Me vs Criticism... I think you know which is me...
Me during Criticism... Gah!!
Meh, I'll Live.
16 years ago
Friday, December 12, 2008
Final Post... maybe... probably... um...
So, since this is probably going to be my final post on this blog, I guess I'll use proper grammar and spelling.
I am going to leave the class with two of my favorite quotes. One is Shakespeare (I think) and the other is from Pirates of the Caribbean.
"Cry havoc and unleash the dogs of war."
Though we aren't dogs, especially not those of war, we do cause a great deal of havoc as English Literature students. We tend to fly against the grain and go against what society thinks we ought to do. This is incredibly productive as well as entertaining. Plus, it makes life interesting and with reality as dull as it is, it is necessary. Not to mention, we a re being unleashed upon the world... by our professors...
For the last quote.
"Now, bring me that horizon." Because, hey, where else are we going to go?
And now I cannot think of what to say, which is pretty normal for me, so therefore I need not speak.
I'll see you on the other side,
Joan Goss
I am going to leave the class with two of my favorite quotes. One is Shakespeare (I think) and the other is from Pirates of the Caribbean.
"Cry havoc and unleash the dogs of war."
Though we aren't dogs, especially not those of war, we do cause a great deal of havoc as English Literature students. We tend to fly against the grain and go against what society thinks we ought to do. This is incredibly productive as well as entertaining. Plus, it makes life interesting and with reality as dull as it is, it is necessary. Not to mention, we a re being unleashed upon the world... by our professors...
For the last quote.
"Now, bring me that horizon." Because, hey, where else are we going to go?
And now I cannot think of what to say, which is pretty normal for me, so therefore I need not speak.
I'll see you on the other side,
Joan Goss
hmm...
you know i write down twenty pages of notes to myself and then never put them up. like how lit and weather are intertwined in moody literature and the it in "Key West" being this all consuming Everything and Nothing and is merely one of those implied understood things that no one has words for because it is merely it. how Phillip Pullman's daemons could be connected to spirit guides or animals if the native Americans and guardian angels.
how on being "one on whom nothing is lost" can drive a person to madness because the mind can only take so much.
how fiction is no less real than reality merely because it is fiction and the immortality in those pages.
expanding on how reading and lit aren't escapist from reality, the center and circumference, "The center cannot hold" of the "spiraling gyre."
"this persists and only me... fools persist in folly."- I'm not sure entirely what this means but it sounds interesting.
ideas and stories about things in this class that i have not the words for.
you cannot make something mean what you want it to mean... it means what it means.
"what words these are i think i know... promises to keep and miles to go... and miles to go"
because the "truth is unseen" and we must "look through a glass darkly."
it's a confusing jumble in my head. but i have learned so much in this class and enjoyed it so much that i have not the words.
so to conclude this was the most confusing class ever. and the most fun, I've never laughed so much in a class. and while i have only 31 or so blogs i have over 50 pages of notes and ideas for the future. so i suppose i got the better end of the deal.
how on being "one on whom nothing is lost" can drive a person to madness because the mind can only take so much.
how fiction is no less real than reality merely because it is fiction and the immortality in those pages.
expanding on how reading and lit aren't escapist from reality, the center and circumference, "The center cannot hold" of the "spiraling gyre."
"this persists and only me... fools persist in folly."- I'm not sure entirely what this means but it sounds interesting.
ideas and stories about things in this class that i have not the words for.
you cannot make something mean what you want it to mean... it means what it means.
"what words these are i think i know... promises to keep and miles to go... and miles to go"
because the "truth is unseen" and we must "look through a glass darkly."
it's a confusing jumble in my head. but i have learned so much in this class and enjoyed it so much that i have not the words.
so to conclude this was the most confusing class ever. and the most fun, I've never laughed so much in a class. and while i have only 31 or so blogs i have over 50 pages of notes and ideas for the future. so i suppose i got the better end of the deal.
Final
i was actually going to add a fill in the blank question for the exam.
"In the ____ if his days, teach the free man how to ____." prison; praise.
but hey, if not oh well.
"In the ____ if his days, teach the free man how to ____." prison; praise.
but hey, if not oh well.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Appreciation for Literature
you know what will give you a real appreciation for literature? reading a work of literature... in another language.
in high school for my advanced french class we had to read Le Petite Prince. It. Was. Hell.
it was an excellent book don't get me wrong but it was misery trying to make sense of somethings that just did not translate. i missed a lot of stuff but still appreciated the book. we ended up finding a cheat site and printing out the accurate and professional translation to read aloud for when we had a substitute and reading ahead of time to get a better sense of the book and what was happening.
our teacher was a good teacher. we just weren't that good of students. but the story itself was wonderful. fanciful yet serious. i can't really explain because, like i said, i missed a lot but it did make some sense instead of none.
in high school for my advanced french class we had to read Le Petite Prince. It. Was. Hell.
it was an excellent book don't get me wrong but it was misery trying to make sense of somethings that just did not translate. i missed a lot of stuff but still appreciated the book. we ended up finding a cheat site and printing out the accurate and professional translation to read aloud for when we had a substitute and reading ahead of time to get a better sense of the book and what was happening.
our teacher was a good teacher. we just weren't that good of students. but the story itself was wonderful. fanciful yet serious. i can't really explain because, like i said, i missed a lot but it did make some sense instead of none.
The Skit
Judge: The case of the People vs. William Blake is now in session. You may proceed with your opening statements counsel.
Opening Statements
Prosecution:
The People have accused William Blake of obscenity in his poem “The Sick Rose”. It is wrong that such vulgarity should be lauded as a contribution to literature! It reflects our own moral deficiency as a culture and this amorality is perpetuated because we teach it to our children in schools.
It will be up to you, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, to determine for yourselves the value of such profanity in the literary canon, of teaching our children the poems of a man who describes a violent sex act in his poem that is falsely praised for genius. Please use your best judgment, and remember that “The Sick Rose” is sick and vulgar.
Defense:
William Blake is innocent of these ridiculous charges. This poem can in no way be considered immoral or obscene, because the meaning of this poem is not set in stone. It is ambiguous and the interpretation and any meaning which can be derived is a meaning which can only determined by the individual reader.
Trial
Prosecution: The People call William Blake to the stand:
Please state your name and profession.
Blake:
My name is William Blake and I am a visionary.
Prosecution: Is this your poem, Mr. Blake?
Blake: No, that poem doesn’t belong to me!
Prosecution: Did you write a poem entitled “The Sick Rose” that is the same as this poem, line for line?
Blake: Oh, well yes, I suppose I did.
.
Prosecution: The People would like to submit this evidence as Exhibit A.
(Pass out Exhibit A to class)
What did you intend for “The Sick Rose” to mean?
Defense: I object on the grounds that the author’s intent has no importance in the theory of Deconstruction under form C3 of intentional fallacies.
Judge: Sustained.
Prosecution: No more questions your honor.
Defense: The defense has no questions for the accused, he and so he may step down.
Prosecution: The People call Dr. Sigmund Freud to the stand.
Dr. Feud, please state your profession for the court.
Freud: I am a psychoanalysis and literary critic.
Prosecution: And in what way are you qualified to relay your expertise on “The Sick Rose”?
Freud: I have extensively studied the human psyche and have come to the conclusion that sexual references are everywhere. You see the rose signifies the female reproductive organ and the invisible worm, oh well, you can guess what that is!
