I removed a number of readings I had initially thought (ha ha) that we could get in this week; although I took them off the syllabus "proper," I include links to them here, in case anyone's interested in exploring further the idea of "silence in music":

Jonathan Foer. Seven Attempted Escapes from Silence (libretto).

Karim Haddad. First Attempted Escape From Silence: Tunnels.

Below is a link to a youtube video where Marc Lamont Hill interviews Angela Davis on her work with prision abolition. Needless to say this is very relevant to our class. Both of them have come to speak on campus for Black History Month (Hill came my sophomore year).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AZ5waLhdV0&feature=relmfu

I tried writing in rhemode for this because despite how I didn’t necessarily agree with Bohm, I do think the way in which he proposes we use language is interesting, both in sound and in the thought behind it. I think there is a significant difference between the two versions, both in length, sound and meaning.

This was my original opening paragraph from my Thoreauvian essay: “I tried to begin this essay several times by describing why I started my walk where I did, but finally came to the realization that I did not actually have a reason. I had been hesitant to begin my Thoreauvian walk and I wasn’t quite sure why. I felt like it should be such an easy thing, to take a walk. However, I couldn’t get myself to begin. I would feel an uncomfortable tightening in my stomach, almost bordering on fear. I felt silly, why would I fear something so simple as walking? As I thought more, I realized what I feared was not the walk itself but having to be “directionless.” I was scared to clear my mind, to expect nothing. I felt the need to control the walk, to ensure that I had something valuable to say at the end of the experience. As I thought about our class discussions revolving around fear and bugs, I realized the only way to let go was to begin, and not think about how or where”

This is my RE- writing:

Initiation was attempted regarding walking,

however realizations occurred that there was no reason, ire-initation.

Re-initation of walking through writing  …

I tried to begin this essay several times by describing why I started my walk where I did, but finally came to the realization that I did not actually have a reason. I had been hesitant to begin my Thoreauvian walk and I wasn’t quite sure why. I felt like it should be such an easy thing, to take a walk. However, I couldn’t get myself to begin. I would feel an uncomfortable tightening in my stomach, almost bordering on fear. I felt silly, why would I fear something so simple as walking? As I thought more, I realized what I feared was not the walk itself but having to be “directionless.” I was scared to clear my mind, to expect nothing. I felt the need to control the walk, to ensure that I had something valuable to say at the end of the experience. As I thought about our class discussions revolving around fear and bugs, I realized the only way to let go was to begin, and not think about how or where. So as I walked out of Haffner after having lunch, I suddenly realized I had never actually been inside the Haffner dorm. I knew I needed to explore the inside of Haffner. It took at least twenty minutes of wandering to realize that I was wandering. Instead of forcing myself to walk, I had somehow managed to be on my walk accidently. Surprisingly, it was easier then I thought to get lost. There ended up being so much to see I created an online album of pictures I took during the walk.

Firstly, I have to say that a lot of things happened this week and this reading is really out of anticipation in many ways.  Our reflections and readings make me think of a lot of questions which I don’t have answers right now.

To check the validity of the accusations Sommer claimed on Rigoberta Menchu, who is the writer of the book that moved me deeply last week, I Googled Rigoberta. Surprisingly, her Nobel Peace Prize was nearly revoked by Nobel Committee due to the David Horowitz’s campaign attacked her using David’s Stoll book. David Stoll carried out an investigation of Menchu’s story and found many evidences that proved that she changed many elements of her life in order to meet publicity needs for some political purpose.

I guess this explains some of confusions I had reading  the book, disconnected timelines, contradicting stories and mixed orientations of narratives and my feelings was cheated partially to fulfill some political causes. I am pretty sure this is not the first case of falsification in the literature history. In the end, the controversies about her testimony and potential of losing the prize were settled because Menchu’s contributions of bringing attention to the genocide happened at Guantemala and to advocate peace. Still, such a drama was not expected when I read such emotional piece.

“I’m still keeping secrets what I think no-one should know. Not even anthropologist or intellectuals, no matter how many books they have, can find our secrets”

It seems like a lot of people chose to use the rheomode to re-write/re-levate their paragraphs. Is this the most natural way for us to write? The easiest? 

