You...

I wrote this a while ago, and nearly forgot about it. Found it in an old forum I no longer post in:

Like every day, I've spent most of today doing math. Sheet upon sheet black with ink, dusty green chalkboards covered in arcane symbols; definitions and theorems that are far too elaborate to explain. For the first time in a while I remembered: I cannot convince myself that any of this is real. There are no infinite collections or compact spaces in the real world. There is no finite axiomatization for life. This is all meaningless symbols on paper.

You, however, are real. Your breath, your eyes, the taste of your lips, are ever so beautifully, painfully real. You have meaning-- you mean everything. But reality and meaning...

They scare me. Far, far too much. There is no reason, no logic behind it, but I am afraid. So I will stay in my fantasy world. I will miss you terribly, but infinity is easier to deal with than love.

With You

I originally wrote this in Ghent (or Brussels?) in early January, but I've had trouble tying it all together. I'm still not competely satisfied with it, but I am content, so here goes.

Edit: Ugh. There are a few lines which just won't work... the first stanza is so seperate from the rest of the poem; I am sorely tempted to cut it out entirely, but I have very difficult-to-explain reasons for wanting to keep it.
Edit again: Yeah. I think the first stanza is the biggest problem. Until/unless I find a way to express what the first stanza is supposed to express, consider the poem to start with "Through days and day-dreams".
Edit again (again): I've removed the first stanza from this post.
****

Through days and day-dreams, I walk alone,
along ancient ways on cobblestones.

Yet in all my wandering, there is one thought
which fills my heart:
I would like,at last,
to be warm at Home.
In Bed.

Art and Meaning

A recent Abstruse Goose reminded me of Preface to Dorian Gray. Of course, people deride critics all the time. Especially modern art critics. I tend to defend art critics even though I don't understand them, because I know they are working from a different framework, a different background and dialogue than most people (including myself), and that this framework is not necessarily wrong.

But this Abstruse Goose reminded me of something that I don't like about... well, most people who discuss art, and this thing is what reminded me of Dorian Gray: Trying to find meaning in art is to murder it. The criticism and analysis of art should concern itself only with the aesthetics of the art-- the emotional complex that the art inspires. Yes, a piece of art can have a moral, or a meaning, but if the piece does not stand without that moral, then it is a failure as a work of art. The meaning should be extracted and the work discarded.

If something can be said, it can be said directly. "But," you say, "what about metaphors and paraboles?" Yes, they have their place, but they are not art, and should not be treated as such. Pilgrim's Regress is not a good piece because it tells the tale of someone coming to God; it is a good piece because it captures the beauty, the sehnsucht that helped to define Lewis's faith. Without capturing this beauty, it would be nothing. Speaker for the Dead is not a good piece because it questions the neo-colonialism inherent in anthropological methodology; it is a good piece because it captures so many emotional struggles.

I mentioned two novels, because novels most often do have a meaning; but the meaning is not what makes them good art. Aesthetic considerations are what make or break a novel. On the other hand, most visual art, and most good poetry do not have a meaning, and trying to suck meaning out a poem or picture is to fail to see the piece as art. This is unforgivable.

You may say that understanding the meaning helps to appreciate the aesthetics. Take my example of Pilgrim's Regress: is the aesthetic appeal not greater appreciated by understanding the God and the path to salvation? Yes, it surely is, but this understanding is assumed by the work, not expressed by the work. Someone approaching the work from a framework similar to Lewis's own will be better able to appreciate the work. But this says nothing about meaning. Understanding the background of a work, understanding the dialogue that the work is a part of and the "etymology" (if you will forgive the abuse of terminology) of the work will give someone a better appreciation for the aesthetics of the work. But to say that this is achieved by studying the meaning of the work is to commit cum hoc ergo propter hoc. Just because understanding the background helps both to understand the meaning and the aesthetics does not mean that understanding the meaning helps you to understand the aesthetics.

By the way, this is why you will rarely (never?) see me engage in a semantic analysis of a poem; I will study it syntactically, and I will study the way images are invoked, but I will not attempt to understand the author's intent, or understand the meaning of a poem. If the intent is anything but to create something of beauty, then I don't care.

Another poem.