Prosecution: In your opinion, is “The Sick Rose” about a rape?
Freud: Undoubtedly so. The rose is slowly dismantled by a number of destructive elements. All very sexual of course. Simply look to the fifth and sixth lines of the poem if you don’t believe me, “has found out thy bed of crimson joy.” Truly, the rose doesn’t stand a chance.
Prosecution: No more questions, your Honor.
Defense: Dr. Freud, does your knowledge of literary criticism extend to all fields? Are you as familiar, say, with the literary school of Deconstruction as you are Psychoanalytical theories?
Freud: Well, of course not.
Defense: So isn’t it possible that because of your extensive study in Psychoanalytical that your objectivity may be off? Perhaps you have a case of tunnel vision? I mean you were taught to see the world with sexual connotations attached. So why not find those sexual undertones in this poem as well? Isn’t it just one man’s opinion you bring to this courtroom?
Freud: Yes, I have given my opinion based on my literary and career background. I will say no more.
Defense: No more questions your honor, the witness may step down.
The Defense calls Jaques Derrida to the stand.
Please state your name and occupation for the record.
Derrida: My name is Jaques Derrida and I have been called the father of Deconstruction.
Defense: Thank you. And could you tell me Mr. Derrida how many interpretations this poem, “The Sick Rose,” could have?
Derrida: It has any number of interpretations. The absence of the author when generally reading a work of literature leaves us only with the text as a source of meaning. Texts are read in various ways and on multiple levels. Now, I do encourage close reading because this is a heavy responsibility. One can’t merely read about a rabbit and make up interpretations that the rabbit represents old age and stinginess. No, of course not. At the same time there is no fixed meaning of a work just as the sun is not our only star in the universe. It is the most obvious, but certainly not one of a kind.
Defense: What advice would you give those that wish to condemn William Blake today?
Derrida: ALWAYS rethink your interpretations, play with texts you read, be willing to hear what it is saying and above all, QUESTION it - for this is when understanding (deconstruction) takes place.
Defense: Thank you, Mr. Derrida. No more questions, your honor.
Prosecution: Mr. Derrida, why should the reader have so much power? Shouldn’t it be up to better educated peoples to decide what material is inappropriate based on content?
Derrida: It is my understanding that to read is to experience. If a person is reading, then they have enough intelligence to listen to what the work is telling them. A person’s commentary or interpretation of a work of literature is a very personal aspect, and since there is such diversity among the peoples of this earth, that leads to multiple interpretations. And who has the power, knowledge or hubris to say which of those is the correct interpretation?
Prosecution: I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Derrida. What do you think the poem means?
Derrida: Well first I would take it line by line and determine what each word means. Because words themselves are quite ambiguous.
Prosecution: The meaning, Mr. Derrida?
Derrida: Right, well I see it as a struggle for life. A once beautiful flower has come to the end of her long life. She has been through many storms in her life and has but one more obstacle ahead of her. Death is wooing her, and I think she will answer him. But that is one interpretation, my dear.
Prosecution: Thank you; I have no more questions your honor.
Defense: The Defense calls Hans-Georg Gadamer to the stand.
Please state your name and profession for the record.
Gadamer: Yes, my name is Hans-Georg Gadamer and I am a philosopher and literary critic.
Defense: And your School of Criticism would be..?
Gadamer: Deconstruction.
Defense: And why is that?
Gadamer: I take the experience of beauty to be central to an understanding of the nature of art. The beautiful is that which is self-evidently present to us (as ‘radiant’). And we must explore the close relationship between the beautiful and the true. It is this continual exploration that leads to different points of view. I mean just look at all the Literary Schools of Criticism. Their arguing actually supports Deconstruction. All these varying point of views, interpretations, and criticisms are what make up the fabric of literature. How boring it would be to be constrained to one idea or thought process. I couldn’t live in a world like that.
Defense: What do you think the line, “The invisible worm,” means?
Gadamer: One can make a word anything they want it to be. Invisible can mean withdrawn from, out of sight, hidden, not visible, not perceptible by the eye, or any number of things. The word ‘worm’ has even more definitions. Did you know that worm can actually be traced back to legends of dragons? And that’s just scratching the surface. We haven’t even discussed portmanteaus or homonyms yet.
Defense: Thank you, professor. That will be all. No more questions, your honor. Defense rests.
Prosecution: No questions, your honor.
Judge: Closing Arguments
Prosecution:
The People have argued that “The Sick Rose” is a poem about rape, a poem about a violent, disturbing sexual act that doesn’t need to be taught in schools as a work of outstanding genius or act as a pillar in the canon of English literature. The Defense has argued that there is more than one way to view a piece of literature. If this is true then it is also true that the vulgar interpretation still stands, and if “The Sick Rose” can be interpreted in such a way, then it should be banned in schools and not heralded as a beautiful poem but denounced instead.
Defense: As we have seen from these various witnesses and Mr. Blake himself, The meaning of a poem or any piece of literature is not a static thing which has but a singular meaning, Since so much symbolism can be locked into a single word and this meaning can only be derived through the individual understanding of the reader, it only stands to reason that due to the complexity and infinite possibilities which can arise from the text…it only stands to reason that as a judge and jury that in your personal wisdom you can see the fault with in accusing Mr William Blake as being obscene and will allow readers to derive their own interpretation from the words which are found in this simple yet complex poem.
Opening Statements
Prosecution:
The People have accused William Blake of obscenity in his poem “The Sick Rose”. It is wrong that such vulgarity should be lauded as a contribution to literature! It reflects our own moral deficiency as a culture and this amorality is perpetuated because we teach it to our children in schools.
It will be up to you, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, to determine for yourselves the value of such profanity in the literary canon, of teaching our children the poems of a man who describes a violent sex act in his poem that is falsely praised for genius. Please use your best judgment, and remember that “The Sick Rose” is sick and vulgar.
Defense:
William Blake is innocent of these ridiculous charges. This poem can in no way be considered immoral or obscene, because the meaning of this poem is not set in stone. It is ambiguous and the interpretation and any meaning which can be derived is a meaning which can only determined by the individual reader.
Trial
Prosecution: The People call William Blake to the stand:
Please state your name and profession.
Blake:
My name is William Blake and I am a visionary.
Prosecution: Is this your poem, Mr. Blake?
Blake: No, that poem doesn’t belong to me!
Prosecution: Did you write a poem entitled “The Sick Rose” that is the same as this poem, line for line?
Blake: Oh, well yes, I suppose I did.
.
Prosecution: The People would like to submit this evidence as Exhibit A.
(Pass out Exhibit A to class)
What did you intend for “The Sick Rose” to mean?
Defense: I object on the grounds that the author’s intent has no importance in the theory of Deconstruction under form C3 of intentional fallacies.
Judge: Sustained.
Prosecution: No more questions your honor.
Defense: The defense has no questions for the accused, he and so he may step down.
Prosecution: The People call Dr. Sigmund Freud to the stand.
Dr. Feud, please state your profession for the court.
Freud: I am a psychoanalysis and literary critic.
Prosecution: And in what way are you qualified to relay your expertise on “The Sick Rose”?
Freud: I have extensively studied the human psyche and have come to the conclusion that sexual references are everywhere. You see the rose signifies the female reproductive organ and the invisible worm, oh well, you can guess what that is!
