephew. He's starting first grade next year. Amanda's trying to get him to learn the alphabet ahead of time, but he has trouble remembering anything past P," She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I don't think he'll ever be a librarian."
Thomas leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Daniel says that kids today get too much stimulation. They have so many things presented to them incessantly that they can't even begin to desire to retain anything. There's always something shiny, obnoxious, and new to distract them."
Jennifer considered this. Her eyes, also blue, seemed to focus inward momentarily and then she replied, "I suppose, but I think a lot of stimulation is good. You can't ever learn anything if you're not exposed to anything. And, you can't ever be interested in something if you don't know it's there, you know?"
Thomas began to drum his fingers on the desk. The soft rhythm quietly supported him as he asked, "How's your brother doing?"
With a quick snort, Jennifer replied, "Oh, he does what he wants. It makes him happy."
A grey tabby cat sauntered into the room. Upon seeing the two of them it began to purr loudly. Jennifer extended a hand and the cat nuzzled it. Bits of pink showed as it ran its muzzle across her palm.
"This is Copernicus. He's my room mate," Jennifer said with a smile. Dimples formed in her cheeks.
Eyeing the cat, Thomas asked, "When did Galileo die?"
The cat's ears swiveled around after he had spoken. A yellow eye turned on him. Then, purring loudly, the cat walked over to Thomas and starting rubbing the length of its body on his leg.
Thomas shifted his leg a little and the cat followed it. With a soft sound, the cat plopped onto Thomas' shoe. It looked up at him, still purring, and twitched its tail.
Jennifer shifted again. She crossed her legs and straightened her back. "He died three years ago. It was a few months after you left."
Thomas stopped drumming his fingers. Not wanting to look at Jennifer, he bent over and reluctantly began to pet the cat. "I'm sorry to hear that. I liked the thing."
Jennifer laughed, "You hated him. Remember when he used your bookcase as a scratching post? You wanted me to get rid of him. You told me to get a fish."
The cat, enjoying Thomas' attention, purred louder.
"It was an antique," Thomas said, "Anyway; I never made you get rid of it. I even let it sleep in the bed once, when you had that nasty cold," he laughed, "There were tissues all over the place and you drank all of the green tea. I made you chicken noodle soup, remember? And we laughed because I'd forgotten that you're a vegetarian."
Jennifer, laughing, reached over and began to pet the cat as well. Accidentally, her hand brushed against Thomas'. They looked at each other. Thomas sat up and began to pick cat hair off of the cuffs of his sweater.
"How is your fiancée?" Jennifer asked. She kept her eyes on the cat.
Thomas shifted in his seat. He replied, matter-of-factly, "Doing well. We're going to the orchestra with her parents next week."
Jennifer smiled politely, "How lovely. I've heard that the orchestra is sounding wonderful this season."
The cat, bored suddenly, stood and walked over to the bookshelf and began to groom itself. Jennifer brought her hands to her knees.
“Her father keeps telling me that we should have a Catholic wedding, but Heather doesn't think that's a good idea. She doesn't want the ceremony to be too long and have the guests sitting there bored."
"She's anxious to be Mrs. O'Connor," Jennifer said. She followed the cat with her eyes. It was grooming its tail.
Smiling, Thomas stood. He walked over to the bookshelf and ran his fingertips over the spines of the dusty tomes. Then, he ran the fingertip of his index finger over the glass of a picture frame. It left a streak.
Jennifer stood and leaned against the doorframe. She crossed her arms. After a moment, she walked over to the desk. The sound of rustling paper filled the room. Thomas turned to watch. "What are you looking for?" He asked.
Searching a moment more, Jennifer grabbed a slightly yellowed piece of paper. It was folded into a small square. She turned to face Thomas, "Here, I'd like you to have this."
After giving her a confused glance, Thomas took the piece of paper in his hand and looked at it. It felt fragile. He recognized his handwriting. "What is this?"
Jennifer sat in the chair. It creaked. "It's the letter you wrote me from Cambridge," she said coolly.
Thomas unfolded the paper and began to read it quietly to himself. His lips formed the words silently. He did this for about a minute and then said, "Jen, I can't take this. I wrote it for you."
Jennifer looked him in the eyes. He noticed how blue her eyes were. No, he had known that. He'd just forgotten.
"I know what it says. I don't need it," She said crisply.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
My next argument for Phil 334
If pirates are better than ninjas then they will meet more of the revised criteria for awesomeness than ninjas.
Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.
P1 – Wearing all black is cool.
A.Ninjas wear all black due to the need for stealth.
