In foolish words I find myself where I never thought I'd be
Thrown into an imagined world burst forth to startle me
Awash in strange emotions I can't begin to comprehend
But if this be but just a dream may I never wake again
"Words are but symbols for the relations of things to one another and to us; nowhere do they touch upon absolute truth."
04 November 2010
22 August 2010
Identities
In borrowed visage on the stage,
All see my flargrant disguise
But concealed behind the everyman
None see my 'Mr. Hyde'
I lost myself in search to find
Something else to hide behind
And now I find I'm trapped inside
This labyrinthine mind
I've tried the truth a thousand times
And come back to pretend
Though Kierkegaard may prove me wrong
These lies I will defend.
All my words are memories,
Once spoken, already past,
And every word I'll ever speak
Ozymandias will outlast
You think I've taken off the mask
I wear equivocally,
But I've found a face you've never seen
And now that mask is me.
All see my flargrant disguise
But concealed behind the everyman
None see my 'Mr. Hyde'
I lost myself in search to find
Something else to hide behind
And now I find I'm trapped inside
This labyrinthine mind
I've tried the truth a thousand times
And come back to pretend
Though Kierkegaard may prove me wrong
These lies I will defend.
All my words are memories,
Once spoken, already past,
And every word I'll ever speak
Ozymandias will outlast
You think I've taken off the mask
I wear equivocally,
But I've found a face you've never seen
And now that mask is me.
The Dead
'The Dead!' he proclaims in painted lines
Of twisted narrative and coarse designs
And shoves opinions of reflective glass
Up the world's ubiquitous snobbish ass.
Theories of cyclical historical rounds
And withered morals--recycled--abounds
In ashen hearts picturing sullen rifts
Across accumulated ivory drifts.
The obsession with anguish of the past
Dulls the reader like a drunken repast,
'Til left like malignant melanoma,
The reader, 'dead', in self-induced coma.
This image cherish, and students rejoice,
For thus too, perished, the beloved Joyce.
Of twisted narrative and coarse designs
And shoves opinions of reflective glass
Up the world's ubiquitous snobbish ass.
Theories of cyclical historical rounds
And withered morals--recycled--abounds
In ashen hearts picturing sullen rifts
Across accumulated ivory drifts.
The obsession with anguish of the past
Dulls the reader like a drunken repast,
'Til left like malignant melanoma,
The reader, 'dead', in self-induced coma.
This image cherish, and students rejoice,
For thus too, perished, the beloved Joyce.
29 July 2010
I Wish You Could See What I See
Once I saw a blind man who wandered to the sea.
He climbed mountains, he crossed deserts,
He walked where none could see.
Days he spent in solitude, nights he spent alone,
Stars could never be his guide
To lead him safely home.
Strange things happened in his wake, wherever he would dwell,
Strange things men are loathe to say,
Once they bid the man farewell.
I came upon his path one day,
Or perhaps he came to me,
One autumn-shaded evening,
As we gazed upon the sea.
He turned to me and held my gaze as only blind men can.
He took my hand with gnarled grasp
And softly he began.
His tale was deeper than the seas he swam
Older than the mounts he crossed,
Darker than the world he lives,
And bleaker than the price of loss.
I cannot know how long I stood when his tale had reached its end
I did not see him walk away,
Nor even comprehend.
But once departed I still heard the final words he spoke,
They echoed faintly in my ears
Even as I woke.
When he left he whispered as his face remained serene:
"And now you see what I see
When I close my eyes and dream."
He climbed mountains, he crossed deserts,
He walked where none could see.
Days he spent in solitude, nights he spent alone,
Stars could never be his guide
To lead him safely home.
Strange things happened in his wake, wherever he would dwell,
Strange things men are loathe to say,
Once they bid the man farewell.
I came upon his path one day,
Or perhaps he came to me,
One autumn-shaded evening,
As we gazed upon the sea.
He turned to me and held my gaze as only blind men can.
He took my hand with gnarled grasp
And softly he began.
His tale was deeper than the seas he swam
Older than the mounts he crossed,
Darker than the world he lives,
And bleaker than the price of loss.
I cannot know how long I stood when his tale had reached its end
I did not see him walk away,
Nor even comprehend.
But once departed I still heard the final words he spoke,
They echoed faintly in my ears
Even as I woke.
When he left he whispered as his face remained serene:
"And now you see what I see
When I close my eyes and dream."
26 July 2010
End of a Season
"I'll be a story in your head, but that's OK. We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? Cos it was, you know, it was the best. A daft old man who stole a magic box and ran away."
19 April 2010
Only Madmen Ask Why
[I wrote this paper earlier in the semester for my Advanced Composition Class. The quotes are from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.]