Prosecution: In your opinion, is “The Sick Rose” about a rape?
Freud: Undoubtedly so. The rose is slowly dismantled by a number of destructive elements. All very sexual of course. Simply look to the fifth and sixth lines of the poem if you don’t believe me, “has found out thy bed of crimson joy.” Truly, the rose doesn’t stand a chance.
Prosecution: No more questions, your Honor.
Defense: Dr. Freud, does your knowledge of literary criticism extend to all fields? Are you as familiar, say, with the literary school of Deconstruction as you are Psychoanalytical theories?
Freud: Well, of course not.
Defense: So isn’t it possible that because of your extensive study in Psychoanalytical that your objectivity may be off? Perhaps you have a case of tunnel vision? I mean you were taught to see the world with sexual connotations attached. So why not find those sexual undertones in this poem as well? Isn’t it just one man’s opinion you bring to this courtroom?
Freud: Yes, I have given my opinion based on my literary and career background. I will say no more.
Defense: No more questions your honor, the witness may step down.
The Defense calls Jaques Derrida to the stand.
Please state your name and occupation for the record.
Derrida: My name is Jaques Derrida and I have been called the father of Deconstruction.
Defense: Thank you. And could you tell me Mr. Derrida how many interpretations this poem, “The Sick Rose,” could have?
Derrida: It has any number of interpretations. The absence of the author when generally reading a work of literature leaves us only with the text as a source of meaning. Texts are read in various ways and on multiple levels. Now, I do encourage close reading because this is a heavy responsibility. One can’t merely read about a rabbit and make up interpretations that the rabbit represents old age and stinginess. No, of course not. At the same time there is no fixed meaning of a work just as the sun is not our only star in the universe. It is the most obvious, but certainly not one of a kind.
Defense: What advice would you give those that wish to condemn William Blake today?
Derrida: ALWAYS rethink your interpretations, play with texts you read, be willing to hear what it is saying and above all, QUESTION it - for this is when understanding (deconstruction) takes place.
Defense: Thank you, Mr. Derrida. No more questions, your honor.
Prosecution: Mr. Derrida, why should the reader have so much power? Shouldn’t it be up to better educated peoples to decide what material is inappropriate based on content?
Derrida: It is my understanding that to read is to experience. If a person is reading, then they have enough intelligence to listen to what the work is telling them. A person’s commentary or interpretation of a work of literature is a very personal aspect, and since there is such diversity among the peoples of this earth, that leads to multiple interpretations. And who has the power, knowledge or hubris to say which of those is the correct interpretation?
Prosecution: I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Derrida. What do you think the poem means?
Derrida: Well first I would take it line by line and determine what each word means. Because words themselves are quite ambiguous.
Prosecution: The meaning, Mr. Derrida?
Derrida: Right, well I see it as a struggle for life. A once beautiful flower has come to the end of her long life. She has been through many storms in her life and has but one more obstacle ahead of her. Death is wooing her, and I think she will answer him. But that is one interpretation, my dear.
Prosecution: Thank you; I have no more questions your honor.
Defense: The Defense calls Hans-Georg Gadamer to the stand.
Please state your name and profession for the record.
Gadamer: Yes, my name is Hans-Georg Gadamer and I am a philosopher and literary critic.
Defense: And your School of Criticism would be..?
Gadamer: Deconstruction.
Defense: And why is that?
Gadamer: I take the experience of beauty to be central to an understanding of the nature of art. The beautiful is that which is self-evidently present to us (as ‘radiant’). And we must explore the close relationship between the beautiful and the true. It is this continual exploration that leads to different points of view. I mean just look at all the Literary Schools of Criticism. Their arguing actually supports Deconstruction. All these varying point of views, interpretations, and criticisms are what make up the fabric of literature. How boring it would be to be constrained to one idea or thought process. I couldn’t live in a world like that.
Defense: What do you think the line, “The invisible worm,” means?
Gadamer: One can make a word anything they want it to be. Invisible can mean withdrawn from, out of sight, hidden, not visible, not perceptible by the eye, or any number of things. The word ‘worm’ has even more definitions. Did you know that worm can actually be traced back to legends of dragons? And that’s just scratching the surface. We haven’t even discussed portmanteaus or homonyms yet.
Defense: Thank you, professor. That will be all. No more questions, your honor. Defense rests.
Prosecution: No questions, your honor.
Judge: Closing Arguments
Prosecution:
The People have argued that “The Sick Rose” is a poem about rape, a poem about a violent, disturbing sexual act that doesn’t need to be taught in schools as a work of outstanding genius or act as a pillar in the canon of English literature. The Defense has argued that there is more than one way to view a piece of literature. If this is true then it is also true that the vulgar interpretation still stands, and if “The Sick Rose” can be interpreted in such a way, then it should be banned in schools and not heralded as a beautiful poem but denounced instead.
Defense: As we have seen from these various witnesses and Mr. Blake himself, The meaning of a poem or any piece of literature is not a static thing which has but a singular meaning, Since so much symbolism can be locked into a single word and this meaning can only be derived through the individual understanding of the reader, it only stands to reason that due to the complexity and infinite possibilities which can arise from the text…it only stands to reason that as a judge and jury that in your personal wisdom you can see the fault with in accusing Mr William Blake as being obscene and will allow readers to derive their own interpretation from the words which are found in this simple yet complex poem.
Deconstruction play list
Maggie- Prosecution representing "The People"
Joan- William Blake the Defendant
Doug- Defense as Deconstruction
Chris- Sigmund Freud the psycoanalyst Witness
Gabby- Jaques Derrida- Father of Deconstruction Witness
Kayla- Hans-Georg Godamer- Deconstruction Witness
Michael Sexson- Judge
Students- Jury
skit-
a judicial hearing over the appropriateness of William Blake's Poem "The Sick Rose"
Joan- William Blake the Defendant
Doug- Defense as Deconstruction
Chris- Sigmund Freud the psycoanalyst Witness
Gabby- Jaques Derrida- Father of Deconstruction Witness
Kayla- Hans-Georg Godamer- Deconstruction Witness
Michael Sexson- Judge
Students- Jury
skit-
a judicial hearing over the appropriateness of William Blake's Poem "The Sick Rose"
very basic deconstruction
Deconstruction is the critical theory of breaking down a literary
piece, such as a poem, through its words. Because words have no single
meaning and link back to other words so too does the literary piece
have no single meaning. Also under consideration is the distance
between the signifier, the word, and the signified, the object the word
represents. Language is faulty and metaphorical due to this gap.
In deconstruction there is no "outside the text" and no authorial intent.
piece, such as a poem, through its words. Because words have no single
meaning and link back to other words so too does the literary piece
have no single meaning. Also under consideration is the distance
between the signifier, the word, and the signified, the object the word
represents. Language is faulty and metaphorical due to this gap.
In deconstruction there is no "outside the text" and no authorial intent.
Deconstruction
well our project was interesting to say the least. i'm glad that it's done. some other things on deconstruction that we didn't get to in class.
deconstruction is a logocentric literary theory.
it highlights the conflicts in texts and the devices used to claim legitimate and truthful status
"establishes a hierarchy of significance from binary oppositions"
- something about one word in a binary being the norm and the other a deviation.
deconstructionists were literary snobs claiming certain work as lisable=readable, illisable=not readable, and scriptable=writable
deconstruction is not about fixing a meaning but to relate texts to each other and locate aporia=impasse of meaning between them.