Can't think of a title:

A man. A woman.
Sitting on the steps
of a Church in London.

A stifling silence.
Seconds fade. The man sighs,
"So what are we to do?
Will you be my tragic muse?"

A mirthless smile.
A soft sad kiss on the shoulder.
And a heavy, hesitant stance.

A man. Sitting
silently on the steps
of a churchyard, thinking.

The Zahir and Asterion

Sorry... I know I promised to finish that last post about 2 weeks ago... I'll get around to that soon. In the mean time, I've just started reading The Zahir by Borges, which I somehow haven't read. I could have sworn I had read the whole of The Aleph, but I digress. I stumbled upon the following passage (I don't know who the translator is):

Until the end of June I distracted myself by composing a tale of fantasy. The tale contains two or three enigmatic circumlocutions: “water of the sword”, it says, instead of blood, and “bed of the serpent”, for gold, and is written in the first person. The narrator is an ascetic who has renounced all commerce with mankind and lives on a moor. (The name of the place is Gnitaheidr.) Because of the simplicity and innocence of his life, he is judged by some to be an angel; that is a charitable sort of exaggeration, because no one is free of sin. He himself (to take the example nearest at hand) has cut his father’s throat, though it is true that his father was a famous wizard who had used his magic to usurp an infinite treasure for himself.

Protecting this treasure from mad human greed is the mission to which the he has devoted his life; day and night he stands guard over it. Soon, perhaps too soon, that watchfulness will come to an end: the stars have told him that the sword that will cut him off forever has already been forged. (Gram is the name of the sword.) In an increasingly tortured style, the narrator praises the luster and flexibility of his body; one paragraph offhandedly mentions “scales”; another says that the treasure he watches over is of red rings and gleaming gold. At the end, we realize that the ascetic is the serpent Fafnir and the treasure on which the creature lies coiled is the gold of the Nibelungen. The appearance of Sigurd abruptly ends the story.

This sounds rather amusingly like... The House of Asterion which was published in the same collection. This is one of the things I really like about Borges: He makes very subtle references to other works of his. Can anyone think of any other specific examples of this?

Balaam

I wrote this sometime last year, but apparently forgot about it.
***

I tread on with the Moabites, seeking their praise, silver and jewels. "I cannot contradict the ineffable," but I march on, afraid to contradict these messengers.

But still my ass, wiser than I, stubbornly refuses to move. Twice she's flogged, and twice she stands up and walks. Again she's flogged, but finally she speaks her mind:
"Why do you treat me so? Have I not carried you from your home?"
And thus I lie: "No."

My poetry...

Is so formulaically modernist...

Rhapsody in Blue

(For Sasha)

"I", she said to me, looking up from a cup of tea.
"I should have been a rhapsodist.
But, my dear, I have no skill for words,
no aptitude for meter."
With poetic eloquence she explains,
"I wrote when I was younger."
But never since.

"I was born with a talent of gold, you see.
But I've earned nothing more."
I know, my friend, you are terrible with money,
and have gotten rather poorer.
But a talent is a hefty sum,
and can always be made
to last a little longer.

Poem

It's been a while since, I've given you a poem, eh?

***

Multitudes, multidudes in the valley of derision!
But the glory of the Lord is near in the valley of decisions,
and a wicked wind blows through the sea of visions
and revisions before the taking of toast and tea.

In His house we come and go,
talking, oh, of Michaelangelo.

Remember when David danced in his ephod?
Well, I stood by and scoffed:
The king of Israel naked (with the slave girls!)
for all the world to see!

And centuries later:
"Your mind is not far from the kingdom of Heaven."
My mind is close! O my soul, rejoice!
But, O soul, alack!
It seems you've fled the winter of despair,
and won't be coming back.

These pedals on a wet black bough,
they'll fall off soon, any day now--
drifting to the ground
like nameless faces, wandering through the crowd;
While my mind, lofty, in the clouds,
crashes into a mountain, and comes tumbling down.


***
There will be another one shortly.

On kitsch

Milan Kundera brings up kitsch a lot in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. He defines kitsch (incorrectly):
kitsch is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.

