A different kind of water-"fall"

Now this is what I call bringing out your artistic element.

Impossible instructions

Driving piece:
Drive over every pothole you come across.






Resting piece:
Anytime you feel tired, do something you couldn't imagine doing unless you were bursting with energy.

Flirting piece:
Wink at every attractive person you see.

Sounds of the Subaudible

Here are some sounds to listen out for if you find you're the only one awake at 3AM in the morning. Although they seem utterly unspectacular (it's difficult to imagine being stimulated by the sound of a computer fan), their omnipresence and deceptively "silent" nature are what give these sounds their cultural immortality, and commit them to the paradoxical realm of the Subaudible.
(Refer to the first entry of this blog.)

Click here to listen.

When Andy met Edie

If anyone's interested in expanding his/her cinematic horizons, there's a 2006 film called "Factory Girl" that effectively chronicles the relationship of classroom-discussed, iconic artist Andy Warhol and the woman who became his muse, Edie Sedgwick. Although the film's main focus is on Edie herself, it lends substantial illustration of Warhol's magnetic influence on the people who crossed paths with him. A couple great quotes to listen out for:
"I always thought Andy threw America back in its face."
-Edie Sedgwick
"He turned the assembly line into a punch line."
-Edie Sedgwick
As a self-proclaimed film buff, I highly suggest you watch this film.

A matter of time

If there's one thing I've noticed about time, it's that there never seems to be enough of it. Actually, to be more exact, there is enough time - indeed, more than enough time - but only when I don't want it. For example, when I'm engaged in an activity I don't like - say, for example, working my wonderful and emotionally stimulating job in vitamin retail - time has a magical way of slowing down. I gaze at the clock, watching the minute hand make its leisurely trip around the dial, and gradually begin my descent into temporal oblivion. It is in this state that a single hour - trivial and unassuming - can become a deceptively vast ocean of time. On the other hand, when I'm engaged in an activity I very much enjoy, such as kicking back and watching a movie, time always goes by in a heartbeat. I sit down, get comfy, get lost in the art of the movie, and before I know it, the light fades and several hours have elapsed, leaving me to ask myself, "Where did all the time go?" It seems an ironic shame that my life is so often defined by long durations of meaningless activity, whereas the truer moments of my life - the ones that border on the magical and unforgettable - are also nothing more than moments, fleeting and abstract. Perhaps this helps explain the adage, "live today like there's no tomorrow", although given the subjective realities of duration and time, "today" may be nothing more than a traitor of "tomorrow".

Parallel driving

I took a drive with my parents recently. At some point during the ride, it dawned on me that there were a couple parallels between my current experience of mundane car travel and the vehicular experience presented in the film "The Last Clean Shirt". For one, I noticed that my father didn't seem too interested in what my mother had to say. Although he didn't turn on the radio as a way to shut her prattling out, he did revert to his automatic, semi-nonverbal response system of head-nodding and the occasional affirmative grunt. That's not to say, however, that my father didn't value my mother's company. He just wasn't captivated the way she so often is by certain scenic items, such as falling leaves, cloud shapes, and color schemes. The second parallel between mine and the film's car ride was the number of quick stops that were made during the drive. I've always found my mother's insistence at being driven - indeed chauffered - from store to store, and often when the locations are within brief walking distance of one another, somewhat nonsensical. Yet it's become an unspoken rule of automotive errand-running in my family. Sometimes I wonder if all that petty mobility is an effort, on her part, to rev up - if you'll excuse the pun - the fleeting immediacy of life outside the home. My mother is, after all, a product of the homemaker era. I don't think she even learned how to drive until after she became a mother herself.

Dance version of Around the World in 80 Days

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo

This guy Matt gives new meaning to dancing across cultural boundaries.

