Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
So I was clicking around like I do, and I stumble upon some pictures of an old log cabin where Robert Bly used to write his early poems! If you shell out three dollars to the Lac qui Parle County Museum in Madison, Minnesota, one can see this place! Anyone up for it? Apparently the University of Minnesota owns a ton of his stuff, and I wonder if weird people like me can gawk at it…
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
Once upon a time, I was seventeen years old and living in a basement.
Within this dark, cement floored, oblong basement dwelling were a series of dank closet spaces around the perimeter of the room with hidden access doors built into the wall trim. I remember looking through the closets, contemplating cobwebs and how nothing I owned was neglected or useless enough to warrant the use of this scary, undeniably filthy, eerie u-shaped closet. Why anyone would want to explore a room unfit even to hold an incomplete set of 1980’s Encyclopedia Britannica is beyond answerable. To avoid panic, I chose not to introduce my possessions to the closet, keeping its dirty secrets hidden.
Though the basement was very large, it felt like a prison. I felt like a spectacle each time my mother or sister came down to fool with the laundry machines. I was a territorial adolescent, angry at the intruders, but I felt a sense of futility when I failed to keep out even my infant nephew. Somehow, he would wiggle his way down those twenty-some stairs, dangerous and also filthy, to sneak a few bangs and crash on my garbage picked drum set. Each time I heard this incomplete gray set of drums pushed into the corner, the ugly thuds of stretched plastic skins and the imprecise ringing of mass-manufactured (cracked) stamped cymbals, I would come running to stop him. Carrying him upstairs, I tried to not be angry.
After only a few months of living in this problem dwelling came a problem so vile, I literally took a second job at a chain music store to avoid it. Its relentlessness and predictability made this problem infuriating, while the intensity of the odor was enough to cause convulsions and/or retching. When the smell and I first met, I was certain a pugnacious spirit had woken to declare war on my senses. I plead with my parents; I threatened, demanded, ordered them to call the landlord to fix the (probably) simple pluming problem. Nothing was done, ever.
This pluming issue ultimately made the other difficulties with the house seem bearable. Later, it was decided that the problem originated with the way the kitchen sink drained; theories were proposed involving the roots of the backyard trees. When the kitchen sink ran, the basement would flood with a dark, chunky substance with a dead body smell.
The first and only time I was ever caught having sex was in this basement. Before the sex, I decided it was a good idea to light (on fire) a bundle of sage that a spiritual friend had given to me. It kept on fire, much like incense or a cigar for a long time. Burning sage has a similar odor to marijuana, but we failed to realize that the reek might alarm a suspecting parent upstairs. Momma walked down, yelling something, and the girl dove under the comforter. After I put on my robe, we received a lecture. Why anyone would have sex with me in such a place is a mystery.
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
Dear Friends,
I would like to invite other talented individuals to trade our super awesome crafty stuff. As many of you may know, I make books. I want to make you books, and in return, I want your food, love, moccasins, houseplants, portraits, paintings, etc. Let me know if you need a journal! We should trade our art, srsly!
Below is a digital photograph of a journal I’ve made for Katie Brennan. In return, she is making me a beautiful red scarf. To be even more redundant, this should happen again, with you, friend.
PITW,
JPLF
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
Lauren and I, (okay, mostly me) have made gigantic strides toward completion of the first work in this project. I am writing a lengthy essay, complemented by poems and prose, on the subject of present-moment dating experiences. I am writing and making the chapbooks, of which a few hardcovers will be made, and the rest softcover. It is vital to let Lauren or me know if you want one. We aren’t making many. Also, there is talk of a release party, with other poems, wine, and fancy Lauren-made food. Anybody who is anybody will be there.
Party in the Woods,
JPLF
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
My former roommate slithered away and its time to pay the price of being an adult. The lifelong curse of my living situation continues for the fifth year, from the betrayal of my first roommate in Chicago, to my second roommate in Berwyn who left me hanging to dry in the cold, to the [fucking] hell of Carthage. I am inclined to explore what my faults as a roommate are, but none warrant this kind of treatment. Instead, I chose to think of the kind of person I am, in terms of loyalty and integrity.
Let’s start by exploring the idea of loyalty. I’ve suggested for years that it is impossible to be loyal to another person while following the truth [because I've accepted that people don't always have integrity, or even a spine]. However, to the best of my ability, I am loyal to the truth, even if that means letting down close friends, lovers, or missing out on opportunities. In no way am I perfect, but I do what is right to the best of my ability even when that is very difficult.