This is not quite correct. Kundera is confusing two types of rejection: denial and exclusion. Denial seeks to forget, while exclusion makes the conscious effort to remember-- with disdain. Rather than deny shit, kitsch excludes shit from the beautiful with such vehemence that if something is not shit, it is regarded as beautiful.

"But!" you may be thinking, "kitsch rejects the truly artistic. This surely is not shit!" And you are correct; but I think Kundera offers a response: since shit is at the opposite end of the spectrum of beauty from art, they are, to use Kundera's words, "vertiginously close." And so, in order to exclude shit, kitsch rejects everything that reminds it of shit, including the artistic. The result is than kitsch accepts only the mediocre.

A pretty bathroom is an excellent example of kitsch. In order to exclude shit fully, all nonshit must be beautiful. The only way a pretty bathroom can be made ugly is for it to be covered in shit, so when there is no shit, beauty is guaranteed.

Hurray, Postings!

Sorry, it's been a while since I've actually posted anything here. And this post is insubstantial...

link: Landscapes. It's a project I'll be slowly working on with time... So far, only one piece; another will be up tonight. After that, who knows.

Like Clockwork...

This is something I recently came up with; I wrote it down while I was at breakfast with Ellie (actually on the train back from breakfast). I'll be reading it Friday.

I've been inside that machine-- the one they say revolves the heavens about the earth-- I've watched its gears turn, traced the outlines of their teeth with my fingers; I've even stood on some. I watched a gear crack and fall, a spring loosed to follow its own path.

I looked up through the labyrinth of clockwork-- the endless cacophony of ticking and grinding-- and I thought to myself "This is not the machine which revolves the universe."

If We Taught English the Way We Teach Mathematics...

This was originally posted by "Coryoth" (interesting, same name) on K5. It's an interesting approach to the subject, but I think it's pretty good. There's probably more to say on the subject, but he gets the point across: [Edit! It seems it was first posted by Leland McInnes at The Narrow Road, which I highly, highly recommend you read, as it is even better than the following]

Imagine that your only contact with "English" as a subject was through classes in school. Suppose that those classes, from elementary school right through to high school, amounted to nothing more than reading dictionaries, getting drilled in spelling and formal grammatical construction, and memorizing vast vocabulary lists -- you never read a novel, nor a poem; never had contact with anything beyond the pedantic complexity of English spelling and formal grammar, and precise definitions for an endless array of words. You would probably hate the subject.

You might come to wonder what the point of learning English was. In response perhaps the teachers and education system might decide that, to help make English relevant to students, they need to introduce more "Applied English". This means teaching English students with examples from "real life" (for varying degrees of "real") where English skills are important, like how to read a contract and locate the superfluous comma. Maybe (in an effort by the teachers to be "trendy") you'll get lessons on formal diary composition so you can better update your MySpace page. All of that, of course, will be taught using a formulaic cookbook approach based on templates, with no effort to consider underlying principles or the larger picture. Locating the superfluous comma will be a matter of systematically identifying subjects, objects, and verbs and grouping them into clauses until the extra comma has been caught. Your diary will be constructed from a formal template that leaves a few blanks for you to fill in. Perhaps you might also get a few tasks that are just the same old drills, just with a few mentions of "real world" things to make them "Applied": "Here is an advertisement for carpets. How many adjectives does it contain?".

In such a world it wouldn't be hard to imagine lots of people developing "English anxiety", and most people having a general underlying dislike for the subject. Many people would simply avoid reading books because of the bad associations with English class in school. With so few people taking a real interest in the subject, teachers who were truly passionate about English would become few and far between. The result, naturally, would be teachers who had little real interest in the subject simply following the drilling procedures outlined in the textbooks they were provided; the cycle would repeat again, with students even worse off this time.

And yet this is very much how mathematics tends to be taught in our schools today. There is a great focus on the minutiae of the subject, and almost no effort to help students grasp the bigger picture of why the subject might be interesting, and what it can say about us, and about the world. Mathematics has become hopelessly detail oriented. There is more to mathematics than mindlessly learning formulas and recipes for solving problems. And just like our imaginary example, the response to students lack of interest in mathematics has only served to make the problem worse. The "applications" and examples of using the mathematics in the "real world" are hopelessly contrived at best, and completely artificial at worst, and still keep a laser like focus on formulas and memorizing methods without ever understanding why they work.