Writing like Fénéon

What an intriguing and unexpected form of poetry! I don’t think my own personal writing could get more concise than this:

To establish mating rights, scientists discovered that Kenyan antelope bulls click their knees to demonstrate their sexual prowess. Subsequent studies showed that male humans do not possess that ability.
(Source: BBC News Online, 11/03/08)

A study was conducted, which found that children who suffered head injuries before age 2 were more likely to develop ADHD by age 10. Those same children became risk-takers later in life.
(Source: BBC News Online, 11/07/08)

Due to recent economic hard times, plastic surgeons from Long Beach, CA to Manhattan, NY offered massive discounts on various cosmetic procedures. Some doctors worry about an increase in botched surgeries.
(Source: The New York Times, 11/06/08)

A woman was almost hit by a vehicle while jogging near her home. The motorist then proceeded to get out of the car and harass the woman when she yelled at him for being a careless driver.
(Source: The New York Times, 11/06/08)

In Tennessee, a pair of white supremacists was convicted of conspiracy to assassinate Barack Obama. Court records indicate their plan fell apart after the presidential election.
(Source: The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 11/06/08)

Citing immigrant arrests as the cause of its financial straits, an Iowa slaughterhouse filed for bankruptcy. Foreclosure hearings in federal court were canceled shortly after.
(Source: The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 11/06/08)

In the same vein: Kenny G–esque observations

Once again, the Goldsmith approach prevails.
Here are my notes for "The Last Clean Shirt":

Black and White Film - Thunder - Car Horns - Jibbering Woman - Man w/ Glasses - Dashboard Clock (Man Attaches) - Long, Drawn-out Car Horns - No Rain - Moving Bus - "La, La, La" (Woman Singing) - Paper Note - Skyscapers - Cigarette and Lighter (Woman Smoking) - Booming Thunder - Sounds of Rain (But Car Top Down) - Radio-Fidgeting - Man Smoking and Silent - Emergency Sirens - Clanking Sounds of City - More Thunder - Woman Laughing - Fervent Voiceover w/ Ringing Bells - Folksy Scene Music (Lyrics Bear Film Title) - Man Parks on Side Street (Exits Before Woman) - Woman Gets Out - Split Scene ("FIN" w/ Subtitles) - Man and Woman Return - Scenes Now Accompanied w/ Subtitles - "I THINK." (Woman Talking) - "It's just that things get too much." (Repeat Statement) - "...India..." - "...Great Wall of China..." - "...Betty Grable..." - Woman Still Jibbering Away (Man Still Silent) - Engine Revving - More Radio-Fidgeting (Only When Woman is Singing) - Woman Speaking Closely to Man's Face - More Emergency Sirens - "You don't say?" (Woman Asking) - Clacking Sounds - Same Fervent Voiceover w/ Ringing Bells (and Folksy Scene Music) - Frontal Shot of Car - Man Parks on Side Street Again (Removes Dashboard Clock) - Woman Exits Car - Split Scene Repeat ("FIN" w/ Subtitles) - "HE IS THINKING! HE IS THINKING!" - Man Reattaches Dashboard Clock - Woman Sighs - Outburst of Car Horns - (He is still thinking. He is still thinking.) - "INDIA! INDIA! INDIA!" - Woman Lights Another Cigarette - "...sexy zoo..." - Cascade of Thunder - No Rain (Car Top Down) - Sirens - Banging/Clanging Sounds - "I LIKE YOU." (Woman Still Talking) - Fervent Voiceover, Etc. - Woman Laughing - Close-up Shot of WALK Street Sign - Frontal Shot of Moving Car - Man Parks on Side Street Once More (Removes Dashboard Clock Again) - Woman Exits - Film Credits

Writing like Goldsmith

I actually found this exercise quite enjoyable, and given my inherent inclination to all things methodical (I love to make lists), it was easy to appreciate the mechanical beauty of Goldsmith's writing style.

(Looking at the Amazon shopping homepage:)

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Writing like Breton

This was a challenging exercise because I am so accustomed to writing formally. Nonetheless, here is what went through my mind - more or less coherently - as I looked over the images.



Two prehistoric beasts walking through a forest for the first time. Glancing at their surroundings, curious of the primal earth which lays under their feet, they look into the forest, expecting to see danger, but decide to venture forth. The male is particularly aware of the inhabitants of the forest, being he is the protector of his female companion. She, on the other hand, is virtually oblivious to the unseen dangers of the wood, happy to be out in her natural environment. They walk slowly into the shelter of the forest, waiting to see what surprises await them as they travel along the path. Noises are the next thing that becomes alarmingly clear – sounds of earth crumbling beneath their heavy feet, and a stream flowing nearby – and the duo begin to ponder, once again, the fate of their trek.