There is a ghost of madness in us all. Speaking negatively, Pirsig says, “a ghost which calls itself rationality… causes the most normal of everyday acts to seem slightly mad because of their irrelevance to anything else” (Pirsig 100). This statement is preceded by a hypothesis that when “you” (or what I call “we,” the collected “sane”) look at a madman, all you see is a reflection of your own knowledge that he is mad. Both of these assertions fall within a short section that repeatably discusses madness and insanity. However, the tone of the context not only indicates criticism of the ghost of rationality, but also extends disapproval to the result: madness. Following that, Pirsig leads to the conclusion of the section where he argues that in the ghost of rationality, “only madmen ask why” (101) we seek to live longer. However, I believe such conclusions undermine the enigmatic appeal of insanity and the contemporary generation’s experiences with insanity.
Our modern society has instigated a love affair with the idea of insanity—we were first introduced to the idea on a mass level with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and The Picture of Dorian Gary in the Victorian age. Then we were granted a more overt glimpse with the inmate Renfield in Dracula at the turn of the century, and since then people have been consistently fascinated with insane characters, especially in narratives. The novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest introduced a story told by an insane man, while the Hannibal Lecter stories established a kind of empathy with the cold, calculated insanity of a mad psychologist. Apocalypse Now mirrors its inspiration, Heart of Darkness, with the insanity of Kurtz in the jungle. Most recently the Joker in Dark Knight revealed a chaotic insanity that America now loves. There are, of course, other factors lending to the appeal of these characters, but that does not detract from the fascination with madness—a chaotic, unknown element.
One of Pirsig’s hypotheses was that when we look at madness all we see is our own knowledge that he is mad. However, Pirsig completely bypasses the possibility that because we see insanity, we are intrigued and so want to approach and understand. The madmen is the unknown, the Other, an entity disassociated from self with an entirely different set of experiences and therefore possesses a different form of knowledge. Since the madman knows what we do not, for us he becomes the wise man. He is not a Wiseman in the sense of Buddha or a guru who supposedly know the answers of life, but the madman knows one answer, and we want to know if that is the right answer. We want to know what drove the man mad, what keeps him mad, worry if it will happen to us, and wonder if underneath it all, he is the happier for his insanity. We look at him and wonder if madness could be what we have been looking for all along.
When looking at the madmen we already see beyond the insanity, and want to see still more, which is why people are fascinated with insane characters in movies. One of my favorite movie characters is Jeffrey from 12 Monkeys. The primary reason for this is because in his insane antics he provides me immense enjoyment. However, there is an element to his insanity beyond humor that he shares with Hannibal and the Joker: a state of release, or exemption. Jeffrey, who runs around causing havoc in the asylum and upsetting other inmates, is not bound by societal or linguistic rules, saying and acting however he wants, whenever he wants. For that he is placed in an asylum, but even there he has freedom. At one point he acquires the key for another character and later he is freed because of his father’s money, two acts which reveal that the walls of the asylum do not bind him, he merely allows them to temporarily. In a similar vein the Joker in Dark Knight is also not bound by Law, capitalism, or morality. He is almost an extension of Jeffrey, with similar mannerisms and disregard of anything that might restrict him. He allows himself to be captured then manages to easily escape from the jail, as if the enforcers of the law bore no power over him. At one point the Joker even comments, “the only sensible way to live in this world is without rules.” There is a freedom these two characters possess in their insanity that we as “sane” individuals cannot obtain—a freedom not in the absence of consequences, but in not allowing consequences to affect them.
This concept of freedom in madness is the facet of insanity that Pirisg undermines with his attitude toward madmen and his opinion of acts that are “slightly mad because of their irrelevance to anything else” (100). In the phrase “irrelevance to anything else” there is the very architect of freedom that makes Jeffrey and the Joker such captivating characters. In their madness they consider every constraint placed on them “irrelevant.” There are no ties, no boundaries on them, just like the every days acts have no connections to anything Other or outside because their slight madness. That is appealing to the twenty-first century man. America may possibly be the freest country in the world, but an American citizen is not as free as Jeffrey Goines or the Joker. The average citizen cannot have what he wants, when he wants it—he has to stop for stoplights, pay taxes, pay for insurance if he wants to drive, spend money instead of just taking everything, and so has to work to make money. He cannot steal, he cannot murder, he cannot disagree without being politically incorrect. Except, that is not entirely true—the American citizen can do or not do any of those things, he merely has to face the consequences for his actions.