Or perhaps (and I think this may be the case) is it the clearest mode to emulate - the directions for this form are the clearest. 

ACHOO!!

That is how my weekend is characterized. As a matter of fact, my whole week has been phlegm-y, but it was taken to a whole new level this past few days. After I discovered on Thursday that I have a severe ear infection, combatting the cold that I caught earlier in the week became much more difficult. Now I have to stifle my sneezes as much as possible and I'm not allowed to blow my nose, as to not put pressure on my ear. But my body would have none of that. I have been sneezing every ten minutes this weekend, being mostly bedridden (or roomridden, if that's even a plausible word) but still exhausted. Therefore, I did not have the chance to properly visit the cloisters this week, but I will talk about the ecology in my room.

This week I decided to approach my spot on the campus in a new way. I wanted to do an illustrated representation of the moon bench, and look at it from a different perspective. Usually when I sit in the moon bench I look down senior row, it is a beautiful view but it is not the only view. Today I sat facing the moon bench and it gave me a different feel for the space. I noticed the "mini forest" behind the bench, and after I did my sketch and added color, I realized how ugly it is compared to the beautiful green, gold, and brown colors that surround it. Looking at the moon bench this way gave me a new appreciation for it. It provides a wonderful view of the campus, but the bench itself is not so beautiful. Even the golden glow cast by the sun did nothing to enhance the bench, it remained cold, and gray, and stone. The life aroud it however lit up, and interacting with the wind and the sun. Overall, I enjoy sitting on the moonbench to appreciate the surrounding nature, but the bench appears to me to be distinctly out of place among the beauty that surrounds it. I wonder what it will look like in the winter, will the enviornment take on similar qualities of the bench?

Since our class lunch on Friday, I've been thinking a lot about what 360-inspired activism might look like and what we might want to focus on.  I've also been thinking a lot about the skepticism expressed by some members of our class about what kind of dent a small amount of activism might make on problems as huge and systemic as the ones we’re discussing.  I don’t think that any of us are able or willing to take the kinds of risks Rigoberta Menchu did to fight against injustice this semester, even though I know some of us wish we could.  I was thinking a lot about Rigoberta Menchu today when I went to interview a former Philadelphia School District teacher who is also a peace activist for one of my other classes.  We spent the day together, from early this morning until about a half hour ago, and it was riveting to hear this 80-something woman talk about the on-the-ground activism she did in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala throughout the 80s and 90s.  It was shocking to hear about the ways she was willing to risk her life, and the fact that she made it clear she would even give one of her children’s lives if it meant stopping the mass murder she saw happening all around her.  Her other stories of fighting for water access in Mexico, being in Cuba during their revolution, doing reconciliation work in Vietnam, Cambodia and the former USSR, and going on peace missions to Palestine were incredible.  This is also someone who relates very well to our class because of her significant time spent in prison – whether after protesting Langl

I'm beginning to feel all written out – and we're not even halfway through the semester. I suppose, mostly, it's because I feel like my voice has been overused of late. When I'm not speaking, my blog posts are speaking for me. When I'm staying silent in class, I'm still, somehow, making a statement. I feel as though I'm never truly silent. Sommer talks a lot about silence as a way "ethnic" writers draw a line and mark where they need to be respected. Rigoberta says, "I'm still keeping secret what I think no-one should know," and reminds us who really has the power in her novel. But I feel we're not doing enough of that in our classroom. Last week, HSBurke said she thought it was ironic that in a class about silence we were "ALL SO LOUD." I agree. As I work on becoming a better listener, I want to also work on being a better person of silence. During our lunch meeting on Friday, when icouldntthinkofanoriginalname mentioned that she felt we shouldn't feel pressured to speak about personal topics, but that there is value in sharing, I wondered the opposite. Isn't there also value in not sharing?

I'd like to follow the lead of Jesusa Palancares, quoted in Sommer's introduction, "Advertencia/Warning" and simply say, "Fuck off, now. Go away and let me sleep."