Life before life – as it becomes in the womb. The child within who is none other than you and that special someone. The cord of life separated – cut away – at the instant of birth. The child enters its new life outside the womb in a compromising position. Now the doctor holds the baby by its feet and briskly slaps out the beating of its heart. A strange and eerie sound, the child takes its first gulp of air and cries out like a fledgling animal. But inside the womb, its movements are neither heard nor registered, save for tiny kicks. Being in the womb is like being in an ocean of time. There is no practical will or self-awareness, and one can hardly imagine a more consuming state of living.



Birds of a feather flock together in an artistic attempt to capture the essence of avian life as a symbol of freedom. Freedom to fly across great plains of earth, to ascend over strange and distant landscapes, to land in trees as an ever-reliable substitute to earthen platform, and to group together as a flock of brothers. A painting of avian freedoms drenched in oriental hues, it sheds light on the nature of birds, as well as authenticates their presence as sky-bound creatures. The realm of birds is that invisible realm of which humans also occupy: that endless sea of air that infiltrates our lungs and sustains our physiologies, but never fully takes purpose as a place to call home.

Pavement scenes

I want to share a picture of an ordinary sidewalk with you:


It's just an ordinary sidewalk, but artist Julian Beever has transformed "the everyday" into the extraordinary.
You can view many of his other "3D" pavement drawings at http://users.skynet.be/J.Beever/pave.htm.

They range from cute...


...to creepy.

To catch a terrorist

I know this doesn't intersect "the everyday" as we've discussed it, but what would a blog be without a political statement or two?

Where time does not exist

Having been approached with the question "How can we perceive the notion of time without our cultural constraints?" in one of our earlier class sessions, I feel the best way I can begin my answer is with a personal recollection:

Seven years ago, when I was a sophomore in high school, I was in an accident that put me in an unconscious state for nearly four whole days. During that period (which according to family was a near-death struggle for me), I became a part of something I will never forget: white silence. -That's it. No sparkling lights. No divine answers. No heavenly consciousness. Just white silence. And what's more, there was no notion of time. I simply was a part of the white silence when I awoke from my coma.

Now, seven years later, I look back to that experience and wonder two things: 1) Why is it that what I heard was silence, but what I saw was whiteness? - Wouldn't it be more logical for silence to be accompanied by blackness or some other indiscernible color? and 2) Would I have seen something beyond white silence - perhaps a tunnel of light or a doorway to heaven or even God Himself welcoming me into His kingdom - had my never waking from a coma been predetermined?

To resolve these wonderings (which I know to be held within a specific cultural context), I refer back to (and finally give an answer to) the posed question "How can we perceive the notion of time without our cultural constraints?"

The reason many people in the United States (and in many other parts of the world) are so deeply disturbed by the notion of death is that they attach their own particular concept of time to that inevitable fate. I think this explains the Christian need (as well as the Christian condemnation of Atheism) to portray only two real after-death scenarios: going to Heaven or going to Hell, because going to an eternity of nothing, where one has literally all the time in the (after)world to be aware of how bored he is, is more unimaginable than any hellfire damnation man could think of.

Perhaps, then, the only way to perceive the notion of time without our cultural constraints is to simply let go of time when it no longer becomes a relevant matter. After all, time does not exist when we are dead. Heck, it didn't even factor in when I was unconscious.

And amen for that!

Aptitude test according to Breton

I have to say right off the bat that Breton's writing, like Blanchot's, consists of the most convoluted, mind-wrenching syntax I've ever encountered. What's more frustrating is the fact that I understand - at least on a superficial level - the gist of what Breton is saying, but I cannot for the life of me seem to be able to figure out how to verbalize his concepts. For the sake of comfort, would anyone out there be willing to verify these sentiments?

That said, I'd like to zero in on the following quote from page 12 of Nadja:

"What matters is that the particular aptitudes my day-to-day life gradually reveals should not distract me from my search for a general aptitude which would be peculiar to me and which is not innate."

This is a wonderful proclamation of the necessary mindset for personal growth. Actually, it reminds me of a topic I'm currently studying in one of my other classes: the concept of what it takes to go from good to great. I don't think, according to Breton's statement, that it's enough to simply foster or even realize one's potential. People should look inside themselves for a talent that transcends their inherent abilities, and allows them to go beyond the "day-to-day" in pursuit of a deeper and more meaningful development. Furthermore, Breton hints at the need for an internal and conscious revolt against personal mediocrity in his comment about the "search for a general aptitude which would be peculiar ... [and] ... not innate."