Of course the opposite situation, with no focus on details, can be just as bad. Indeed, that is where English instruction finds itself today, with students never learning the spelling, formal grammar, and vocabulary needed to decently express the grand big picture ideas they are encouraged to explore. What is needed is a middle ground. Certainly being fluent in the basic skills of mathematics is necessary, just as having a solid grounding in spelling and grammar is necessary. What is lacking in mathematics instruction is any discussion of what mathematics is, and why mathematics works as well as it does.

The discovery and development of mathematics is one of the great achievements of mankind -- it provides the foundation upon which almost of all modern science and technology rests. This is because mathematics, as the art of abstraction, provides us the with ability to make simple statements that have incredibly broad application. For example, the reason that numbers and arithmetic are so unreasonably effective is that they describe a single simple property that every possible collection possesses, and a set of rules that are unchanged regardless of the specific nature of the collections involved. No matter what collection you consider, abstract or concrete, it has a number that describes its size; no matter what type of objects your collections are made up of, the results of arithmetic operations will always describe the resulting collection accurately. Thus the simple statement that 2 + 3 = 5 is a statement that describes the behaviour of every possible collection of 2 objects, and every possible collection of 3 objects. Algebra can be viewed the same way, except that instead of abstracting over collections we are abstracting over numbers: elementary algebra is the combination of objects that represent any possible number (as numbers represent any possible collection with the given quantity), and the set of arithmetic rules for which all numbers behave identically. Numbers let us speak about all possible collections, and algebra lets us speak about all possible numbers. Each layer of abstraction allows us to use an ever broader brush with which to paint our vision of the world.

If you climb up those layers of abstraction you can use that broad brush to paint beautiful pictures -- the vast scope of the language that mathematics gives you allows simple statements to draw together and connect the unruly diversity of the world. A good mathematical theorem can be like a succinct poem; but only if the reader has the context to see the rich connections that the theorem lays bare. Without the opportunity to step back and see the forest for the trees, to see the broad landscape that the abstract nature of mathematics allows us to address, it is rare for people to see the elegance of mathematical statements. By failing to address how mathematics works, how it speaks broadly about the world, and what it means, we hobble children's ability to appreciate mathematics -- how can they appreciate something when they never learn what it is? The formulas and manipulations children learn, while a necessary part of mathematics, are ultimately just the mechanics of the subject; equally important is why those mechanics are valuable, not just in terms of what they can do, but in terms of why they can do so much.

So why is it that this broader view is so rarely taught? There are, of course, many reasons, and it is not worth trying to discuss them all here. Instead I will point to one reason, for which clear remedies to exist, and immediate action could be taken. That reason is, simply, that far too many people who teach mathematics are unaware of the this broader view themselves. It is unfortunately the case that it is only at the upper levels of education, such as university, that any broader conception about mathematics becomes apparent. Since it is rare for people going into elementary school teaching to take any university level mathematics, the vast majority of elementary teachers -- the math teachers for all our children in their early years -- have little real appreciation of mathematics. They teach the specific trees outlined in textbooks, with no real idea of forest. A simple but effective measure that could be taken is to provide stronger incentives and encouragement for prospective elementary school teachers to take extra math; whether it takes the form of courses, or math clubs, doesn't matter, the aim is to get teachers more involved and better exposed to mathematics in general so that they can become familiar with the richer world beyond the specific formulas and algorithms. This exact approach was tried in Finland as part of their LUMA project starting in 1992. As a result the number of teachers graduating with higher level had increased dramatically by 1999. And the results are also clear: Finland finished first, showing continued improvement in mathematics and science, in the 2003 PISA survey of the reading, math, and science skills of 15-year-olds in OECD countries (Finland finished second, just behind Hong Kong, in the mathematics section). Finland has continued to do extremely well in other more recent (though less major) studies.

Whether you view mathematics as an important subject or not, it is hard to deny that, currently, it is being taught poorly in many countries around the world. With such scope for improvement, and clear examples such as Finland showing the way, isn't it time that we took at least some of the obvious steps toward improving the quality of mathematics education?