- um... find the differences in meaning.
deconstruction is a logocentric literary theory.
it highlights the conflicts in texts and the devices used to claim legitimate and truthful status
"establishes a hierarchy of significance from binary oppositions"
- something about one word in a binary being the norm and the other a deviation.
deconstructionists were literary snobs claiming certain work as lisable=readable, illisable=not readable, and scriptable=writable
deconstruction is not about fixing a meaning but to relate texts to each other and locate aporia=impasse of meaning between them.
- um... find the differences in meaning.
Defense speech
well, i think it went well even if i wasnt entirely clear. GOOD OMENS is god!!! and yeah, i am actually a lazy bugger and yeah, my parents were alarmed by how much writing i usually end up doing. then of course they have to give their approval before it crosses a desk. apology/defense is weird becuse i keep thinking about how i'm supposed to say i'm sorry with that word but thats not what it's supposed to be. blah! i really don't like to apologize anyway, but i can usually avoid upsets and arguments if in doubt by apologizing in the modern manner.
edited Defense
Kotodama
First off, I’d like to admit to some rather apparent laziness. Also, I want to say that I find that writing this essay is not what I want to do, even less is speaking in front of the class. I find it pointless to try to defend what doesn’t need to be, much less something which, “needs no justifications.” I mean seriously, if it doesn’t need justification why does it need a defense. Blah! I really don’t have anything more to say on this.
“Story! Story! Tell the story, Joanie!”
Oh, boy. Brats. Great. Fine.
“All right, lets see… Bambi? Beauty and the Beast? Snow White? Or something else? What do you guys want to hear?”
Boy, this brings me back, me staring up at my dad’s face insisting that he read to me or let me read to him. Or just that he tell me stories. I was versatile like that. Still am.
And now here I am sitting in front of a group of brats, the locals’ kids that I have semi-adopted as mine and they’re demanding that I tell them stories. Man, things have come full circle. I suppose that’s the way it goes though.
“Hmmm… Shall I weave the Enchanter’s Tale around your ears? Shall I sing of the Siren and the Sailor? Or would you, here, today wish the tales of the Eld? Of Lightning Dancing and Wind Runner? What about the Horse Lord, Shadow Fax, and his faithful Wizard Friend? Raptor Red? What of Maerlyn and Arthur? The Ghosts of Christmas?”
Squeals. Boy, kids have the worst voices.
My list of stories could go on for hours, they know it, I know it. Frankly, I kind of prefer the stories of humor and adventure. Dramas and tragedies are good (I worship Shakespeare), but they lack something without a good dose of humor (Oedipus, gag!). I’ve been reading, and then writing for as long as I can remember, but I hate being forced to read or write, it takes all the enjoyment out of my beloved.
There’s a wonderful thing about literature and imagination, you can go anywhere and do anything with either or both. You can make anything happen, believe in anything you choose, spend twenty years in prison, betrayed, in the space of a second, a few words, and find the lost treasure of the Nameless Pharaoh.
I’m an eclectic. I like a lot of things in a mix. My friends complain about my taste in music and literature. I’m also an aesthetic. If it sounds good, or looks interesting I’ll take a look. I like off the wall or odd things, pagan, wild, Zen, you name it. I’ve been called a lot of things, too: pagan, cowgirl, hick, boonie, mountain brat, blunt (I’m actually rather fond of this one), and some things I won’t repeat. Point is, is that these are only words and those people know very little about me.
The Japanese have a theory that they call Kotodama. From what I understand, each word has power and that once the word is spoken the power is released into the world to spread. Like a physical force, it affects every thing around it moving outward like bad gossip, or if you want to stick to orientalism, like ripples in a pond, reaching out and then bouncing back, again and again until there is no more power to the word spoken.
Okay, so, duh! Words move men and armies, so of course they have power. Say family and you get warm fuzzies, beloved and you turn into a sap. It’s jus the way it goes. But words only have the power people give them. You can only be hurt by an insult if you believe it or it comes from someone important to you, but from a stranger… meh. Let them talk, after all it’s only words.
The words hold power, and every word of every story I tell is true and real according to this theory. That is a reassuring thing. To know that somewhere, old sages spread knowledge, dragons spread both honor and chaos, that witches cackle over bubbling cauldrons, politicians plot, watchmen watch and the world turns on, time passing in cycles as ages rise and fall. Soon, very soon, something will happen to force this ironic world into mythic and there will be no place for those like me who adore irony and satire. No place for those who find humor in nearly everything.
I believe I’ve lost myself, and perhaps the reader as well. I do tend to do that. But then how will I know what I think until I say it or write it? Apparently, I tangent a lot. Shall I tie in? No? Very well, then.
Words poured from his mouth like water from a fall…lost, disconnected, disorder, chaos, order in chaos, chaos in order, round and round we go, there’s not stopping now. Lapsang soochong is an excellent tea with a bit of honey and a touch of lemon, but it’s an acquired taste. Honey can last for thousands of years as long as it never gets water in it, then it ferments and becomes mead, pharaohs drank it and it was still good when they opened the tombs. The accursed tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamen. Myth? Fable?
No, words of power. The belief alone will kill you. They say if you die in your dreams you die in real life as well, that’s why when we dream we fall we always wake before we hit the ground. It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the last part.
I will spend my immortality in any way I please in any study I please.
Every story told is true, everything written down or spoken is rhetoric and therefore literary. As an English major I can read anything and become a part of that world, I can touch on every subject known to man, and even those that aren’t. I can see and study anything I want. I reach out into the world in all fronts while others focus down to one or two. As and English major I can come to know everything. An English major is the Master Major. It is the every-major. Meaning it can go to every subject. “Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon, that the maker’s rage to order words of the sea…” “To order words,” to arrange, to demand, whichever way it is taken it is what it is. So mote it be.
First off, I’d like to admit to some rather apparent laziness. Also, I want to say that I find that writing this essay is not what I want to do, even less is speaking in front of the class. I find it pointless to try to defend what doesn’t need to be, much less something which, “needs no justifications.” I mean seriously, if it doesn’t need justification why does it need a defense. Blah! I really don’t have anything more to say on this.
“Story! Story! Tell the story, Joanie!”
Oh, boy. Brats. Great. Fine.
“All right, lets see… Bambi? Beauty and the Beast? Snow White? Or something else? What do you guys want to hear?”
Boy, this brings me back, me staring up at my dad’s face insisting that he read to me or let me read to him. Or just that he tell me stories. I was versatile like that. Still am.
And now here I am sitting in front of a group of brats, the locals’ kids that I have semi-adopted as mine and they’re demanding that I tell them stories. Man, things have come full circle. I suppose that’s the way it goes though.
“Hmmm… Shall I weave the Enchanter’s Tale around your ears? Shall I sing of the Siren and the Sailor? Or would you, here, today wish the tales of the Eld? Of Lightning Dancing and Wind Runner? What about the Horse Lord, Shadow Fax, and his faithful Wizard Friend? Raptor Red? What of Maerlyn and Arthur? The Ghosts of Christmas?”
Squeals. Boy, kids have the worst voices.
My list of stories could go on for hours, they know it, I know it. Frankly, I kind of prefer the stories of humor and adventure. Dramas and tragedies are good (I worship Shakespeare), but they lack something without a good dose of humor (Oedipus, gag!). I’ve been reading, and then writing for as long as I can remember, but I hate being forced to read or write, it takes all the enjoyment out of my beloved.