This is hard for some to understand: integrity is not something that you have when it’s convenient. Having integrity means doing right regardless of any consequences, good or bad.
To be fair to memory, I have faltered under these principles. But I have never rationalized actions that are self-serving at the expense of others. The idea I think is to feel some remorse, learn from mistakes, grow, and to MAKE NEW MISTAKES.
In retrospect, I am a pretty damn good roommate. I smell nice and I am respectful of space and possessions; I’m tidy and not around very much. I guess my roommate issue lies with others lacking integrity, and my willingness to stand up for truth.
So this is it Wood—we’re calling it quits.
PITW,
JPLF
Filed under: Poemz
For all of the people waiting for my original poems, here’s a little poem I wrote about simple pleasures and infinite pleasures.
We woke up to a fallen sun.
Hungry, we ate peanut butter
with a spoon in bed.
My warm wool socks and
black corduroys rub your bare legs.
Soon it is almost midnight,
and my chin is between
the firm breasts of the universe.
Call everyone I knew,
I’m staying here forever.
I feel I should explain that this ’staying forever,’ means something like [in the present moment, in small things and experiences there is a gateway for the sacred to enter life]. When I am connected to that sacred, the ‘everyone I knew’ from the past life becomes an illusion, and I am hungry to deepen that connection. Get it? No? Alright.
PITW,
JPLF
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
For silly reasons, including my hate for capitalism and former subscription to strange punk rock ideologies, I love to do my part in keeping money away from corporations that can be invested by individuals in smarter ways. This compulsion has taken many forms, including pirating and stealing all types of digital media, (movies, television, books, music). I even enjoy the community that aids its members in the act of piracy, trading links, advice, methods, reviews. And now I’ve found a different sort of community that furthers this agenda using legal means. It is a trade network of people who read books.
This is how it works: instead of going online to amazon or whatever and paying inflated shipping fees for used books, you trade the old titles you don’t want for ones you do want. Just mail in your old book, for usually around two dollars, and you get credit to request a book you want. And for signing up, they give you two free books.
If you are interested, please put me down as your referrer because I can also get a free book for referring people. (type in my email: johnplf@gmail.com when it prompts you in the registration process).
This service, my friends, is another way of sticking it to the man.
Learn to read or die trying!
PITW,
JPLF
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
Yet another semester of college is over. How many times has this happened to me? Nine? Eleven?
It seems now is the time for retrospection. After the hell of Carthage and the ecstasy of the summer, the Tao brought me to the middle ground of the fall, which has been fraught with many kinds of trouble. So much hurt and so many surprises have come. Amid this, my recent rediscovery of poetry has been an amazing gift, as was my reception of blessings from Robert Bly in September. Unfortunately for the curious, my troubles will not be rehashed here.
I am going in a few days to hide from normal social life and let myself be. I have so much to turn over and over and over in my head during my planned wintery quiet-quest. During the day, I plan to stare out of a window at the Rock River while sitting in Nikki’s Cafe; I already have a table picked out. The early evenings I will work with autistic children. At night, I will probably do some more turning over and over again mixed in with reading. Maybe friends will share this experience with me some nights.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
Second Life is the most vile, ugly, disgusting, horrifying, terrifying, awful thing I have ever seen. This is a new level of escapism, a new era of horror, a sad, sad time to be alive.
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
I seek to have less electronic devices. I want to own only books and clothes. Having a cellular telephone is not a convieneince most of the time, which is why it has become largely a telephone that stays on my desk, pulling double duty as an alarm clock. My MSI Wind Netbook is the smallest, yet functional, word processing device that I could find. Typewriters are annoying, and they aren’t good for lengthy college papers, which means I am stuck.
I want to read poems all day, to memorize Rumi and Kabir and Neruda. I want to love a woman with hair like the sun and eyes like the sea. I want to dive deeply into vocational work. These, a few other things, and nothing else.
I have finally seen something in a new way in relation to maturity and manhood. I am an initiated man growing deeper into aliveness and adulthood; this translates into changes within interpersonal interactions. I find myself yelling at others for being irresponsible, short-sighted, and childish. I am not afraid to raise my voice, to become immovable.
These are all very good things.
In my last year of high school at Glenbard West, a sweet little Hispanic girl would take me out to lunch (and pay each time) nearly every day. Her name was Cassy, I think. In those days I didn’t say much; I knew she wasn’t in love with me, and I still wonder why she did that. Sometimes she would forget her money, and she would ask me to walk with her a few blocks to fetch some from her mother. I do not recall ever asking her for this gift, and I remembered to show my gratitude before and after our lunches.