On video games, and adult content

This was supposed to be a post here

So... I've been playing video games for longer than I can remember. I'm sure I've played every game that any activist has ever said should be banned. As someone who is studying math and computer science, and plans on either doing research into fields that most of the world hasn't even heard of, or teaching at a Christian school in some random country, I really, really just don't see where the outrage comes from.

Lot's daughters rape him; Noah passes out drunk and naked; David (A man after God's own heart!) has his way with a woman (it never says how compliant she is, but since they marry, we can assume she didn't object) and kills her husband; Prophets rain fire from heaven; there are prostitutes; there are "male temple prostitutes"; there is a vile amount of sex and violence in the Bible. And yet, most of us here (myself included!) would encourage a child to read it. Why?
1) It represents a strikingly accurate picture of how vile and corrupt we humans are.
2) It is a song of praise to the glory of God.

Crime and Punishment contains a graphic depiction of a murder. 100 Years of Solitude contains multiple rapes, sex scenes, murders, massacres, ... Frankenstein is about a vile corruption of nature. Therese Raquine is horrifyingly gruesome
Many, many, classical books contain the same. Graphic depictions of sex and/or violence are an inherent part of literature.
And yet, most people here (myself included!) would encourage a child to read these things. Why?
There is an intellectual stimulation in reading literature; vocabulary improves, writing ability improves, speaking ability improves, etc., etc., etc.

Now, what we must remember is that sex is not evil; The portrayal of sex and the portrayal of violence are not necessarily evil, if in their proper place.

Now, mature people (I refuse the word adult) can handle portrayals of sex and violence, and either can see through them to the message (as in the Bible), or understand the entertainment or intellectual value of a story, which-- for immersion-- must necessarily contain sex and/or violence (as in Literature).

If you don't believe that there is intellectual stimulation in video games, find the name of a game and google search "[name of game] tactics" or "... strategy" or "... walkthrough". Look at the depth in the results you find.

Remember that there are no restrictions on ordinary literature, only on "dirty magazines". Remember that there is no *legal* restriction on the sale of R movies/tickets, or Parental Advisory music. What makes games any different?

There was a war with comic books. There was a war with movies. I'm sure the many centuries ago, there was a war with papyrus that sounded something like this:
Those rebels are using papyrus to write messages that blaspheme our gods and slander our king. We must control the use of this artificial memory.

I would have put something about "sex and violence", but that wouldn't be historical: the two things have been an integral part of nearly every civilization since the dawn of man. And certain people have the arrogance to claim that our "traditional morals" are being attacked? If those values are Elizabethan, Roman, Egyptian, Greek, Babylonian, Indian, Turkish, Germanic, Frankish, Nordic, Chinese, Arab...
If those morals were the morals of the crusaders, the zealots, the pharisees, the Conquistadors, or slave-owning Americans...
Well, if any of those are the case, I really don't think I mind seeing any of those corrupt, broken moral systems corroded.

Instead, I will continue to study group theory, Galois theory, and combinatorics; I will continue reading about those two harlots- Oholah and Oholibah- and when I need a break, I will read about gruesome murders and outrageous rapes in books that have been praised for centuries, or I will play video games- probably violent ones, or ones with "sex scenes" that are on prime time TV- and I will feel confident that when my kids experience these things, they will have been raised well enough to understand them.

Edit: it has been brought to my attention (see comments) that I have forgotten to point out how wrong the original article is. Not only is there no rape (according to everyone I've heard from who has played the game), but the "sex scene" only has (quoting my roommate) "a few seconds of ass."

Since someone posted as a response to the original article a youtube capture of the video in question (I did not watch it), I cannot accept that the game is as raunchy as Mr. McCullough makes it seem. I would like to call him a liar, but I'm much too fair, and a little wise for such name calling. The question is not a question of misrepresenting data to fool others, but a question of misinterpreting the data your senses feed to your brain-- He's irrational, not malicious.