There’s a wonderful thing about literature and imagination, you can go anywhere and do anything with either or both. You can make anything happen, believe in anything you choose, spend twenty years in prison, betrayed, in the space of a second, a few words, and find the lost treasure of the Nameless Pharaoh.
I’m an eclectic. I like a lot of things in a mix. My friends complain about my taste in music and literature. I’m also an aesthetic. If it sounds good, or looks interesting I’ll take a look. I like off the wall or odd things, pagan, wild, Zen, you name it. I’ve been called a lot of things, too: pagan, cowgirl, hick, boonie, mountain brat, blunt (I’m actually rather fond of this one), and some things I won’t repeat. Point is, is that these are only words and those people know very little about me.
The Japanese have a theory that they call Kotodama. From what I understand, each word has power and that once the word is spoken the power is released into the world to spread. Like a physical force, it affects every thing around it moving outward like bad gossip, or if you want to stick to orientalism, like ripples in a pond, reaching out and then bouncing back, again and again until there is no more power to the word spoken.
Okay, so, duh! Words move men and armies, so of course they have power. Say family and you get warm fuzzies, beloved and you turn into a sap. It’s jus the way it goes. But words only have the power people give them. You can only be hurt by an insult if you believe it or it comes from someone important to you, but from a stranger… meh. Let them talk, after all it’s only words.
The words hold power, and every word of every story I tell is true and real according to this theory. That is a reassuring thing. To know that somewhere, old sages spread knowledge, dragons spread both honor and chaos, that witches cackle over bubbling cauldrons, politicians plot, watchmen watch and the world turns on, time passing in cycles as ages rise and fall. Soon, very soon, something will happen to force this ironic world into mythic and there will be no place for those like me who adore irony and satire. No place for those who find humor in nearly everything.
I believe I’ve lost myself, and perhaps the reader as well. I do tend to do that. But then how will I know what I think until I say it or write it? Apparently, I tangent a lot. Shall I tie in? No? Very well, then.
Words poured from his mouth like water from a fall…lost, disconnected, disorder, chaos, order in chaos, chaos in order, round and round we go, there’s not stopping now. Lapsang soochong is an excellent tea with a bit of honey and a touch of lemon, but it’s an acquired taste. Honey can last for thousands of years as long as it never gets water in it, then it ferments and becomes mead, pharaohs drank it and it was still good when they opened the tombs. The accursed tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamen. Myth? Fable?
No, words of power. The belief alone will kill you. They say if you die in your dreams you die in real life as well, that’s why when we dream we fall we always wake before we hit the ground. It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the last part.
I will spend my immortality in any way I please in any study I please.
Every story told is true, everything written down or spoken is rhetoric and therefore literary. As an English major I can read anything and become a part of that world, I can touch on every subject known to man, and even those that aren’t. I can see and study anything I want. I reach out into the world in all fronts while others focus down to one or two. As and English major I can come to know everything. An English major is the Master Major. It is the every-major. Meaning it can go to every subject. “Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon, that the maker’s rage to order words of the sea…” “To order words,” to arrange, to demand, whichever way it is taken it is what it is. So mote it be.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Defense
Kotodama
First off, I’d like to admit to some rather apparent laziness. Also, I want to say that I find that writing this essay is not what I want to do, even less is speaking in front of the class. I find it pointless to try to defend what doesn’t need to be, much less something which, “needs no justifications.” Blah! I really don’t have anything more to say on this.
“Story! Story! Tell the story, Joanie!”
Oh, boy. Brats. Great. Fine.
“All right, lets see… Bambi? Beauty and the Beast? Snow White? Or something else? What do you guys want to hear?”
Boy, this brings me back, me staring up at my dad’s face insisting that he read to me or let me read to him. Or just that he tell me stories. I was versatile like that. Still am.
And now here I am sitting in front of a group of brats, the locals’ kids that I have semi-adopted as mine and they’re demanding that I tell them stories. Man, things have come full circle. I suppose that’s the way it goes though.
“Hmmm… Shall I weave the Enchanter’s Tale around your ears? Shall I sing of the Siren and the Sailor? Or would you, here, today wish the tales of the Eld? Of Lightning Dancing and Wind Runner? What about the Horse Lord, Shadow Fax, and his faithful Wizard Friend? Raptor Red? What of Maerlyn and Arthur? The Ghosts of Christmas?”
Squeals. Boy, kids have the worst voices.
My list of stories could go on for hours, they know it, I know it. Frankly, I kind of prefer the stories of humor and adventure. Dramas and tragedies are good (I worship Shakespeare), but they lack something without a good dose of humor (Oedipus, gag!). I’ve been reading, and then writing for as long as I can remember, but I hate being forced to read or write, it takes all the enjoyment out of my beloved.
There’s a wonderful thing about literature and imagination, you can go anywhere and do anything with either or both. You can make anything happen, believe in anything you choose, spend twenty years in prison, betrayed, in the space of a second, a few words, and find the lost treasure of the Nameless Pharaoh.
I’m an eclectic. I like a lot of things in a mix. My friends complain about my taste in music and literature. I’m also an aesthetic. If it sounds good, or looks interesting I’ll take a look. I like off the wall or odd things, pagan, wild, Zen, you name it. I’ve been called a lot of things, too: pagan, cowgirl, hick, boonie, mountain brat, blunt (I’m actually rather fond of this one), and some things I won’t repeat. Point is, is that these are only words and those people know very little about me.
The Japanese have a theory that they call Kotodama. From what I understand, each word has power and that once the word is spoken the power is released into the world to spread. Like a physical force, it affects every thing around it moving outward like bad gossip, or if you want to stick to orientalism, like ripples in a pond, reaching out and then bouncing back, again and again until there is no more power to the word spoken.
The words hold power, and every word of every story I tell is true and real according to this theory. That is a reassuring thing. To know that somewhere, old sages spread knowledge, dragons spread both honor and chaos, that witches cackle over bubbling cauldrons, politicians plot, watchmen watch and the world turns on, time passing in cycles as ages rise and fall. Soon, very soon, something will happen to force this ironic world into mythic and there will be no place for those like me who adore irony and satire. No place for those who find humor in nearly everything.
I believe I’ve lost myself, and perhaps the reader as well. I do tend to do that. But then how will I know what I think until I say it or write it? Apparently, I tangent a lot. Shall I tie in? No? Very well, then.
Words poured from his mouth like water from a fall…lost, disconnected, disorder, chaos, order in chaos, chaos in order, round and round we go, there’s not stopping now. Lapsang soochong is an excellent tea with a bit of honey and a touch of lemon, but it’s an acquired taste. Honey can last for thousands of years as long as it never gets water in it, then it ferments and becomes mead, pharaohs drank it and it was still good when they opened the tombs. The accursed tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamen. Myth? Fable?
No, words of power. The belief alone will kill you. They say if you die in your dreams you die in real life as well, that’s why when we dream we fall we always wake before we hit the ground. It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the last part.