This last year of high school, I worked as a waiter at Denny’s in the night, and I attended community college two days a week the last half. I drove a 1982 Diesel Mercedes 240D that would constantly break down and receive weekly / bi-weekly tickets that, to this day, have not been paid. The Glen Ellyn Police Department seems to be an understanding bunch, considering they never booted my jalopy when it acquired easily over a thousand dollars in parking tickets.
In those days my diet included mostly hot dogs and pizza. I had black hair, tight clothes, and few close friends. I dated and profoundly enmeshed with a girl from my former high school. And what a shame this was: a beautiful girl, slightly older than me was clearly interested in whatever I was back then… she had this adorably placed nose stud… I barely knew this girl at all; I remember a few separate occasions in which she took me to her house during our lunch period. We would walk into her house and I immediately opened her refrigerator to eat anything I wanted.
One day she wore this amazing little black skirt to lunch with me. She entered her house, walked into a neighboring room, and began to undress neglecting to close the door, knowing I stood there. Two things helped me turn down this obvious invitation to a special type of lunchtime fun; my timidity and darn enmeshment with my girlfriend were insurmountable obstacles to adventure on more occasions than this.
The greatest gift she gave me was an accident: she left her burned copy of the French Kicks “One Time Bells” in my car. To this day I love this album because of its beautiful winter-like qualities and gooshy-gooey sentimentality.
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
Robert Bly says: using over 15 syllables in one line causes it to break down, avoid my own prosaic nature, avoid lifeless popular language, to not be obsessed with fact, and avoid the tenancy to lie about myself.
A poem is a whole of interconnected parts, a spider web; touch one part of the poem, and the whole work responds. Frost says that poetry is something that is untranslatable. It cannot be paraphrased, dissected, or deconstructed without losing meaning and beauty.
Do not rely only on powerful feelings and truths to carry a poem. Play with words, be curious, don’t concentrate on being so original, having the poem be an extension of a persona.
Form is a pattern of recurrences. Use rhythm and shape of words on the page to engage senses directly. Use rhythm to call attention to specific words. Organic form shapes as the poem develops from within.
Choose the words of a poem so that each word lives. Learn technical words of various trades to compile a ready supply of words and images with specific richness and expressiveness.
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
I have been spending a lot of time working on poems in the past month. and for many reasons and no reasons, I am compelled to work on them for hours at a time. Antonio Machado says: “doing things well is more important than doing them,” and I battle with my need to make a poem, be done with it, and move on to another poem. I have come up with some sort of process, and it is very confusing. I revise everything incessantly. It’s pretty chaotic, but all I do is look out the window and occasionally type a few lines. This goes on for hours.
I am making a book, or chapbook, of probably ten of my new poems. Lauren Nelson, with a little bit of my help, is illustrating the book.
Party in the woods,
JPLF
Filed under: Beloit Ramblings
According to tracking statistics people are still read this blog.
I have no idea who you are, but you probably know some fairly personal things about me. Scroll down and you can see some bad poetry and catharsis from the torture of my previous college. This is exciting for some reason. I shoot my verbal diarrhea all over this blog, and people read it! I hope you learn something, but know this: reading snippets written in my [crappy] blog is surely not as good as talking to me in person.
Filed under: Critical Carthage
Officially, at 10:32 AM on Wednesday, May 20th, I am no longer living in hell. Seen below is a photograph of all of my belongings Tetris-ed into my Nissan 200SX, and with shit tied onto it as well. It was a feat in itself, that is driving to Chicago to my new temporary home. One of the ropes binding the gigantic flight case to the top of my car came loose and it was waving goodbye to the troubles of Carthage College and Kenosha.
As the title of this post suggest, i am almost done here in Kenosha, and am looking ahead to my summer plans; not too far to take me out of trust and faith, but far enough to be smart.
I am so done here, and I dont know what to do with myself. I still have work to do, but it feels done already. I guess I just have to show up and the work will do itself.
I think I am moving in with a gay man to his amazingly beautiful/humongous, half-million dollar condo. It should be exciting to live on the north side again. It won’t feel the same as 4541 Sheridan, but what will?
Students of nothingness, for nothingness,
scholars of absolute relativity and isolation:
listen carefully!
Being tucked away by the depression of parents and the numbness
to which you have enslaved yourself,
Is an anger in drawers with little handles.
In this old oak cask is a voice, well understood,
a pebble of life that cannot be stolen!
Running from punishment, pain, and sadness
Accept the thirst for comfort and pleasure.
Waking hours have become a reverse quest of avoidance,
.
Heart-broken computers with bled dry teary faces
have great reason to be angry!
