(Poem #379 on new numbering scheme)
ㅁ The universe extends outward in spirals, cavities and loops of filamentation, vast pools of gravity.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Month: August 2017
Caveat: I love my job
My student left this next to the monkey on my desk.
"Trash monkey" is another name for the Minneapolitan rainbow monkey (and/or his neon green friend). The idea is that the monkeys like trash – which I tell my students because it compels them to pick up their trash and put it like an offering on a free desk where the monkey "collects" their trash. This aids in cleaning the classroom at the end of the period, since for whatever bizarre Korean cultural reason, classrooms don't have individual trashcans.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Random Poem #77
(Poem #378 on new numbering scheme)
Some stones suggested, take a moment. So I did. The summer went on.
[daily log: walking; well, no]
Caveat: Random Poem #76
(Poem #377 on new numbering scheme)
The floor announced itself as if alive. I found some stray vocabulary there, it lay in scattered piles, collectively devoid of use or meaning. I just sighed.
Caveat: Blood on the White House carpet
The below was written by Roger Fisher, in The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, in 1981.
My favourite activity is inventing. An early arms control proposal dealt with the problem of distancing that the President would have in the circumstances of facing a decision about nuclear war. There is a young man, probably a Navy officer, who accompanies the President. This young man has a black attache case which contains the codes that are needed to fire nuclear weapons. I could see the President at a staff meeting considering nuclear war as an abstract question. He might conclude: "On SIOP Plan One, the decision is affirmative. Communicate the Alpha line XYZ.." Such jargon holds what is involved at a distance.
My suggestion was quite simple: Put that needed code number in a little capsule, and then implant that capsule right next to the heart of a volunteer. The volunteer would carry with him a big, heavy butcher knife as he accompanied the President. If ever the President wanted to fire nuclear weapons, the only way he could do so would be for him first, with his own hands, to kill one human being. The President says, "George, I’m sorry but tens of millions must die." He has to look at someone and realize what death is – what an innocent death is. Blood on the White House carpet. It’s reality brought home.
"When I suggested this to friends in the Pentagon they said, "My God, that’s terrible. Having to kill someone would distort the President’s judgement. He might never push the button."
Unrelatedly (except for maybe the vague atmospherics of 1980s-era nuclear angst), what I'm listening to right now.
New Order, "True Faith."
In 1991, I was a US Army soldier, stationed at Camp Edwards, Paju, Korea – a few kilometers from the DMZ and a few kilometers (5 subway stations) from where I live now. I had a Laotian-American barracksmate, with the euphonious surname Inthalangsy, who was a gangbanger from Houston who'd been offered one of those "join the Army or go to jail" options that judges seem to used to have had the option of offering. Inthalangsy was a die-hard New Order fan, and so this song was on very heavy rotation in our barracks room. The Korean soldiers (KATUSAs) didn't like it, and I think Inthalangsy played it partly because he knew it annoyed them. It grew on me.
Lyrics.
I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don't care 'cause I'm not there
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow
Again and again I've taken too much
Of the things that cost you too much
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun…
When I was a very small boy,
Very small boys talked to me
Now that we've grown up together
They're afraid of what they see
That's the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there was just no way of knowing
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun…
I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
The chances are we've gone too far
You took my time and you took my money
Now I fear you've left me standing
In a world that's so demanding
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun…
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Random Poem #75
(Poem #376 on new numbering scheme)
In small increments the night eats the moon. Seasons eat seasons, the same.
Caveat: North Korea’s ICBM Program Makes Me Safer
I genuinely believe that North Korea's ICBM program makes me safer.
To understand what I mean, consider that I'm speaking, specifically, of me – I don't mean, here, some generic "me." I mean, I am a guy who lives about 20 km from North Korea. On a clear day, I can see North Korea from the top of a nearby hill – and that's not Sarahpalinesque hyperbole, either.
To be clear, North Korea's ICBM program probably makes the world in general a much more dangerous place. But my specific spot in the world becomes notably less dangerous.
Here's why.
You see, this spot, 20 km from the DMZ, and 25 km from the muzzles of North Korean artillery, has always been quite dangerous. For the last 70 years, it's been in the targeting sights of North Korean bomb delivery systems.
This has not changed. But with ICBMs, the North Korean has military has acquired a vast new selection of possible targets. 99% of these targets have greater strategic value, and fewer downsides, than bombing their own relatives in their own front yard.
What North Korean military planner wouldn't prefer to bomb Guam, or Washington, or even Okinawa or Nome, Alaska, over Ilsan or even Seoul?
So the chances of bombs suddenly raining down on Ilsan go down, each time they add kilometers to their overall ICBM range.
That's pretty basic.
In fact, I feel as if, to the extent that North Korea is able to attack the US directly, South Korea in general becomes safer. Why damage territory you hope to annex, when you can just directly attack that territory's current "protector"?
