Two things

1) I do not often talk or write about quantum physics. This is because every scientist I've ever talked to in anything near that field says you really need to have all the math to understand it, and that descriptions for the lay public are uniformly crap. Therefore, I try not to reference any but the most commonly known facts, and to avoid having these as key to my arguments.

2) It turned out that I got ten minutes to ask Minch my questions, which was ok, because it was a pretty cool ten minutes, and basically the answer was, "read Pettit."

However, I did also find this article in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, which doesn't entirely agree with the way Minch put it (philosophy can be that way) but is still pretty cool.

Three original jokes

composed by Taran Weathercolor:


What do you call a female supervillian?

a girlfiend!


What's poisonous to a clock?

tocktick.


What did the teenage zombie say after he wrecked his parent's car?

I'm dead.


Also, it's been an excellent day. :)

Emo can't sleep post. Hmn.

I used to love the sound of rain, but this morning it sounds like failure and I absolutely can not sleep.

Here is my confession; I miss living in a trailer in my sister's driveway. The trailer was safe because it was mine, and it was mine because no one else wanted it. No one expected it to be nice, and no one was counting on me. I could--and did--jerry rig all kinds of sub-standard solutions when things went wrong, and it was all ok. It was satisfying; I could listen to the rain. I could dance in it. No one was counting on me, and through my own labor I had privacy, a place to sleep, my guitars were safe, my books were dry.

I've been thinking lately of getting a tattoo, solely for my own benefit. It would a have to be somewhere I could see it, and I've been thinking about some words, simple script, across my left wrist--work harder. I find it deeply appealing, and yet somehow it betrays, even to me, that there's something broken about me, something unbalanced. In my mind I see another word, "peace," across my right wrist so they will weigh the same, but it's harder to believe.

A house can't be really mine. It's worth something. There's too much of it, and by justice it must be shared. This house has weathered 80 years, and if the foundation becomes unsettled I can't solve it by moving around some bricks. I can't use an old dog leash to tie down a tarp and stop the leaking of the roof; I can't cover the windows with duct tape and cardboard and stuff them with grocery bags when I am cold. If I fail, I will have broken something whole, and betrayed the resources trusted to me.

I used to love the rain.

Corpse de ballet / Imperfect

The only other time I've posted any of my poetry on here, I asked for gentleness. As before, I present to you a classic instance of a new genre I'm pioneering: emo spine poetry. By now (I wrote this when I was still trying to dance) I've much more come to terms with this sort of thing, so if you would, I'd like you all to be as brutal as possible. I don't know much about the craft of poems, but I enjoy them and would like to improve. Also, I KNOW there are some really smart English majors who read my blog. Hopefully you'll have something to say. :)



I'm tired of laying here, trying to remember what it was for my body to be whole.


I want to climb into the mountains and
wrap myself in God
but tonight I can not walk

So instead I feel
the God who pools himself
as numbness across the heel of my left foot

reaching up in patches till
he thrusts his
flames into my
un-wrapped
spine.

I remember what it was to dance
or some days only try to
see congre devant, derriere, but suddenly

the memorable corps
de ballet
has snapped
broken spine dangling
and my eyes fill up
with blood


I was always wrong for ballet
but I loved

the slow music
and the long degages
where I could breathe into my body
and not have to be anywhere
else.

Project

Ladies and gentlemen, I've decided to make you victims of a writing project. People keep mentioning to me that I'm writing less and less lately, and I know that what I should be doing is writing more and more. I like to think that in the past I've had standards for this, out of respect for my audience. I've tried hard to include a lot that wasn't just about my life. No more.

For the next month, I'm going to try to post every day; certainly that should get me writing again. God save the quality of my content, audience forgive me.

. . .


So here's for today's post.

For those of you who were unaware, I have two major goals; meaningful political change, and family. Family doesn't have to be in the conventional sense. Here are the things I've been doing to work towards those goals.

For political change I've been reading theory from the very beginning, and taking notes. This is going much slower than I'd like, impeded mostly by family obligations and lack of sleep. Also, someone decided we can have a working relationship instead of acting like we're three, so today I went to the first RSU meeting, which was spectacular. Minch lectured on the republican, as opposed to the liberal, tradition; it is fascinating. Liberal liberty is freedom from interference and republican liberty is freedom from domination. I, who never takes notes in lecture (auditory learner), have a page and a half of notes, a list of books to find, and an appointment to go ask some more detailed questions. To Jacob who will never read this, thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou, it feels like Christmas. I want to jump up and run to go hug you, but that would freak you out.

The family bit is a pretty complicated kettle of fish, but here are a few mentionable things. Rape crisis training was really eye opening, and I've made a serious project of sorting out my brain--among other things, so that I can attack the problem of dating. Also, I've been making a big point of meeting people, so as to replenish the social life even in my hermitage.

And I'm doing simple things, trying to crack through those first impressions; fitful attempts to wear less black; getting feedback from the friends I do have on what behaviors they consider "prickly;*" experimenting dubiously with makeup. Baking. No one thinks you hate them when you hand them a blueberry muffin, right?

Well, almost nobody.


that's all.




*Correcting the professor on the first day of class?
T: (mortified)--you should at least act like you think that you're wrong. At least at first.
J: (approving)--Welcome to the real world/philosophy program.
D: (thinks this is hilarious)--That is such a Day thing to do.

hrm.