|
xiaoxiaopanda
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Heath
Country: United States
State: Kansas
Metro: Overland Park
Birthday: 12/24/1980
Gender: Male
Interests: I like tai chi, the chinese language/culture, Chess, Go, Pool, Darts, Beer, Wine, and talking out of my ass. Ask anybody.
Oh, and Physics.
Expertise: This is definitely a pretensious field. I'm an expert in typos. I can't spell. I sucks because I like big words and I can't spell them. Looking them up kinda takes the fun out of it.
I'm kinda lazy.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message me
AIM:  hm2480
Member Since:
1/29/2006
|
|
| Teachers are not saintsTeachers are not saints. Nor are soldiers sages. Exposure is not the same as understanding. Nor is it the same as acceptance.
Soldiers don't come to accept death so much as they are forced to live with it. They do what they must to make it tolerable. They make jokes about death, graveyard humor. There aren't above their fears, and they can't hide from them, but the can find the will to laugh at them.
Teachers aren't saints. They don't always expect the most of their students. They don't always accept them for who they are. They don't always see them without prejudice. Instead, they make light of their foibles. They joke about a students ignorance. They make kid about fearing violence from a student.
Quite often, there is ironic tone behind all of this. Irony and honesty. Making light and joking makes it so we don't have to factor things into the big meaning of it all. We can't go on, day in and day out, if we are constantly asking ourselves "Why am I doing this, again?" We can't afford to lose our sense of purpose.
Teachers can't let their fears and prejudices stop them from trying their hardest to educate. Soldiers can't let their fears of death stop them from fighting. If we stop, them are fears will be upon us. To deflect, we make jokes.
| | |
| Soon, I will be instituting a program of writing. Said program will be intensionally end capped with the ides of December and January, but spillage is acceptable.
The program will be one of writing. Writing is the reason for the program. The intention of said program is to write. Victory will be assigned when I find myself the proud purveyor of 4 substantial story (but not necessarily stories of substance.) One such story to be generated each week, until such time as it is found that 4 such weeks have come to pass, otherwise referred to, here and elsewhere, as a month.
The intent is to write. This, I cannot over emphasize, as it is the sole emphasis of the program. To that end, this site may be utilized. Stories may be sen here, unless there are technical concerns that drive me towards other media.
I thank you for your time. Please get off of my lawn.
-Heath
| | |
| One-Trick PonyWhether deeply or widely, all is inclusive. There is a world of truth in every nuance. Why bother learning everything when you can learn everything from any one thing? Why learn one thing if your not looking for the universal truth in it.
Then again, you might just want to learn enough to get by, but then I'd ask, "what exactly is it you're trying to get by? What is past it that is so much grander than that being past?" I'm not saying there isn't an answer, I'm just saying I really don't know what it is.
All things are evidence of the universe. That truth is in everything.
Somehow we can place that truth up against itself and make it false.
Or, prehaps, just misleading.
Sam is a One-Trick Pony. He's a note that resonates. It's not a matter of discrete units of correctness, it's a wavelength that is tuned into. It's self-reenforcing. It's a good thing.
It's only one trick. That's all you need.
-Heath
| | |
| So it BeginsAt the moment I'm drinking ab green viscous liquid which is surprisingly not bad considering all the crazy shit I put in it. I'm beginning a 30 day diet of brain healthy foods to see if it makes me feel smarter or anything. One side effect of this diet is that I'm going to be eating in quite a bit.
So, I'm drinking my breakfast smoothy, thinking it has a little too much ginger, and maveling at the fact that I can't taste the avocado. No one can claim that I'm afraid to try new things. Still, this may be just strange enough to make me ill for the afternoon. Oh well, such is life.
In case I haven't mentioned it before, I'm taking a month at a time and making one or two small changes to my life that I think would benefit me, but that seek to difficult to implement perminantly. Before it was no TV or video games. Now it's brain food and symbology. That could use some explaining, but it will have to wait until next time. I've got a green shake with flaxseed meal and kelp powder to attend to.
-Heath
| | |
| Purge?I've taught myself not to cry. It's a bit like teaching yourself to not be ticklish. At first, you have work very hard to control the reaction, but after a while, the you just aren't inspired by the stimulus. It's something that boys do. Anyway, at some point I decided being sensitive wasn't so bad, but being strong still meant not crying. After awhile, it became more like, "There's no problem with crying, but you needn't force it." I suppose I still agree with that. I mean, why would you try to force yourself to feel something you don't? It's worth noting, however, the effect that years of repression can have on the free and spontanious expression of emotion. I think a bit of emotional affirmative action is worth while.
So I've got this connection to music. I don't know if this is true for everybody else, but good music gets down to my emotional baseline like nothing else. Close is not only good enough in horseshoes and hand grendanes, it works with lyrics too. The great think about emotions is how little reguard they have for logic. If 4 or 5 words string together in a way that creates meaning for me, and the music pulls at me the right way at the same time, I'm done. That's all it takes.
So I gave myself the chance for a good cry. I didn't get any good sobs in, I think I was too happy about the cry in the first place. I think it was good. It was like stretching a muscle you clench all day. I didn't cry about anything in particular, accept, maybe, the feeling of connecting with someone else's pain.
Well, I suppose that's good enough for now. The words are down. All my thinks are thought.
Later,
-Heath
| | |
|