Now that doesn't mean I'm anything like complacent that I'm completely safe. To the extent that irrational minds (both in Pyeongyang and, increasingly, in Washington) walk down a path toward military confrontation, things get more dangerous, too. There might be an actual war, and if that happens, of course Ilsan is on the front line, so to speak. But the chances that Ilsan will be the "first victim" in some North Korean preemptive attack are fading quickly, and thus the area becomes a spot where "waiting out the war" becomes more plausible, to the extent you can accept that it seems unlikely that the North Koreans would be ultimately able to take any actual South Korean territory. I take that as a given in the current military climate. The North can only be preemptively retributive, if that makes any sense.
Maybe I'm just being unreasonably blind to military strategy and risks. But this is how I see it.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #74
(Poem #375 on new numbering scheme)
The plants put forth their fronds aggressively and trace their yearnings through the damp, still air. A dragonfly is spinning tales with bits of iridescent blues and greens and dreams.
Caveat: Memory; Anticipation; Experience
It is official that I will be traveling to Australia to visit my mother for the first week in September. I have worked out a replacement teacher for my job, and I've bought the airline tickets and the rental car.
Last year, I traveled to the US in November, so, in returning to my pre-cancer pattern, this year is Australia's "turn."
As is my new base state, I'm not necessarily "excited" by the prospect of travel. I don't seem to derive much pleasure from traveling, as I used to. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to seeing my mom.
Traveling is a bit like eating, maybe. I have so many fond memories of travel, and I have these fantasies and "cravings." With food, due to my loss of taste and swallowing facility from the surgery, I always end up disappointed and frustrated when I actually eat something I remember enjoying once-upon-a-time. Likewise, the actual experience of travel is inevitably disappointing: stressful and tedious. Unlike with eating, however, it's not clear to me how this new progression of events developed.
I'm sure it will be OK, though.
More later.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #73
(Poem #374 on new numbering scheme)
Today I walked more slowly than I do more typically. I trudged instead of walked. I can't say why this was. Perhaps I'm tired from long hot days, or maybe full of angst.
Caveat: Call your lawyer
We were doing a speaking book task, where there is a "set up" situation, and students have to then explain what they will say in the given situation.
In this particular set up, it described a situation where the student has borrowed a friend's phone, only to drop it and break the screen accidentally.
So the students had to, presumably, say something to the effect of: "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I broke your phone. I feel so terrible. I will buy you a new one… "
Anyway, this is actually a really hard task for these students – the book is a bit too hard for their ability level. They just don't have the fluency or active vocabulary to make this happen smoothly. So to make it easier, I spend a good portion of each class describing the situation, acting it out in detail, writing down possible response fragments.
I try to solicit possible words, ideas, and such from the students. One boy, a bit of a contrarian, likes to imagine being a jerk in such situations. So he said, "I feel happy."
I ran with it.
"Right! What if you don't like your friend?" I brainstormed.
"I feel happy. I broke it, so what?" I wrote on the board. The boy scribbled this down diligently. He knew what his speech would look like, now.
I added some more fragments. "It's your phone, deal with it." I spent some time explaining the expression "deal with it."
One girl, normally completely silent, suggested. "I feel joy."
"Joy?" I said, pleased to see her participating. "Not just happy, but joy? You hate your friend?"
She nodded.
"So then what?" I asked. "What if your friend calls a lawyer?"
I spent about 5 minutes explaining what a lawyer was. I explained the concept of "small claims court" – without trying to introduce the vocabulary. The kids were more or less familiar with the idea – there are cheesy courtroom reality shows in Korea, just like in the US.
Without missing a beat, the normally silent girl said, almost inaudibly but clearly, "OK. Call the lawyer with your broken phone."
I was impressed.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #72
(Poem #373 on new numbering scheme)
A particle floats suspended in the air. Dust. The sun's beam shows me.
Caveat: And I the while, the sole unbusy thing
Work without Hope
Lines Composed 21st February 1825
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
– Samuel Taylor Coleridge (English poet, 1772-1834)
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #71
(Poem #372 on new numbering scheme)
Once time became an instrument Diaphanous but real Then aliens could play it well - spun like a giant wheel.
Caveat: NeoNero
Apropos of nothing in particular, I'd like to make a political observation.
If considered in terms of fulfilling the implicit (as opposed to explicit) promises of his campaign, the current US president is one of the most successful in recent history.
That's because the implicit promise of the campaign, whether we want to admit it or not, was to destroy the government. Abu Ivanka was undeniably elected by a contingent of the American public who despises gubmint.
Well, the Orange-coiffed Emperor is doing just what those people most desire, in their deepest yearnings.