Every story told is true, everything written down or spoken is rhetoric and therefore literary. As an English major I can read anything and become a part of that world, I can touch on every subject known to man, and even those that aren’t. I reach out into the world in all fronts while others focus down to one or two. “Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon, that the maker’s rage to order words of the sea…” “To order words,” to arrange, to demand, whichever way it is taken it is what it is. So mote it be
First off, I’d like to admit to some rather apparent laziness. Also, I want to say that I find that writing this essay is not what I want to do, even less is speaking in front of the class. I find it pointless to try to defend what doesn’t need to be, much less something which, “needs no justifications.” Blah! I really don’t have anything more to say on this.
“Story! Story! Tell the story, Joanie!”
Oh, boy. Brats. Great. Fine.
“All right, lets see… Bambi? Beauty and the Beast? Snow White? Or something else? What do you guys want to hear?”
Boy, this brings me back, me staring up at my dad’s face insisting that he read to me or let me read to him. Or just that he tell me stories. I was versatile like that. Still am.
And now here I am sitting in front of a group of brats, the locals’ kids that I have semi-adopted as mine and they’re demanding that I tell them stories. Man, things have come full circle. I suppose that’s the way it goes though.
“Hmmm… Shall I weave the Enchanter’s Tale around your ears? Shall I sing of the Siren and the Sailor? Or would you, here, today wish the tales of the Eld? Of Lightning Dancing and Wind Runner? What about the Horse Lord, Shadow Fax, and his faithful Wizard Friend? Raptor Red? What of Maerlyn and Arthur? The Ghosts of Christmas?”
Squeals. Boy, kids have the worst voices.
My list of stories could go on for hours, they know it, I know it. Frankly, I kind of prefer the stories of humor and adventure. Dramas and tragedies are good (I worship Shakespeare), but they lack something without a good dose of humor (Oedipus, gag!). I’ve been reading, and then writing for as long as I can remember, but I hate being forced to read or write, it takes all the enjoyment out of my beloved.
There’s a wonderful thing about literature and imagination, you can go anywhere and do anything with either or both. You can make anything happen, believe in anything you choose, spend twenty years in prison, betrayed, in the space of a second, a few words, and find the lost treasure of the Nameless Pharaoh.
I’m an eclectic. I like a lot of things in a mix. My friends complain about my taste in music and literature. I’m also an aesthetic. If it sounds good, or looks interesting I’ll take a look. I like off the wall or odd things, pagan, wild, Zen, you name it. I’ve been called a lot of things, too: pagan, cowgirl, hick, boonie, mountain brat, blunt (I’m actually rather fond of this one), and some things I won’t repeat. Point is, is that these are only words and those people know very little about me.
The Japanese have a theory that they call Kotodama. From what I understand, each word has power and that once the word is spoken the power is released into the world to spread. Like a physical force, it affects every thing around it moving outward like bad gossip, or if you want to stick to orientalism, like ripples in a pond, reaching out and then bouncing back, again and again until there is no more power to the word spoken.
The words hold power, and every word of every story I tell is true and real according to this theory. That is a reassuring thing. To know that somewhere, old sages spread knowledge, dragons spread both honor and chaos, that witches cackle over bubbling cauldrons, politicians plot, watchmen watch and the world turns on, time passing in cycles as ages rise and fall. Soon, very soon, something will happen to force this ironic world into mythic and there will be no place for those like me who adore irony and satire. No place for those who find humor in nearly everything.
I believe I’ve lost myself, and perhaps the reader as well. I do tend to do that. But then how will I know what I think until I say it or write it? Apparently, I tangent a lot. Shall I tie in? No? Very well, then.
Words poured from his mouth like water from a fall…lost, disconnected, disorder, chaos, order in chaos, chaos in order, round and round we go, there’s not stopping now. Lapsang soochong is an excellent tea with a bit of honey and a touch of lemon, but it’s an acquired taste. Honey can last for thousands of years as long as it never gets water in it, then it ferments and becomes mead, pharaohs drank it and it was still good when they opened the tombs. The accursed tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamen. Myth? Fable?
No, words of power. The belief alone will kill you. They say if you die in your dreams you die in real life as well, that’s why when we dream we fall we always wake before we hit the ground. It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the last part.
Every story told is true, everything written down or spoken is rhetoric and therefore literary. As an English major I can read anything and become a part of that world, I can touch on every subject known to man, and even those that aren’t. I reach out into the world in all fronts while others focus down to one or two. “Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon, that the maker’s rage to order words of the sea…” “To order words,” to arrange, to demand, whichever way it is taken it is what it is. So mote it be
Eve Sedgwick
Paranoid reading is the automatic response to new ideas and changes in life or literature. to counteract this there is reparative reading which is remaining open to those ideas. it is best to satay attuned to the automatic responses in order to remain a good reader and critic.
labels enforce paranoid reading.
here's the summary of Eve's idea of paranoid reading
labels enforce paranoid reading.
here's the summary of Eve's idea of paranoid reading
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
D.Q.
OK you really want to know what this book kind of reminds me of?
"Lady Hawk" i loved that movie. of course it's much more Dramatic(?), serious(?),... well it's just something, than D.Q. but you've got the goodly knight, although her knight is kind of grumpy and bent on revenge (he loosens up), mysticism, battles, the sneaky thief/squire that becomes an upright person, the lady, religious people...
yeah i guess you could say Lady Hawk is a movie drama with lots of D.Q. additions.
and this leads back to that idea that all literature is a copy of other literature, is a copy of other literature, and it goes on back from The Beginning. still it's interesting stuff.
"Lady Hawk" i loved that movie. of course it's much more Dramatic(?), serious(?),... well it's just something, than D.Q. but you've got the goodly knight, although her knight is kind of grumpy and bent on revenge (he loosens up), mysticism, battles, the sneaky thief/squire that becomes an upright person, the lady, religious people...
yeah i guess you could say Lady Hawk is a movie drama with lots of D.Q. additions.
and this leads back to that idea that all literature is a copy of other literature, is a copy of other literature, and it goes on back from The Beginning. still it's interesting stuff.
Frye- Season
"The humor in comedy is usually someone with a good deal of social prestige and power, who is able to force much of the play's society into line with his obsession. Thus the humor is intimately connected with the theme of the absurd or irrational law that the action of the comedy moves toward breaking." Frye, pg. 169
yeah here it is the absurd is god in all things humorous, irrationality rules the world...
anyway this pretty much explained everything for me. not to mention that humor brings a freshness not unlike spring itself to people. personally i just love spring rains and humor is my god.
one would think human beings with common sense would be able to avoid irrational or absurd thins or situations and yet we continually falter by screwing up. irrationality is part of being human it's just up to those who have a bit less of it to help clean up the messes made and sometimes undo them. that's comedy. especially it those few have their own bursts of absurdity.
"to err is human" i've heard, and that's just human, mortal comedy.
yeah here it is the absurd is god in all things humorous, irrationality rules the world...
anyway this pretty much explained everything for me. not to mention that humor brings a freshness not unlike spring itself to people. personally i just love spring rains and humor is my god.
one would think human beings with common sense would be able to avoid irrational or absurd thins or situations and yet we continually falter by screwing up. irrationality is part of being human it's just up to those who have a bit less of it to help clean up the messes made and sometimes undo them. that's comedy. especially it those few have their own bursts of absurdity.
"to err is human" i've heard, and that's just human, mortal comedy.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Sublime
"In a Station of the Metro"
"The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough."