We have been failed by the systems created for us.
We have been robbed of a true community;
We have bought into a dynamic
of emotional and intellectual deprivation.
Let us feel what brotherhood is!
Let us be explorers of the soul and the world!
Let us find ourselves, and ourselves in each other!
Filed under: Wandering Thought
I’ve been having a sad Easter. I decided instead of doing my endless homework, I should get rid of 1/5 of everything I own. I carted old pillows, clothes, shoes, bike parts and other junk to the Kenosha Salvation Army, planning to dump it illegally behind the building. I drove around only to find a drop off box and a black man in a Ford Escort he tried to sell me. I started unloading the stuff, and he then started asking me if I had any baby clothes in the bags. He said a lot more, but I couldn’t understand him, asking about various junk I had in my trunk. Finally, I told him he could have everything in my car if he promised to take back what he didn’t want to the Salvation Army. As I piled my old stuff into his back seat, I noticed he was drinking a can of Steel Reserve with a straw. He almost incoherently thanked me, turned his radio up and drove away.
After this, I drove around trying to find somewhere I could buy an omelet. After a while, I found a diner and ordered it to go.
It was cold out today, and I felt like an audience member to the most tragic play ever made. It felt like winter was starting all over again.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
Cassius Clay said, in response to the black involvement in the Vietnam War, “Ain’t no Viet-Cong ever call me nigger.” There’s something that requires more attention than wars in faraway places. I am learning about racism, and its latent manifestations in the aftermath of Katrina. As liberal as I claim to be, I feel stupid about not knowing about what actually happened, and about what racism is really like these days…
Filed under: Wandering Thought
I recently have been working at Kohl’s Department Store, and in working around all the customers, I have noticed that in most cases men and boys are accompanied by their mothers or wives. This is evidence of a problem: men and boys do not dress themselves.
At the risk of being called a homosexual/metrosexual, I am willing to make this statement: In being a man who understands aesthetics, it is becoming more and more apparent that people have no idea what fits them, what looks good, or how to express themselves through clothing. People seem to not live in their bodies; they pay no attention to what they eat, what they do to it, or what they adorn it with.
This can be reduced to an equation: (M + A – C + I) K = U
Men + Apathy – Masculinity – Connection to Body + Intervening Women Acting as Mothers * Kenosha, WI = Ugly and Weird Looking Men
Here’s an ad I made for them. For free. Shop Kohl’s.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
An excerpt from my upcoming project:
Entitlement, Escapism, Alienation, and Apathy,
The Prolonged Adolescence of Generation Y in Contrast with Assorted
Traditional American Indian Cultures: A Cross-Cultural Comparison
“It might seem that IT devices will provide future society with the incestuous base necessary for the solidity of any group or any couple. Each individual monad rigged out with its computer and copulating freely with it will be automatically preserved from any hint of eccentric passion.” Jean Baudrillard (1997: 75) remarks on the dreary evolution of post-modern humans, obsessed with their technology, falling into a meaningless dystopian state of disconnection. The emerging generation in America, a product of Generation X and exponentially advancing technology, has been given many names that reflect their values and interests: the iPod Generation, the Facebook Generation, the Searching-for-an-Identity Generation, the Nothing-is-Sacred Generation, and more commonly Generation Y (Tulgan, 2001). Generation Y collectively is resisting maturity, and instead exists in a cultural purgatory between childhood and truly reaching adulthood;
The understanding and questioning of the expanded adolescence of Generation Y is an important sociological subject because broader implications can be derived from it. The current state of normlessness and disintegration, mothered by Generation X and fathered by technology, has created an environment suitable for further alienation and disconnection from the social world. Generation Y is a product of these factors, and examining how and why adolescence has been prolonged may provide insight to even larger social problems that plague all generations. Contrasting the patterns of the status quo to traditional Native American cultures is an effective method of understanding the faults and shortcomings of our society. It also may help to find true wealth and wisdom in the teachings and practices of other cultures as well as an alternative to the trends of ever-increasing post-modern culture.
Although the most hellacious and testing months of my life are not over, I feel it is time to begin to look what I’ve learned here.
1. In institutionally pressing my cynicism to an unbelievable extreme, I somehow managed to keep living and become less trapped in a cycle of futility and cynicism. Because of this, I can smell cynicism on the breath of myself and others.
2. Because of number one, I learned I don’t even know what I love, like, or find joy in. I don’t know what love, but now I can begin to learn and explore the world as a child would. A bad metaphor just came to mind: it was like I had on a pair of glasses with a very strong prescription (I have perfect vision, according to medical tests). The glasses are now off, and I can see stuff.