You see, when someone has not been taught to critically analyze information they receive, they automatically jump to a conclusion based in part by what they do see, in part by what they expect to see, and in part by what they have been taught to see. Mr. McCullough (and others who have advocated censorship of interactive content) expect games to be such filth, so when they see the slightest evidence of it, they cache that-- confirmation bias. It then exaggerates itself, so that these people actually believe the nonsense that spews out from their mouth and pen. I could go on for a while about the state of an education system which does not teach one to think, but I want to make progress in 1st Chronicles; I want to make progress in an abstract algebra book, and I want to start a story (ironically and coincidentally, it's about preconceptions)

Mr. McCullough is wrong. He is wrong about what happens in Mass Effect; Were he right about the nature of Mass Effect, he would still be wrong.

A sudden realization.

I think I'm going to make a conscious effort to let my stories become more surreal. I've always found a certain level of reality in surreal works-- an awe-inspiring mythical atmosphere-- something that's missing in realism. For the most part, my writings fit under the classification of surreal, but even Breviary, which has a extremely surreal plot, is framed as a series of dreams. It's as if I'm trying to rationalize my works, bring them into reality. I need to stop doing that. I feel like I'm trying to make my writing something it isn't; trying to add something in order to make it better, or more literary or something. I'm killing it when I do that. I need to just let it flow.

On another note, I'm definitely going to start drawing and painting again soon. It's a lot of fun, and I've spent far too long away from it.

A Full Glass and an Empty Bottle of Wine

This is a poem I wrote sometime last year, but I need to preface it.

I decided to post this poem this morning, while thinking of God, sin, and the kretek in my mouth. I suddenly noticed my own voice in the poem; I found a distinct voice that is shared in the other poems I've written recently. I may have even come to appreciate that voice. It's funny how God gives you amazing insights when you try just to focus on Him, and loving Him.

I've really fought to hide that voice in the voice of other authors throughout my "career" as a writer, until 7 or 8 months ago, when my inability to bring out my own voice, my own style, began to distress me. Well. I've found that voice, and I hope I can develop it in my future writings.


And now, a poem:

I just poured the last glass of wine
I’ll ever drink.
My bottle empty, my bank defunct,
I’m drinking quick and careless
Because I’m far too drunk
To realize just how dire this is.
To realize, just how empty it is.

But if you’re near, it’ll be the last glass
I’ll ever need. It’ll be the last glass
I ever drink.
And although I should be glad to be free from the prison
I find myself afraid as I drown in liquid crimson.

Despite it all, I can’t hold back
But it’s not will or power that I lack
It’s something else, something else entirely
An insatiable urge for this poison
Flavored so mildly

The sea
It ebbs and flows,
While the line marking the wine
Grows ever so low.
I watch with anxious eyes as the red tide slows
Tipping my head back to increase the flow.

But if you’re here, it’ll be the last glass
I’ll ever need.
Either way, it’ll be the last glass
I ever drink.
And although I know it contains the bitterness of death,
I can’t taste it while the sweetness still lingers on my breath.

Although I know to look for you
I can’t seem to see through
The blur and the whirl from the bottle of wine.
I sit here spinning, looking hopelessly
At the glass that I just swallowed so hastily.
Though I hear your voice, I can’t distinguish a syllabic expression.
My reply lacks logical progression
It’s astounding you understand me at all.
I’ll stand and walk to you,
Drink some water and talk to you,
Oh, God! Please catch me before I fall.

And if I listen, it was the last glass
I’d ever need.
I just hope it was the last glass
I ever drink.
Though I know I do it all for the pity,
I can’t help but feel proud, not even a tiny bit silly.

Though I know I rushed in headlong,
I swear to you, really, I did nothing wrong!
And there I go again, to the next further removed level
of that same exact feigned humility!
You’d think one day I’d return to reality!
But the wine I drink to return
Takes me one step farther,
And one closer to the urn.

O I wish; it was the last glass
I’d ever need.
I just wish; it was the last glass
I ever drink.
But I know in my wallet, I have enough for one more;
I just don’t know if I can make it to the store.

On Revolutions

There are certain authors (more properly, writers) who never cease to amaze me: Dostoevsky so clearly pierces the human soul; Hammes can fit a novel's worth of emotions and ideas into 20 lines of poetry; Cummings absolutely breaks poetry in every way possible, only to rebuild it stronger and more convincingly; Kierkegaard can read my mind; Carrol creates surreality that is more real than Zola or Balzac, Blake sums up all of human folly and wisdom in 69 proverbs; And Milton's brilliance, beauty and education are absolutely clear through the duration of his epic.