That is why insanity is so appealing – we can do whatever we want without consequence: ultimate freedom. In that freedom, we envy the madman. In Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, however, Phaedrus sought the ghost of rationality and went mad from the journey. In the system of rationality Phaedrus was the “madman” who asked why we should want to live longer, and apparently went insane for questioning the established system and base assumptions. But perhaps Pirsig undermines insanity because he only understands part of insanity. Perhaps those we call mad, are not truly as mad as we believe. The basic assumption of madmen that I have argued is that they revolt against the accepted standard that enforces order, so we label them “mad,” but really, there are two types of madness. There are those who reach that point beyond the safe and comfortable “rules” and lose their mind, like Phaedrus, but then there are those who reach the end and embrace it, like the Joker. To the sane man, they are both insane because they have gone beyond into the abyss we cannot reach, but to themselves they’re just, as Joker said, “ahead of the curve.” In that case, “madness” becomes nothing more than an empty definition. In their movies, both Jeffrey and the Joker are called mad, an accusation that they both sincerely and adamantly deny. Just like consequences have no control on them, neither do our definitions. But this is also why Pirsig undermines the value of insanity—he only sees one consequence of insanity, only the madmen who ask why we want to live longer, he does not see the ones who ask, why not—the ones who the sane man envies.
Given the understanding of madmen, perhaps the ghost of rationality is correct in saying that “only madmen ask why,” (101) but what I hope Pirsig is covertly implying is that maybe madmen should not be the only ones to be asking that. Maybe before the end of the novel Pirsig will reveal an approach to insanity that is not negative. Though, given how he undermines the relevance of insanity in modern culture, I do not think I can hope that he will present a position that a touch of insanity in exploring the world can truly be an enlightening approach. If in madness there is a freedom absent in sanity, then sometimes madness can free us to truth outside our accepted paradigms.
There is a ghost of madness in us all. Speaking negatively, Pirsig says, “a ghost which calls itself rationality… causes the most normal of everyday acts to seem slightly mad because of their irrelevance to anything else” (Pirsig 100). This statement is preceded by a hypothesis that when “you” (or what I call “we,” the collected “sane”) look at a madman, all you see is a reflection of your own knowledge that he is mad. Both of these assertions fall within a short section that repeatably discusses madness and insanity. However, the tone of the context not only indicates criticism of the ghost of rationality, but also extends disapproval to the result: madness. Following that, Pirsig leads to the conclusion of the section where he argues that in the ghost of rationality, “only madmen ask why” (101) we seek to live longer. However, I believe such conclusions undermine the enigmatic appeal of insanity and the contemporary generation’s experiences with insanity.
Our modern society has instigated a love affair with the idea of insanity—we were first introduced to the idea on a mass level with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and The Picture of Dorian Gary in the Victorian age. Then we were granted a more overt glimpse with the inmate Renfield in Dracula at the turn of the century, and since then people have been consistently fascinated with insane characters, especially in narratives. The novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest introduced a story told by an insane man, while the Hannibal Lecter stories established a kind of empathy with the cold, calculated insanity of a mad psychologist. Apocalypse Now mirrors its inspiration, Heart of Darkness, with the insanity of Kurtz in the jungle. Most recently the Joker in Dark Knight revealed a chaotic insanity that America now loves. There are, of course, other factors lending to the appeal of these characters, but that does not detract from the fascination with madness—a chaotic, unknown element.
One of Pirsig’s hypotheses was that when we look at madness all we see is our own knowledge that he is mad. However, Pirsig completely bypasses the possibility that because we see insanity, we are intrigued and so want to approach and understand. The madmen is the unknown, the Other, an entity disassociated from self with an entirely different set of experiences and therefore possesses a different form of knowledge. Since the madman knows what we do not, for us he becomes the wise man. He is not a Wiseman in the sense of Buddha or a guru who supposedly know the answers of life, but the madman knows one answer, and we want to know if that is the right answer. We want to know what drove the man mad, what keeps him mad, worry if it will happen to us, and wonder if underneath it all, he is the happier for his insanity. We look at him and wonder if madness could be what we have been looking for all along.
When looking at the madmen we already see beyond the insanity, and want to see still more, which is why people are fascinated with insane characters in movies. One of my favorite movie characters is Jeffrey from 12 Monkeys. The primary reason for this is because in his insane antics he provides me immense enjoyment. However, there is an element to his insanity beyond humor that he shares with Hannibal and the Joker: a state of release, or exemption. Jeffrey, who runs around causing havoc in the asylum and upsetting other inmates, is not bound by societal or linguistic rules, saying and acting however he wants, whenever he wants. For that he is placed in an asylum, but even there he has freedom. At one point he acquires the key for another character and later he is freed because of his father’s money, two acts which reveal that the walls of the asylum do not bind him, he merely allows them to temporarily. In a similar vein the Joker in Dark Knight is also not bound by Law, capitalism, or morality. He is almost an extension of Jeffrey, with similar mannerisms and disregard of anything that might restrict him. He allows himself to be captured then manages to easily escape from the jail, as if the enforcers of the law bore no power over him. At one point the Joker even comments, “the only sensible way to live in this world is without rules.” There is a freedom these two characters possess in their insanity that we as “sane” individuals cannot obtain—a freedom not in the absence of consequences, but in not allowing consequences to affect them.