3. I can think good. I am smart. I can apply sophisticated sociological concepts to the world. I can learn well.
4. Because of number three, or rather in embracing numbers two and three, I have unleashed a great amount of energy that can be used for good or evil. Also, its easier to have emotions.
5. Intellectuality is a lie. Many books are lies. No one truly cares how smart you are. Also, nobody cares about how developed you are, emotionally, socially, cranially, musically, creatively, etc.
6. I am still not a morning person. I don’t think I will ever be.
This is what the world has come to. This should be turned into a song and it should replace the pledge of allegiance.
“You can call me Miss. Controversy… I suffer from a severe case of egomania. I have no cure. And I like it this way. I’m not a cancer… I’m more like a venom. The mere fact that I can piss you off …gets me off… This contest that we’re all in is based on looks… fcuk personality. Its sad.. but so true. Everyone is a fraud. You love to hate me… …and it’s ok i don’t blame you…. you lack my genetics. …… …. …. …. …. Oh, and as far as that little ” L ” word… i don’t believe in that sh*t. I belive in compromising and sacrificing. Though, i wouldn’t mind finding someone who can pull my hair back set my heart on fire then take my ashes and turn them into diamonds. Every thing I walk on is a catwalk. Every day is a fashion show. And I live every moment as if it’s my last. Try to take that away from me. You might as well have your wrists kiss a sharp object and drown in a tub. P.S Remember, long ways, not accross 
People hate me Even though, I don’t hate them. I have better things to do with my energy Like buy shoes or something. Don’t judge me for what I have, And I won’t judge you for what you lack. Everything I have has been earned one way or another. We choose the life we have, and what we possess in it, From our driveways to our closets. I’m not looking for the man of my dreams just yet, but I would love to meet a hottie that has a great sense of fashion, a dash of humor, preferably dark hair, and an Mitsu Eclipse or a BMW would raise your hotness level approximately 30%. He has to have the persona of a player, but be a sensitive guy at heart. I’m looking for someone who loves to go out and try new eccentric things, but most importantly snuggle up on the couch to watch a movie and even go shopping with. My dream dude would text in the middle of the day just to go out say he misses me. Its hard to get me to be addicted, but I welcome anyone who is up for the challenge. Confidence is the sexiest thing in the world, with a moderation of cockiness. I dare you. Try to trap me in your web.”
Filed under: Wandering Thought
This is an email conversation that occurred after I posted musical equipment to sell on Craigslist.
J.Z.: I am a fan of stuff. May I have some stuff?
Me: I trade stuff for money or other stuff.
J.Z.: I trade stuff for other stuff too. It’s fun when you have some stuff, but it’s better when that stuff makes it possible to get other stuff.
Me: indeed. what stuff you like? what stuf you have?
J.Z.: I’ve got some stuff, more stuff than any one person should have that’s for sure. Actually, my mom has more stuff than me. She loves stuff more than either of use do, I’m sure. I like all types of stuff, I’m not overly picky when it comes to stuff. What stuff do you like?
Me: stuff that explodes, mostly.
J.Z.: love stuff like that. I also really dig shit that implodes.
Me: like the post-modern sociological concept of implosion? that stuff?
J.Z.: more or less.
Me: Werd.
J.Z.: Word, indeed. And that word is….stuff.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
Maybe we should learn to laugh at our failures so that we may live to fight another day.
Filed under: Poemz
Have the ugliest failures brought meaning with their terror?
I have found no salvation in digging holes in this culture.
Vile, stagnant spirits emerge out of every hole,
that I burn, punch, tear, rip, kick, weep.
Do I stop? Is this horrible magic a reflection of my true ugliness?
When do I find relief?
I was born alone, in terror of a vast, lonely world.
What is this place? Where am I?
When are others not an illusion?
Who are you?
What are we doing here?
Very quickly I am coming to terms with the failure of this institution; the more I realize my true isolation with the other students, their individual and collective failures as creatures capable of deriving symbolic meaning from their experiences, the more suffering I experience. This is only going to get worse for the time being.
I have no basis on which to relate to my peers here. The best individuals I have found refuse to acknowledge the dysfunction of this place; they are lost in their own futile search for meaning, but they are insane in their search. They are trying the same things they have been trying their whole lives, the same things their parents have tried, and their parents, and their parents…. but they see my suffering. I want to share my learning with them, but they cannot listen. For them to truly listen is to surrender to their illusions of this place.