- Ezra Pound
yes, it's incredibly short but when i first read it and still today i just had to stop in my tracks. i couldn't move, i'm not even sure i was breathing. i just had this sudden overwhelming image in my head of this crowd of people bustling, paying no mind to anything but themselves, getting on and off the metro. it's overcast and gray and there's a few umbrellas. across the way there is this park, it's damp so all the branches are black and dripping and these pale pink and white petals cling to them or flutter heavily to the wet grass.
it's really stunning imagery. dunno why this particular one caught me but it's overwhelming. though now that i've actually talked about it instead of keeping it to myself it'll probably fade from me.
"The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough."
- Ezra Pound
yes, it's incredibly short but when i first read it and still today i just had to stop in my tracks. i couldn't move, i'm not even sure i was breathing. i just had this sudden overwhelming image in my head of this crowd of people bustling, paying no mind to anything but themselves, getting on and off the metro. it's overcast and gray and there's a few umbrellas. across the way there is this park, it's damp so all the branches are black and dripping and these pale pink and white petals cling to them or flutter heavily to the wet grass.
it's really stunning imagery. dunno why this particular one caught me but it's overwhelming. though now that i've actually talked about it instead of keeping it to myself it'll probably fade from me.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Screw Ups
i had to make a comment about an idea from class on wed. If you're going to screw up, screw up big. i really like this idea, mostly because i know it's going to happen and already has happened, but somehow i don't think my grade will be so happy. nor the slave drivers... uh,... i mean, parents in my life either. but alas, que sera, sera... or something like that.
My Book and Heart Shall Never Part
"Froggy went a'courting, he did ride, uh huh. Froggy went a'courting, he did ride, uh huh. Froggy went a'courting, he did ride, sword and pistol by his side. Froggy went a'courting, he did ride, uh huh. He said, "Miss Mousey, would you marry me, uh huh?" He said, "Miss Mousey, would you marry me, uh huh?" He said, "Miss Mousey, would you marry me,..."
Yeah, i can't really remember the rest. but my dad used to sing that to me all the time when i was little.
any way, i was kind of surprised by how many of those stories i knew. but my parents did a lot of story telling to me so i really shouldn't be surprised.
now, the nature/theology thing. adam fell from eden because he ate the fuit from the tree of knowledge and learned things. so therefore, to me, it goes to say that humans can know and learn anything and everything about and from nature but, because we know so many of those things, we cannot be a part of nature any more. we cannot simply connect with nature the way the animals do. although i have to say that domesticated animals have difficulty being within nature as well, not to mention returning to it. like technology they have felt the touch of man and have learned from us. whether it be just stupid pet tricks, or forms of interspecies communication doesn't really matter. they are animals but no longer a true part of nature. there is also the idea of the half breed, such as half wolf half dog, too close to nature and too close to man. there are special licences( i think) you have to have in order to own a half wolf. mustang horses are an idea in the opposite, of going back to nature. they used to be tame centuries ago(and some still today) brought here from spain and let loose, they went back to nature. but they can be caught and tamed. maybe its a nature/nuture idea. actually, it probably is. but still, you don's see many tame crocodiles or hippos. you don't see many tame wolves or polar bears, or deer or elk, and especially tame antelope. i suppose it might also come downto the strength of the instinct of the animal. man has spent millenia tameing the domesticated dog, the cat has from around ancient egypt, so about 3-5,000 years i think.
hmmm... i seem to have gone off somewhere. but i think i got the idea out. yell at me if i don't
Yeah, i can't really remember the rest. but my dad used to sing that to me all the time when i was little.
any way, i was kind of surprised by how many of those stories i knew. but my parents did a lot of story telling to me so i really shouldn't be surprised.
now, the nature/theology thing. adam fell from eden because he ate the fuit from the tree of knowledge and learned things. so therefore, to me, it goes to say that humans can know and learn anything and everything about and from nature but, because we know so many of those things, we cannot be a part of nature any more. we cannot simply connect with nature the way the animals do. although i have to say that domesticated animals have difficulty being within nature as well, not to mention returning to it. like technology they have felt the touch of man and have learned from us. whether it be just stupid pet tricks, or forms of interspecies communication doesn't really matter. they are animals but no longer a true part of nature. there is also the idea of the half breed, such as half wolf half dog, too close to nature and too close to man. there are special licences( i think) you have to have in order to own a half wolf. mustang horses are an idea in the opposite, of going back to nature. they used to be tame centuries ago(and some still today) brought here from spain and let loose, they went back to nature. but they can be caught and tamed. maybe its a nature/nuture idea. actually, it probably is. but still, you don's see many tame crocodiles or hippos. you don't see many tame wolves or polar bears, or deer or elk, and especially tame antelope. i suppose it might also come downto the strength of the instinct of the animal. man has spent millenia tameing the domesticated dog, the cat has from around ancient egypt, so about 3-5,000 years i think.
hmmm... i seem to have gone off somewhere. but i think i got the idea out. yell at me if i don't
Sunday, October 19, 2008
mini rant
i am absolutely terrible at this blogging thing. i am bad at updating, writing on it, and figuring out how to say what i want. i think i'd rather write essays than this thing. i am almost two to three weeks behind on this thing and i absolutely convinced that i am a lazy bum.
oh, wait. i already knew that...
additionally, i can't seem to find anything useful about Eve Sedgwick. it's driving me bonkers. so far, all i know is that she has a vendetta against labeling and studies homosocial/homosexual issues... i am so lost.
oh, wait. i already knew that...
additionally, i can't seem to find anything useful about Eve Sedgwick. it's driving me bonkers. so far, all i know is that she has a vendetta against labeling and studies homosocial/homosexual issues... i am so lost.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Frye
"One has to assume, as an essential heuristic axiom, that the work as produced constitutes the definitive record of the writer's intention. For many of the flaws which an inexperienced critic thinks he detects, the answer "But it's supposed to be that way" is sufficient."
Frye, "Theory of Symbols" pg. 87
Now, if only i could convince my other professors of that. there are no flaws to the artists finished product, there is only the product as it is. the intentions of the maker have no place other than they made something to be the way it turned out. subconscious or deliberate, it moakes no difference to the critic, nor even what those intentions were.
the work is the statement of the artist intentions, because if the artist did not want it to turn out like that it wouldn't have.
so the work means the work and is a statement from the artist, but the artists intentions have no purpose or, rahter, no place in any part of the criticism. hmm.
Frye, "Theory of Symbols" pg. 87
Now, if only i could convince my other professors of that. there are no flaws to the artists finished product, there is only the product as it is. the intentions of the maker have no place other than they made something to be the way it turned out. subconscious or deliberate, it moakes no difference to the critic, nor even what those intentions were.
the work is the statement of the artist intentions, because if the artist did not want it to turn out like that it wouldn't have.
so the work means the work and is a statement from the artist, but the artists intentions have no purpose or, rahter, no place in any part of the criticism. hmm.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Don Quixote
found this. hilarious but apt. musical but sums up the first part and basically D.Q.'s mindset
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLg15_GEkjk
we get the intro of Sancho and D.Q.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLg15_GEkjk
we get the intro of Sancho and D.Q.
D.Q.
pg 150
linking back to the cyclical ages from gold, to silver, to bronze, to iron, to gold. so D.Q. is a high mimetic person born in a low mimetic/ironic age. he's attempting to cycle through to the mythic age once again, or the Golden era as he calls it. hmm...
linking back to the cyclical ages from gold, to silver, to bronze, to iron, to gold. so D.Q. is a high mimetic person born in a low mimetic/ironic age. he's attempting to cycle through to the mythic age once again, or the Golden era as he calls it. hmm...