I picked up Only Revolutions today, and Danielewski refreshed his status on this list.
The book is absolutely fascinating. I've spent all day
just trying to figure out how to read it. I think I finally figured it out, but it is so busy, so deep that it almost hurts to actually resolve to read it. There's so much missed when you read it any one way, that I'm tempted to read it through, read it backward, read each narrative alone, and start reading random sections by themselves all at once.

I really haven't a clue how I'm to complete this book, it will need at least 4 reads, each in different fashions, to do it justice... and I do not have the patience to read 1200 pages of modern literature.

Making Up for Lost Time (Part V) OR: Sorry for the Super-Long Post

[Story Removed]

Bah... posted an old version. I may replace it sometime soon...

Making Up for Lost Time (Part IV)

A poem... Ironically, I feel it sounds like a bland version of Theme for English B

This isn't me.
Why, oh, why
Do I feel the need to follow the line in the sand
Of footprints left by a greater man?

Borges, Eliot, Milton, Danielewski.
They aren't me, but when I look back, it's what I see.
Suddenly, I find myself quoting
obscure lyrics to an unknown harmony!

And yet this is me.
I am skilled with words,
I can construct a "trope" with the greatest of ease,
And the trite little rhymes burst forth naturally.
Yet, when the dust clears, and my memory clouds,
I am Lewis, Dickinson, Hughes and Marquez.

Frustration sets in when I see what I've become.
How do we escape the shadow of those who we love?
Do you abandon it all, and say "Fuck it, I'm done!"
Or do you write and write, until you overcome.
And does it matter, when it's over and done?
Will you still look back and think "I've really done nothing
But at least it was fun"?

Making Up for Lost Time (Part III)

Below is a nearly finished section from a barely started literary pastiche/philosophical critique of Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

In planting listen, in harvest ask, in winter think.
The wise man reaps before he sows.
The grass is greener above the casket.
Generate little; generate much.
David dances in only an Ephod.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
Drink once from the river, and you will ever thirst.
The tree of knowledge is the tree of life.
An unlit candle is a wasted flame.
Eternity is instantaneous.
Sorrow alone begets joy.
Wisdom is folly; folly, wisdom.
Even the spider can master a trap, but the rabbit needs none.
There is not an eagle who should not dip lower.
There is not a serpent who should not soar higher.
Only the dead can harm the living.
If a wise man persists in his wisdom he becomes foolish.
The knave and the saint both lay claim truth.
Prudence is arrogance.

Can your beauty compare to the peacock's?
Can your stealth compare to the serpent's?
Can your power compare to the lion's?
Can your sculpture compare to the human form?
The found are formed from by displays of faith, the lost with words of hate.
Excess of sorrow speaks. Excess of joy hears.
The watchful fox is ensnared.
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship; each has an end.
Even the selfish smiling fool and the sullen frowning fool are understood by the wise.
What was once proved is now only imagined.
Always watching and never acting achieves nothing.
The cistern dries: the fountain is forever.
An ancient truth outlives a timeless mystery.
Always be ready to speak your mind, and even the base will listen.
Even a mountain cannot block the truth.
Though the eagle lost time with the crow, he gained an eternity.

The fox provides for himself, but he is still caught.
Think in the night. Act in the evening. Eat in the noon. Prepare in the morning.
The rabbits of love are stronger than the tigers of wrath.
Tepid water does not refresh, nor can it be made into tea.
You always know more than you need. You never know more than you want.
The fool's reproach is still a reproach.
The weak in courage is strong in pride.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
True joy comes only from satisfaction.
As the truth is like a graceful antelope, so the priest is like a lion.
To find a fish is the effect of wisdom.
Pain braces. Health relaxes.
The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.
Prayers plow. Praises reap.
Joy rests not! Sorrow sleeps not!

As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is love to the wise.
All creatures seek refuge. From what?
Exuberance is Beauty. Contemplation, sublimity.
If the lion were advised by the fox, he would lose his glory.
Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement lead to better places.
Apostasy before deceit.
Where man is not, nature is barren. Where man is, revolting.
Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believed.
Enough! Yet too little.