Finding meaning in this failure is incredibly difficult, let alone finding meaning in my current daily life. I am no longer living here for today, but I am in pursuit of what the future will bring.
My life here has become suffering, and I am concerned that all of life is like this for my peers and me. Perhaps I have become more sensitive to it in the years I have been awake, or maybe I just choose not to lie to myself.
People are looking for something here, and I have struggled to help them find it. Carthage has failed to provide the forum for this search, and I too have failed in this way.
Filed under: Critical Carthage
I hereby tender my official resignation to the editor of this newspaper.
I have chosen this course of action for a number of reasons, including one instance in which the editorial staff took it upon themselves to distort and rewrite a portion of my last article for the Current. This blatant over-reaction to, and suppression of, my ideas was almost surely done in the name of appeasing the philanthropic alumni that fund the student newspaper.
This dysfunctional dynamic is kept alive by the Current Executive Board; they possess a fear of Carthage administration and alumni contributors that they use to control the content of the paper. During many brainstorming meetings, my ideas for articles were outright denied because of their supposed ‘liberal’ topics, and I was warned for the same reason on several occasions when I wrote opinion pieces.
The Current profoundly fails in providing itself with an autonomous infrastructure that is essential to any forum of FREE MEDIA. My choice to leave the Current was also motivated by the staff’s collective inability and fear to challenge the inherently conservative bias found in the paper. I wonder if any of the members of the Current Executive Board actually thought to have a conversation with the school’s financial contributors and the administration regarding student control of the paper’s content and structure.
I truly find that it is sad that the only place in the Current that cannot be censored is the ‘letters to the editor’ section. It is also sad that this section is the only place true critical thinking can be expressed and explored. The newspaper and college as institutions possess a taboo that inhibits questioning their own existence. Breaking this taboo in many ways has helped some members of the paper (and even one faculty member) ostracize my ideas and me as a person.
The silence, and therefore consent, of good men and women is perpetuating this creative repression and intellectual subjugation. I will no longer be a part of it.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
I went to this sweet ass place called Frank’s Diner with my sociology professor today, and ate a ‘garbage plate.’ It wasn’t big enough and now I am hungry. After that, I went on a bike ride with Amy to the Kenosha Velodrome. It is the oldest operating velodrome in the country, which is weird because this is the worst town ever. It was fun, and I have to get used to the low gear ratio of my new bicycle; my past bicycle had such a high ratio, I was exercising leg muscles, and now it’s all cardiovascular exercise. My knee hurts real bad.
Anyway, I had a good time with my professor, but not awesome. He told me he felt guilty when he said to leave Carthage, and then he felt guilty again when I payed for the cheap lunch. He got angry at the waiter who wanted to talk to us about philosophy and anthropology. He was annoying though because he kept interrupting us.
He told me to weigh the factors of money with the potential improvement of changing colleges. He is worried like everyone else that every college is the same as Carthage. I am worried I might be doing what I do with jobs, where different is always better, but after time, the change sucks just as much. Both can’t be true. But this is just bullshit anyway, cause I have pretty much made up my mind on this subject.
We talked about ideologies and post-modern anomie. I hate this culture. He said some interesting things though about logic. He thinks that it is a stepping stone to get to higher forms of human development. He thinks that people have to understand logic to evolve personally and collectively. I totally get this in some ways; some people that I have known are re re’s when it comes to logic, and it seems to impede growth in some ways. But I have seen just the opposite happen in more cases, where logic and ego stunts development in humans.
The more I learn, the more meaningless this world seems. The deeper I dig into culture, the more ugliness I find.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
The people that I have come into contact at Carthage refuse to truly exercise empathy. Nobody truly cares about my struggle with my living situation that has profoundly pervaded my thoughts and emotions. People refuse to take sides, or they tell me to get over it. Nobody here is angry at anything, and anger has incredible rallying powers. Maybe that is why I haven’t related to people here. I am very angry at a number of things, especially varying types of injustice. What is happening to me in my living situation is unjust. What is happening in culture and society is unjust. What is happening at Carthage is unjust. I am angry about this, and maybe it is immaturity that causes this anger. Nevertheless, I crave justice and truth, and no amount of growing up is going to alleviate this insatiable hunger. I have not seen anyone here with this hunger; I feel that is why the college will never change, and why I cannot be happy here.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
This is one of the only images I have of us together. We are walking through Binion’s Casino in the downtown area. It was one of many casinos with scantily clad female dealers.
This is the fountain show at the Bellagio; like the closing scene in Oceans 11. It was really neato.
This chick has a huge rack. And she lives on a pirate ship. Apparently they have a huge show they do on these ships, complete with sinking ships via hydrolics.