Dissecting The Everyday

This is a truly loaded quote. I hardly know where to begin.

First and foremost, I think it would behoove me to give a nutshell assessment of the quoted text:

Based on the historical and philosophical context of this writing, I believe what is at the heart of this passage is a deeply intellectual commentary on the paradoxical nature of existence, and how we humans manifest its middle ground: ambiguity.

Second, I'll give a short paraphrase and/or interpretation of each of the selected sentences within this quoted passage (which starts on the upper-middle of page 35):

"Every individual carries in himself a set of reflections, of intentions, that is to say reticences, that commit him to an oblique existence."

[Every person has inner thoughts and motives that bound him to an uncertain existence.] -Actually, "an existence of suspicion" would be a more appropriate paraphrase, as Blanchot makes a correlative statement on "the suspect" and "the oblique" later on in the text.

"To be suspect is more serious than to be guilty (hence the seeking of confession)."

[People being suspicious is a far worse thing than people knowing without a doubt, because when there is no doubt regarding guilt or innocence, the suspected (and therefore the accused) have, at the very least, the instant gratification of closure, which through confession, automatically releases them from the constant torture of others' silent accusations - their suspicions - as these do not allow for definiteness of any kind.]

"The guilty party relates to the law to the extent that he manifestly does everything he must in order to be judged, that is, in order to be suppressed, brought back to the void of the empty point his self conceals."

[The guilty are bound to the law so long as their actions can be judged according to the law, and their consequences - or in this context, punishments - implemented for the purpose of deterring further offenses.]

"The suspect is that fleeting presence that does not allow recognition, and, through the part always held back that he figures forth, tends not only to interfere with, but to bring into accusation, the workings of the State."

A paradox exemplified, [the suspect is that person who does not encourage acknowledgment or accessibility due to his unreadable airs, yet displays a simultaneous desire to be open to judgment, which actively/ultimately brings into doubt both the function and application of the law].

In referring back to my nutshell assessment of the quoted text, it becomes clear that the "paradoxical nature of existence" is best reflected in Blanchot's closing statements regarding "the everyday":

"Hence the everyday must be thought of as the suspect (and the oblique) that always escapes the clear decision of the law, even when the law seeks, by suspicion, to track down every indeterminate manner of being: everyday indifference. (The suspect: any and everyone, guilty of not being able to be guilty.)"

Here - and only here - "the suspect" and "the guilty" are finally brought together as one embodiment of the stated "indeterminate manner of being," which, given the rest of the text, becomes superimposed against Blanchot's backdrop of suspicion as a personification of "the everyday".

Scavenge-hunting meets voyeurism... in Bothell

On second thought, we should've had Charles form the top of the pyramid, with us girls forming the base.



How 'bout that? I was the only girl in the group that couldn't do a cartwheel.





Should've asked him for a sample of his cooking.



Comment not actually intended, but sort of funny.



Was going to call this video clip "fake cock", but that didn't seem appropriate.



Here's the real cock - AHEM - I mean real rooster!

















Couldn't for the life of me figure out how to use a digital effect.



Once again, could not use a digital effect.

All in all, this "video game" was an excellent follow-up to the "dérive" activity. I really got into the spirit of drifting. Also, Country Village was awesome. I didn't realize there was so much to see and do in Bothell!

Dérive

Liberties on the A-WALL

A provocative statement that intersects with Blanchot's concepts of revolution. The "I am free" directive really captures his reference to "moments of effervescence" in The Everyday.

A beautiful voice, a beautiful message

Came across this music video while surfing. Thought if a carrot man was worthy of posting, so is this.

20 minutes with the Subaudible

My experience of doing nothing for 20 minutes was extremely uneventful (no pun intended). There were no reflections, thought streams, or delves into the realm of meditation and such. There was only one clear awareness of something Stephen King once referred to as "the Subaudible".

[The everyday noises (and I'm paraphrasing) of our busy lives - the floorboards creaking, the cables humming, the traffic passing nearby - are the same noises that make up the fibers of our very existence, painting a picture of who we are while simultaneously bringing us closer to God.]

Only when we move beyond this point of recognition (I'm adding/interpreting now) do the sounds become automatic and meaningless, drifting into a realm just below the audible where noises are heard but not fully registered.

The Subaudible.