So who has any right to complain? If you don't like it, change the discourse. The culture itself propagates these beliefs that government is bad. Start there in finding a solution. Or, if you're happy to see the government burn, just remember – anarchy generally doesn't work out as well as the idealists imagine.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Random Poem #70
(Poem #371 on new numbering scheme)
The heat is a stone. It's heavy and pulls down clouds. The monsoon drizzles.
Caveat: 和氣自生君子宅
I learned this aphorism from the Shamanism Museum.
和氣自生君子宅
화기자생군자택
hwa.gi.ja.saeng.gun.ja.taek
I have no idea how to even translate the individual hanja – I think this is pure Chinese (as opposed to Koreanized Chinese). But the translation given is “온화한 기운이 군자의 집에서 우러나오는 구나,” which means “A warm aura (feeling?) comes from your home.” I guess this means a welcoming home.
I had some problem with the picture I took of the panel showing this saying – the detail picture I took of the label allowed me to write down the aphorism, but the panel itself is blurry. So there’s no nice picture.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Random Poem #69
(Poem #370 on new numbering scheme)
"It's just like dust," she said without delay. But no, it wasn't dust. It was more like pale scatterings of quantum quarks at play and then taking a rest - or gone on strike. She found a bone - part of an angel's wing. She wondered out loud, "How did this get here?" It seemed like all was dead - yes, everything. Her slow gaze swept around. She felt some fear. So turning, she walked back to the strange gate. She'd found it in her dream, and gone through quick. But now she felt regret. It was too late. The path was lengthening, the air grew thick. If finally she made it back to home, She'd never forget that dream's monochrome.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Random Poem #68 “Inchoate dreaming time”
(Poem #369 on new numbering scheme)
ㅁ I fall alone. I have blacked out. A darkness now envelopes me, reification both of doubt and also of uncertainty. A dream begins to coalesce amid the bursting stars of aught: A bone, a wing, dark paths, endless images uncontrolled, unsought. A meaning seeps out from between the tiny cracks that draw or trace their jagged, concrete lines, unseen upon knowledge's edifice. I spin in space. I harbor fears. The moon is white. I taste my tears.
– a sonnet in iambic tetrameter.
Caveat: What Bilingualism?
The satirical linguistics website, SpeculativeGrammarian, publishes all kinds of crazy stuff.
This one struck me as particularly funny – it addresses the question of "bilingualism in the Rio Grande Valley" (i.e. southern Texas) – an issue that has seen much attention in the history of sociolinguistics. But of course, this particular satirical approach reaches quite strange results. See if you can detect their fallacious assumptions.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #67
(Poem #368 on new numbering scheme)
A few tall trees were thrusting down their fists into the dampened earth while trying to reach heaven's crown, frustration foiling hope and worth. And meanwhile buses crawled along recondite routes because ignoring the trees would keep them bold and strong and vegetation is quite boring. A cat was watching, her tail twitching, as spirits started to emerge between the cracks, faces bewitching, suggesting some old hunter's urge. In those slow buses, dull souls sat. The trees preferred that wise gray cat.
Caveat: Recreational Apophenia, U.S. Virgin Islands Edition
Yesterday, I was walking. I saw a coin on the pavement. I thought it was a ₩100 coin (basically about a "dime" in value, but it's quarter-sized). Nobody was around, and it wasn't a busy area. "My lucky day," I thought. You never know when you might need an extra ten cents. I picked it up.
In fact, it was a US quarter. Further, it was one of those commemorative quarters – on the reverse, it said "U.S. Virgin Islands. United in Pride and Hope. 2009." There was an engraving of palm trees and some exotic bird.
Interesting, right? – on a street in suburban Seoul, finding such a thing. It was one of those novelistic moments, where, if there were an author, the author would have had some symbolic purpose for placing such a thing. Thus runs the mental train of a recreational apophenist such as myself.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #66
(Poem #367 on new numbering scheme)
Pebbles on the curb; a cluster of grass. The sun seeks the cicadas.
Caveat: this citadel of dampness
Mean Particles
Sometimes something like a second
washes the base of this street.
The father and his two assistants
are given permission to go.
One of them, a woman, asks, “Why
did we come here in the first place,
to this citadel of dampness?”
Some days are worse than others,
even if we can’t believe in them.
But that was never a concern of mine,
reasoned the patient.
Sing, scroll, or never be blasted by us
into marmoreal meaning, or the fist for it.
Kudos to the prince who journeyed here
to negotiate our release, if you can believe it.
You’re right. The ballads are retreating
back into the atmosphere.
They won’t be coming round again.
Make your peace.
– John Ashbery (American poet, b. 1927)
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Random Poem #65
(Poem #366 on new numbering scheme)
Far out in open country where dogs run, and creatures fight each other with their sticks, and piles of bones lie scattered here and there beneath the trees... there I will take a rest.