I went on a butt-frenzy. They weren’t very squishy though.
I thought this was a great use of design, reminiscent of my style. A creative way to use stencils to fix busted looking wallspace.
This is an outdoor commons area, sheltered by a structure that features an LED light show. It played music videos of such songs as “Who Do you Love” and “Bad to the Bone.”
This should not be there. A lot of what is here should not be here, including the plants indigenous to east Asia, and an abundant looking waterfall.
This seahorse thing is guarding a gazebo outside of Caesar’s Palace. Without all of the cameras, this would be a homeless person’s dream.
This was a coffee shop that was on the strip near Encore. It featured a girl in booty shorts and overpriced espresso. I stopped in for a business card.
This is funny for a number of reasons. It is a display for a fight that was going to happen, and someone got so pumped about the fight that he punched the glass in anticipation.
Apparently Paris can be visited in Las Vegas. It is a French restaurant built to 1/3 or 1/4 scale of the Eiffel Tower. It also has a scaled model of the Champs Elise next to it.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
I was looking for a pirated avi of Bourne Identity, and I came across a file that had a negative comment, so I checked it out.
“doesn’t work. piece of shit. took a week to download, took a whole night to figure out what to do with these piece of shit ts files, joined them, checked the useless piece of shit par files included that gave me a bullshit piece of shit result that it was fine. it’s not fine. it’s a piece of shit. waste of time, i hate it. ruined my life. attempted ways to convert it. searched all the net to figure out how to play it. and if you tell me to play it in vlc i’ll kick you in the stomach. it didn’t work. any ideas? thanks.”
Filed under: Wandering Thought
There is value in being awake until sunrise, on a regular basis. This is a gift that I have given myself to introspect, learn, work, or be still. This gift comes at the cost of human interaction and proper rest, but necessary for me to be alive in the truest sense. During these hours, I owe nothing, and I am nameless. I can be me, or not me, and the world is a ghost.
I feel that occasionally watching the sunrise is important for my psyche. It reminds me of that isolation is illusion, and solitude will be met with company when it is welcome.
Filed under: Critical Carthage
There has been an issue involving myself, hotel security, and the administration of Carthage College.
I was attending an impromptu informal social gathering in two adjoined rooms, which held a dozen or so people and a fair amount of alcohol, (the devil). The doors to these rooms bleed sound greatly, allowing patrons in the hallway to perceive noise created by the rooms’ occupants. Hourly or bi-hourly, a security guard or resident assistant strolls the hallways where the students are housed. During these ‘rounds,’ if he or she perceives audible activity, they are obligated to dispense a warning. Depending on the personality or mood of the respective authority figure, citations for violators can be sanctioned. Unfortunately, this was the case for me on this evening.
A week after the event, I received a letter, notifying me of my own hearing date. Confused, I complied with the letter and made my appearance at the dean’s office. At this ‘hearing,’ I was charged with a noise violation, and an AODA (alcohol or drug abuse) violation.
I protested by clarifying that I am in fact, twenty one. The noise levels were not disruptive to anyone, except possibly to the meditating Buddhists in the hallway.
I explained that forcing me to assimilate to the values of the college, when I am not violating legal statutes, is infantizing and humiliating.
I insisted that I am not a child and Carthage is not my mother or father.
The authority person explained if you are 21, living at the Best Western, attending the college, and you are consuming alcohol with people younger than you, you are held accountable for their actions. And they are in no way treating me like a child…
But they have taken $25 of my allowance money.
Since this ordeal, the hotel has been very quiet. I have gotten sick, and people have been leaving me alone. I have taken this opportunity to reflect on the nature of social interaction at Carthage.
People here gather (nearly) exclusively around the consumption of alcohol, and these gatherings are persistently outlawed. This low form of intoxicated human interaction is incredibly unfulfilling, and for the most part is a waste of time. However, at Carthage, it seems as though it is one of the few ways to catch people with their guard of social isolation down, and to find scattered glimpses of friendship.
Filed under: Poemz
Beneath the ices of winter lakes,
in the cold, hard,
water, lives the wreck of ships.
The splintered bones and swollen flesh are
concealed furiously in wild snowstorms.
Filed under: Critical Carthage
Lately, I’ve been given omens; two were very powerful, telling me to leave Carthage.
#1. I was eating dinner and getting drinks with my favorite and most respected professor, and he told me to ‘get the fuck out.’ The real significance in this situation was the name of the place at which we were eating, the Boathouse. This professor and I are similarly dissatisfied with and disgruntled at Carthage and the culture as a whole; the metaphor of boats meant we are not among like minded people that are excited about change and growth, we are alone and isolated in the truths we hold in regard to the culture. We are on a rowboat, lost in the middle of a vast sea.