B.Pirates can''''t wear black because it is bleached out by the sun.
C. Wearing black is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P2 – The habit of having a parrot on your shoulder is cool.
A.Ninjas generally do not have parrots. There are no parrots in Japan.
B.Pirates have a tradition of wearing parrots on their shoulders.
C.Having a parrot on your shoulder is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P3 – Having your own refined fighting style is cool.
A.Ninjas know Kung F u. Kung Fu is a refined fighting style.
B.Pirates have little or no refinement in their fighting style.
C.Having a refined fighting style is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P4 – Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is cool.
A.Ninjas have been personified by Jackie Chan.
a. see Rush Hour, Mr. Nice Guy; Shenghai Knights.
B.Pirates have not been personified by Jackie Chan.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P5 – Drinking Rum is cool.
A.Ninjas do not drink rum. It deadens their reflexes.
B.Pirates drink copious amounts of rum. Yo ho.
C.Drinking rum is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
Pirates meet two of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet three of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Three is more than two so Ninjas are better than pirates.
Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.
P1 – Wearing all black is cool.
A.Ninjas wear all black due to the need for stealth.
B.Pirates can''''t wear black because it is bleached out by the sun.
C. Wearing black is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P2 – The habit of having a parrot on your shoulder is cool.
A.Ninjas generally do not have parrots. There are no parrots in Japan.
B.Pirates have a tradition of wearing parrots on their shoulders.
C.Having a parrot on your shoulder is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P3 – Having your own refined fighting style is cool.
A.Ninjas know Kung F u. Kung Fu is a refined fighting style.
B.Pirates have little or no refinement in their fighting style.
C.Having a refined fighting style is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P4 – Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is cool.
A.Ninjas have been personified by Jackie Chan.
a. see Rush Hour, Mr. Nice Guy; Shenghai Knights.
B.Pirates have not been personified by Jackie Chan.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
P5 – Drinking Rum is cool.
A.Ninjas do not drink rum. It deadens their reflexes.
B.Pirates drink copious amounts of rum. Yo ho.
C.Drinking rum is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.
Pirates meet two of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet three of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Three is more than two so Ninjas are better than pirates.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
My Agrument for Phil 334
If pirates are better than ninjas then they will meet more of the criteria for awesomeness than ninjas.
Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.
P1- Ships equipped with cannons are cool.
A. Ninjas do not have ships equipped with cannons.
B. Pirates do have ships equipped with cannons.
C. Ships equipped with cannons are part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P2- Kitana swords are cool.
A. Ninjas have kitana swords.
B. Pirates do not have kitana swords.
C. Kitana swords are part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P3- The absence of a moral code is cool.
A. Ninjas must adhere to a strict moral code detailed by their feudal lord.
B. Pirates do not have to adhere to a moral code.
C. The absence of a moral code is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P4- Autonomy is cool.
A.Ninjas are not autonomous. They are employed by their feudal lords.
B.Pirate crews are autonomous. They are sworn only loosely to their captains.
C.Autonomy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P5- Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is cool.
A.Ninjas have not been personified by Johnny Depp.
B.Pirates have been personified by Johnny Depp.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P6- The ability to be stealthy is cool.
A.Ninjas have the ability to be stealthy.
B.Pirates do not usually have the ability to be stealthy.
C.The ability to be stealthy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
Pirates meet four requirements of the criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet two requirement of the criteria for awesomeness. Four is more than two so pirates are better than ninjas.
Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.
P1- Ships equipped with cannons are cool.
A. Ninjas do not have ships equipped with cannons.
B. Pirates do have ships equipped with cannons.
C. Ships equipped with cannons are part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P2- Kitana swords are cool.
A. Ninjas have kitana swords.
B. Pirates do not have kitana swords.
C. Kitana swords are part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P3- The absence of a moral code is cool.
A. Ninjas must adhere to a strict moral code detailed by their feudal lord.
B. Pirates do not have to adhere to a moral code.
C. The absence of a moral code is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P4- Autonomy is cool.
A.Ninjas are not autonomous. They are employed by their feudal lords.
B.Pirate crews are autonomous. They are sworn only loosely to their captains.
C.Autonomy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P5- Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is cool.
A.Ninjas have not been personified by Johnny Depp.
B.Pirates have been personified by Johnny Depp.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
P6- The ability to be stealthy is cool.
A.Ninjas have the ability to be stealthy.
B.Pirates do not usually have the ability to be stealthy.
C.The ability to be stealthy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.
Pirates meet four requirements of the criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet two requirement of the criteria for awesomeness. Four is more than two so pirates are better than ninjas.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
From "ThePassion" by Jeanette Winterson
"Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, coversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favoured cat and their face paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, will go wrong."