Monday, September 29, 2008
cycles
ok. when we talked about circular or cycling tales i think the perfect example is Stephen King's The Dark Tower series.basically if you've read it you'll understand what i mean. if not, basically the story cycles back from the end to the beginning in one big never ending loop. it's seven novels long but it has elements of all of the modes in it with typical Stephen King dark themes.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Don Quixote
well let's see. I got to pg. 102, chapter 15. hilarious, somwhat violent but so humorous at the same time. Don Q's an interesting character. it seems strange that he's either getting him self beat up or attacking people.
the whole point of humoring the Don is just itching at my head. why? for their own fun? because he's relatively harmless? i don't know.
And where did the idea of humoring someone come from? humor-amusement- to amuse-... hmm, that will take some research.
the whole point of humoring the Don is just itching at my head. why? for their own fun? because he's relatively harmless? i don't know.
And where did the idea of humoring someone come from? humor-amusement- to amuse-... hmm, that will take some research.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Eve Sedgwick
Well, let's see. An American theorist in gender studies, homosexual studies, and critical theory. Published 7 books: two books of poetry, Fat Art, Thin Art (1994), A Dialogue on Love (1999), a work of criticism, The Coherence of Gothic Conventions (1986), and four works in gender studies, Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire (1985), Epistemology of the Closet (1990), Tendencies (1993), and Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity (2003). Currently living in New York City and working as a Distinguished Professor at CUNY Graduate school.
i'm still working on it.
"Key West" and Aristotle's elements
all right. for starters the World or Universe in "Key West" starts off as the sea and changes as she, the author, sings. she makes her own world from the sea and the Audience's, the "we" in "Key West," World is changed as well makeing three Worlds. the Work of "Key West" is her song. the Artist is obviously the singer as well as Wallace Stevens. The Audience is the "we" in the text, including the Ramon Fernandez, and the reader. the reader's world also changes.
hmm. i'm not sure i can say anymore than that.
hmm. i'm not sure i can say anymore than that.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Modes: Thematic Myth
i'm a brat and haven't updated in a while. i am somewhat interested in the thematic myth or the works created with divine inspiration. the bible, koran, works of oracles,budhist and hindu mantras(?), it's all very out there with very little proof. legends, myths, stories about the beginning of the world. but gods came from men so really it's all human inspiration. after all, where would gods be without worshippers? i do wonder. besides the whole 'divine' inspiration all of these texts were written by humans who aren't so divine. but humans seem to want there to be some sort of perfect unfathomable being. so does that mean it's unfathomable inspiration? if so how can we make connections to it if we don't understand it? i'm confusing myself. but even if we dont consciously understand everything we can sometimes make the smaller connections and have a 'cosmic moment.' a moment where you feel like you can see and understand everything. its all so clear and... huge. but we lay those legends, those cosmic moments, and writings where we dont really have the words to describe or explain and it sounds unbelieveable into the divine and are left with myths. anyway i think i got lost there so it you have questions just leave a comment.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Diagram
Well, you can't really read it but this is how i kind of organized the diagram. i can try to make a better one later.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Born Not Made
"...poems, like poets, are born and not made. The poet's task is to deliver the poem in as uninjured a state as possible, and if the poem is alive, it is equally anxious to be rid of him, and screams to be cut loose from his private memories and associations, his desire for self-expression, and all the other navel-strings and feeding tubes of his ego."
-Northrop Frye, Archetypes of Literature pg. 701
If you are as great a procrastinator as I am then I know you'll have heard "that paper isn't going to write itself, you know" and all the variations thereof. And while that is technically true it is also very false. A good essay or strong idea or really any bit of art, be it carving, painting, writing or whatnot, will start itself, grow by itself, and finish itself. This sounds impossible but the (I'm going to call them the artist) artist isn't anything but a tool or, as Frye noted, the midwife. The artist does the least amount of work and gets the most credit for it too! The idea is sparked in the artists mind and continues to grow until it cannot help but be expressed outwardly by the artist, or, in other words, birthed. Once it reaches the outer world it grows until it has finished and there is now more to be done to it. It is at its strongest form, ready to take on the world. Kind of reminds me of growing up and hitting college. Oooh, scary comparison! Anyway, while the artist must deliver the piece he or she does not truly write it except in the most literal sense of pen to paper or fingers to keys or what-have-you.
-Northrop Frye, Archetypes of Literature pg. 701
If you are as great a procrastinator as I am then I know you'll have heard "that paper isn't going to write itself, you know" and all the variations thereof. And while that is technically true it is also very false. A good essay or strong idea or really any bit of art, be it carving, painting, writing or whatnot, will start itself, grow by itself, and finish itself. This sounds impossible but the (I'm going to call them the artist) artist isn't anything but a tool or, as Frye noted, the midwife. The artist does the least amount of work and gets the most credit for it too! The idea is sparked in the artists mind and continues to grow until it cannot help but be expressed outwardly by the artist, or, in other words, birthed. Once it reaches the outer world it grows until it has finished and there is now more to be done to it. It is at its strongest form, ready to take on the world. Kind of reminds me of growing up and hitting college. Oooh, scary comparison! Anyway, while the artist must deliver the piece he or she does not truly write it except in the most literal sense of pen to paper or fingers to keys or what-have-you.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Ideal
"With these words and phrases the poor gentleman lost his mind, and he spent sleepless nights trying to understand them and extract their meaning, which Aristotle himself, if he came back to life for only that purpose, would not have been able to decipher or understand."
-Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes, pg. 20
Anyway, this kind of touches on two topics. The intentions or meaning of the author, which according to class discussion, means nothing to the critic and, according to Cervantes, is inscrutable, and the ideal reader, ideal insomnia thing.
Ideal reader and ideal insomnia. I've been musing over this particular phrase for the last several hours and am still somewhat stuck. The ideal reader and his or her ideal insomnia where the person can never "sleep and, perchance, to dream?" Sorry, had to get it out of my system. Anyway the idea of the critic as an insomniac was simply too quirky for me to pass up. Our dear Don gets too caught up in the meaning behind Feliciano de Silva's work and looses his objectivity and his mind all in one go. Well, at least he had the insomnia part down.
I think I'll quit there because I'm not making much sense to myself.
-Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes, pg. 20
Anyway, this kind of touches on two topics. The intentions or meaning of the author, which according to class discussion, means nothing to the critic and, according to Cervantes, is inscrutable, and the ideal reader, ideal insomnia thing.
Ideal reader and ideal insomnia. I've been musing over this particular phrase for the last several hours and am still somewhat stuck. The ideal reader and his or her ideal insomnia where the person can never "sleep and, perchance, to dream?" Sorry, had to get it out of my system. Anyway the idea of the critic as an insomniac was simply too quirky for me to pass up. Our dear Don gets too caught up in the meaning behind Feliciano de Silva's work and looses his objectivity and his mind all in one go. Well, at least he had the insomnia part down.
I think I'll quit there because I'm not making much sense to myself.
Friday, September 5, 2008
English 300
Well, I've never done this before so I guess we'll see if this works. I'll be back later to actually write something interesting but this is just a test run.
thanks!
thanks!
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