This concept of freedom in madness is the facet of insanity that Pirisg undermines with his attitude toward madmen and his opinion of acts that are “slightly mad because of their irrelevance to anything else” (100). In the phrase “irrelevance to anything else” there is the very architect of freedom that makes Jeffrey and the Joker such captivating characters. In their madness they consider every constraint placed on them “irrelevant.” There are no ties, no boundaries on them, just like the every days acts have no connections to anything Other or outside because their slight madness. That is appealing to the twenty-first century man. America may possibly be the freest country in the world, but an American citizen is not as free as Jeffrey Goines or the Joker. The average citizen cannot have what he wants, when he wants it—he has to stop for stoplights, pay taxes, pay for insurance if he wants to drive, spend money instead of just taking everything, and so has to work to make money. He cannot steal, he cannot murder, he cannot disagree without being politically incorrect. Except, that is not entirely true—the American citizen can do or not do any of those things, he merely has to face the consequences for his actions.
That is why insanity is so appealing – we can do whatever we want without consequence: ultimate freedom. In that freedom, we envy the madman. In Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, however, Phaedrus sought the ghost of rationality and went mad from the journey. In the system of rationality Phaedrus was the “madman” who asked why we should want to live longer, and apparently went insane for questioning the established system and base assumptions. But perhaps Pirsig undermines insanity because he only understands part of insanity. Perhaps those we call mad, are not truly as mad as we believe. The basic assumption of madmen that I have argued is that they revolt against the accepted standard that enforces order, so we label them “mad,” but really, there are two types of madness. There are those who reach that point beyond the safe and comfortable “rules” and lose their mind, like Phaedrus, but then there are those who reach the end and embrace it, like the Joker. To the sane man, they are both insane because they have gone beyond into the abyss we cannot reach, but to themselves they’re just, as Joker said, “ahead of the curve.” In that case, “madness” becomes nothing more than an empty definition. In their movies, both Jeffrey and the Joker are called mad, an accusation that they both sincerely and adamantly deny. Just like consequences have no control on them, neither do our definitions. But this is also why Pirsig undermines the value of insanity—he only sees one consequence of insanity, only the madmen who ask why we want to live longer, he does not see the ones who ask, why not—the ones who the sane man envies.
Given the understanding of madmen, perhaps the ghost of rationality is correct in saying that “only madmen ask why,” (101) but what I hope Pirsig is covertly implying is that maybe madmen should not be the only ones to be asking that. Maybe before the end of the novel Pirsig will reveal an approach to insanity that is not negative. Though, given how he undermines the relevance of insanity in modern culture, I do not think I can hope that he will present a position that a touch of insanity in exploring the world can truly be an enlightening approach. If in madness there is a freedom absent in sanity, then sometimes madness can free us to truth outside our accepted paradigms.
22 January 2010
Nonsense Poem
Once in a while, if you find yourself in a hostile world
Just turn around once,
Then turn again twice
Until you've swirled and twirled and
You're not where you were just before
Then be on your way with a step and a sway
For there's the trick
To making a switch
When you're up on your toes or down on your nose
You're ready for whatever's in store
"But what does it matter" you say to the Hatter
"If things upside down
Were once turned around
Is anything real when peals of laughter appeal
To the heart of a story conceived by a Puck?"
But if that's what ensues, best beware of the blues
They come on quick
With a bag of tricks
So when you're stuck just throw on some words and scenes and aquamarines
And with a bang you'll hang from a hat brim of luck.
Just turn around once,
Then turn again twice
Until you've swirled and twirled and
You're not where you were just before
Then be on your way with a step and a sway
For there's the trick
To making a switch
When you're up on your toes or down on your nose
You're ready for whatever's in store
"But what does it matter" you say to the Hatter
"If things upside down
Were once turned around
Is anything real when peals of laughter appeal
To the heart of a story conceived by a Puck?"
But if that's what ensues, best beware of the blues
They come on quick
With a bag of tricks
So when you're stuck just throw on some words and scenes and aquamarines
And with a bang you'll hang from a hat brim of luck.
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