#2. I went with a few friends to see (the shittiest movie I’ve seen in a while) Zack and Miri Make Porno. At the end of the movie, before the main characters got back together for a romantic, happy ending, the projector jammed, and the film burned. This has several levels of meaning. The topic and premise of the movie itself is very representative of the lack of integrity and ethical code found everywhere at Carthage, which seems to be one of the only topics of discussion by males: degradation in its various sexual forms. I was a willing participant in seeing this movie, symbolically illustrating that Carthage has had an effect on my social behavior, assimilating me into its amorality. The burning of the film at the end is the most powerful symbol; before I could have a happy ending at Carthage, the truest parts of me would undergo trauma. I have worked many painful years to become a person, as opposed to a programmed social actor, and Carthage has tried to stamp out this growth at every turn.
It’s time to go back to the drawing board.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
The following is a recent correspondence between myself and an incompetent agent of HP.
[begin transmission]
[An agent will be with you shortly.]
[You are now with Sidney .]
john fiene : hello
Sidney : Hello John.
Sidney : Welcome.
john Fiene : is there a manufactures website i can download these from?
Sidney : I understand that you have downloaded the drivers for your Notebook and it does not work. Am I correct?
john fiene : yes.
Sidney : Thank you for confirmation.
Sidney : Surely I will assist you in this regard.
john fiene : awesome.
Sidney : To assist you better, may I have the Serial (eg: CNS34915MC), Product (eg:DS542U#ABA) number.
john fiene : cnf6091z73
john fiene : “the inf file does not contain information for this system’s hardware. setup will now exit”
Sidney : Thank you for providing additional information.
john fiene : et890ua#aba
Sidney : Thanks again.
Sidney : Could I place you on hold for about 2-3 minutes while I check the information for you?
john fiene : yes
Sidney : May I know from where you have downloaded the drivers for your Notebook?
john fiene : from the HP website
john fiene : they dont work
Sidney : Okay.
Sidney : I will provide you the weblinks to download the drivers and I suggest you to uninstall the drivers and then reinstall it.
john fiene : but are you giving me drivers from the hp website again?
Sidney : Yes, you are correct.
john fiene : ok but that doesnt help
john fiene : …because I’ve gotten those myself already.
[end transmission]
Filed under: Poemz
A loveless uninhabited palace of ice,
Weathered paint and stone,
Knowing human failure.
Brown fields fester,
Like a compost heap of car batteries,
Beneath crumbling bricks.
Life consumed by frigid,
Sameness, homogenization,
Emptiness, decay.
Abandoned barricades once protecting
Families from greedy apparitions,
Have held silence for decades.
Years of mediocrity and poverty,
Waiting for the trees,
And prairie grass to pick up the pieces.
The buildings shiver,
The sun falls.
Filed under: Critical Carthage
I used to write for the student newspaper “the Current” at Carthage. When I first started writing for them, I told the editor what topics I would like to write about; generally they were fairly accommodating and lenient. After a few months, I volunteered to write a general article about the upcoming alumni networking dinner that I would attend.
The purpose of the dinner was to bring current students together with alumni in an effort to find them employment after graduation. The secondary purpose of the event was to help current students learn what employers want in employees.
At the dinner, I found many alumni telling students to “sell themselves, and to get a job outside of your major [if it will pay well].” This type of thinking bothered me because the students do not have any type of vocational path or vision to follow; they are motivated only by their capital interests, not their enjoyment of, and meaning found in work.
I decided to make the article extremely mild, regardless of the alienation that Carthage is helping to perpetuate. At the end of the article, I decided it was best to drop a (very) tiny monkey wrench into the gears at the very end of the article. I made a reference to the success of the event, in relation to students who do not have a great amount of direction in their vocational path.
The editor(s) decided to re-write the last paragraph of my article to make it un-critical of the event, and made the piece completely meaningless. This manipulation of my work and censorship of my ideas seems to be characteristic of the values of Carthage College.
Filed under: Wandering Thought
The failed idea of a reunion of individuals, linked by a shared past experience, has unfortunately helped reaffirm my suspicions that the past is an illusion, and the present, for many people, is a myopic tunnel of activities and busyness. Asking others to detach from this linear process, while having faith that they will, is a sabotage in itself.
Waxing nostalgic seemed so alluring to a sentimental young man as myself, especially when so little of my past is fondly remembered.