Saturday, October 28, 2006
"Hear" Inspired by a wall at Starbucks
Rain was shining on the pavement making the sky and ground blend together in a dark hue. i walked on my keys jingling inaudible melodies from where they hung between my fingertips. my breath escaped my lips in vanishing trails of mist that climbed upward to where the sky should have been. it vanished before it could reach its destination. it was late. i didn't quite know how late it was but it was after the hour that the the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. that didn't matter. i needed the prolonged walk to analyze my thoughts. i had spun them in my head like an eight legged rubix cube. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. like the vanishing mist of my breath - they were infinite but fleeting. there was comfort in that. my web would accompany me home. it was the best company i could have asked for because all
Her soul to the sad strumming of a six stringed instrument. we didn't hear. isn't it funny how little we hear? sometimes we don't hear things even if we're listening. a little girl reading a book telling her mother she didn't need to be tucked in. please mommy hold me. two scared and glistening blue eyes telling him i loved him enough to let him go. why can't i be enough for you. an empty church with a silent crucifix. why can't God save me. now two words play themselves over and over in my mind. Like this. Like this. they spin like rings around a Rosie but that world already came falling down. my breath goes in and out. beneath my skin oxygen is being given to millions of cells - all a part of me i'll never see. oxygen carbon dioxide cardio respiratory veins truth lungs hydrogen - all ink to the words that make up who i am. isn't it funny how everything begins with something smaller than itself. letters make words make sentences make paragraphs make chapters
My thoughts kept straying back to you. the way your green eyes seemed iradescent behind the lenses that frame your world. two green windos set in a nice house behind the most spectacular and full rose garden i'd ever seen. i'll see you tomorrow. what time. four-ish. awesome. meet outside the willy c. amazing how much of our time is spent at the williams center. we met there. i'd just come from an interview and strayed for some tea. i sat with the dark angel. you walked in and joined us. what a trinity we made. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. you were half a stranger - a face i knew but hand no name for. i searched for a where a when a how but i could find none in my memory. it didn't matter. i knew you without knowing you. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. red. blue. black. what a trio we made. we sat and exchanged verbs and nouns and points of view between sips of hot liquid while behind us a woman closed her eyes tightly and bared
Make novels make me. what makes this weather so cold. my fingers are begnning to numb and the metal that makes my kyes had been made cold by the dark air. it's late. i don't quite know how late but it was after the hour that the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. the hair on the back of my neck prickled with the slight wind. your hair is always in some state of disarray. it reminds me of the universe and how everything is entropy. at least that's what my chemistry teacher said. did i hear? chai tea. four-ish. i can do that. green tea with honey. we'll meet at the willy c. black coffee. your side or mine. mine. the carbon dioxide escaping my lungs through the doorway of my lips trails upward toward where the sky would have been. the lines of smoke grey tangle themselves in each other before they dissipate. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. i say this. i shout this. LIKE THIS. like this. but maybe my words make nothing. it matters. do you hear?
Her soul to the sad strumming of a six stringed instrument. we didn't hear. isn't it funny how little we hear? sometimes we don't hear things even if we're listening. a little girl reading a book telling her mother she didn't need to be tucked in. please mommy hold me. two scared and glistening blue eyes telling him i loved him enough to let him go. why can't i be enough for you. an empty church with a silent crucifix. why can't God save me. now two words play themselves over and over in my mind. Like this. Like this. they spin like rings around a Rosie but that world already came falling down. my breath goes in and out. beneath my skin oxygen is being given to millions of cells - all a part of me i'll never see. oxygen carbon dioxide cardio respiratory veins truth lungs hydrogen - all ink to the words that make up who i am. isn't it funny how everything begins with something smaller than itself. letters make words make sentences make paragraphs make chapters
My thoughts kept straying back to you. the way your green eyes seemed iradescent behind the lenses that frame your world. two green windos set in a nice house behind the most spectacular and full rose garden i'd ever seen. i'll see you tomorrow. what time. four-ish. awesome. meet outside the willy c. amazing how much of our time is spent at the williams center. we met there. i'd just come from an interview and strayed for some tea. i sat with the dark angel. you walked in and joined us. what a trinity we made. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. you were half a stranger - a face i knew but hand no name for. i searched for a where a when a how but i could find none in my memory. it didn't matter. i knew you without knowing you. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. red. blue. black. what a trio we made. we sat and exchanged verbs and nouns and points of view between sips of hot liquid while behind us a woman closed her eyes tightly and bared
Make novels make me. what makes this weather so cold. my fingers are begnning to numb and the metal that makes my kyes had been made cold by the dark air. it's late. i don't quite know how late but it was after the hour that the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. the hair on the back of my neck prickled with the slight wind. your hair is always in some state of disarray. it reminds me of the universe and how everything is entropy. at least that's what my chemistry teacher said. did i hear? chai tea. four-ish. i can do that. green tea with honey. we'll meet at the willy c. black coffee. your side or mine. mine. the carbon dioxide escaping my lungs through the doorway of my lips trails upward toward where the sky would have been. the lines of smoke grey tangle themselves in each other before they dissipate. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. i say this. i shout this. LIKE THIS. like this. but maybe my words make nothing. it matters. do you hear?
Thursday, September 28, 2006
A Spam Mail I Recieved that I wish I wrote
In between sips of a martini. support in your own code. you don't want to a design paddle pattern. (or worse, a flat tire), learned by those Most importantly,
of the best practices your time is too important at speaking the language You want to learn the and why everything
the next time you're neurobiology, cognitive and experience of others, will load patterns into your also want to learn the patterns that
applications. You
same problems. Decorator is something from alone. At any given moment, the "Trading Spaces" show. Head First book, you know
your brain works. Using at speaking the language in between sips of a martini. somewhere in the world (and too short) to spend science, and learning theory,
be wrong (and what alone. At any given moment, his stunningly clever use of Command, texts. If you've read a
of the best practices the latest research in
to use them (and when
how patterns are
you want to learn the (and impress cocktail party guests) advantage else. Something more
You're not environment. In other
With Design Patterns,
the latest research in
about inheritance might deep understanding of why and why everything when to use them, how
(and impress cocktail party guests) Decorator is something from
neurobiology, cognitive
the next time you're
patterns look in challenging. Something the patterns that be wrong (and what
(and too short) to spend Decorator is something from about inheritance might
neurobiology, cognitive Best of all, in a way that won't format designed for the way
own with your co-worker to use them (and when of Design Patterns so a book, you want the patterns that look "in the wild". that you can hold your
in between sips of a martini.
(or worse, a flat tire), "secret language"
You're not
(or worse, a flat tire), about inheritance might
neurobiology, cognitive
Decorator is something from deep understanding of why better at solving software Singleton isn't as simple as it Head First Design Patterns
someone struggles is so often misunderstood, when to use them, how you have. You know
to learn how those of Design Patterns so the patterns that with challenging. Something
want to see how
the same software
deep understanding of why learned by those so you look to Design own with your co-worker your brain works. Using
learned by those up a creek without you don't want to
design problems, and better want to see how
same problems. the patterns that the patterns that of Design Patterns so
You'll easily counter with your it struggling with academic
who've faced the
of the best practices your time is too important at speaking the language You want to learn the and why everything
the next time you're neurobiology, cognitive and experience of others, will load patterns into your also want to learn the patterns that
applications. You
same problems. Decorator is something from alone. At any given moment, the "Trading Spaces" show. Head First book, you know
your brain works. Using at speaking the language in between sips of a martini. somewhere in the world (and too short) to spend science, and learning theory,
be wrong (and what alone. At any given moment, his stunningly clever use of Command, texts. If you've read a
of the best practices the latest research in
to use them (and when
how patterns are
you want to learn the (and impress cocktail party guests) advantage else. Something more
You're not environment. In other
With Design Patterns,
the latest research in
about inheritance might deep understanding of why and why everything when to use them, how
(and impress cocktail party guests) Decorator is something from
neurobiology, cognitive
the next time you're
patterns look in challenging. Something the patterns that be wrong (and what
(and too short) to spend Decorator is something from about inheritance might
neurobiology, cognitive Best of all, in a way that won't format designed for the way
own with your co-worker to use them (and when of Design Patterns so a book, you want the patterns that look "in the wild". that you can hold your
in between sips of a martini.
(or worse, a flat tire), "secret language"
You're not
(or worse, a flat tire), about inheritance might
neurobiology, cognitive
Decorator is something from deep understanding of why better at solving software Singleton isn't as simple as it Head First Design Patterns
someone struggles is so often misunderstood, when to use them, how you have. You know
to learn how those of Design Patterns so the patterns that with challenging. Something
want to see how
the same software
deep understanding of why learned by those so you look to Design own with your co-worker your brain works. Using
learned by those up a creek without you don't want to
design problems, and better want to see how
same problems. the patterns that the patterns that of Design Patterns so
You'll easily counter with your it struggling with academic
who've faced the
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