Difficult To Be Really Present With a Headache

I'm currently sitting on the third step from the front of the fountain at taft garden. I have never noticed these peculiar bugs before but they are tiny, tiny flies or mosquitoes of a creamy tan color. They are floating so gracefully, so carefree, gliding around in circles. I wonder if they have any agenda or if they are simply enjoying themselves, enjoying their life. They don't seem in pursuit of anything but rather just trailling around and around in a random motion. But of course I'm not certain. The sun is peeking through the clouds, trying to force its way through so that although the light around me is a grey-white, I still cannot comfortably look up because the sun is still bright. Maybe I could find a deeper meaning in that. I wish I could but at the moment, it is difficult for me to be truly present because all I can feel is either

a) a headache from nearly four hours of intense concentration and running around in Organic Chemistry laboratory

b) a headache from the acetone fumes I accidentally inhaled while washing my glassware with it

c) a headache from swirling things with dangerous and corrosive solutions (I was extracting caffeine from tea).

d) all of the above.

But the flies are still beautiful. I wonder if I can maybe telepathically send tiny bits of my weightless headache to the tips of their wings so that they could float away alongside them, dissolving into the evening.

Before I'd even finished reading Offending Women, I was already caught up in thinking how I would have done it better (now I’m potentially falling into this trap of damage-based thinking…). Alliance, as Haney made clear, was riddled with problems. Something I found particularly interesting, however, was the way in which Alliance's shortcomings did more to promote independence within the young women than the actual program did. Their initiative to ban together and instigate change within the institution demonstrates just the type of self-dependency that Alliance aims for, but for all the wrong reasons. It's ironic, then, that the groups butted heads so much just because the avenues through which these women displayed their independence were misaligned with the expectations of Alliance. I was also saddened by the women's whole-hearted confidence in the ability for welfare to be able to provide for them once they got out. I think this dependence speaks again to the need for structure that was demonstrated when the women fought against the constant schedule changes they encountered in the facility. Not necessarily a sign of laziness in my opinion, depending on welfare as a steady constant presence for these women would much less stressful than trying to find an employer who will take them in despite the inevitable black mark of a felony. It almost makes sense that Welfare Queens (to borrow from couldn'tthinkofanoriginalname and Chandrea) are born from these young women. However, especially after the presentation last night, I see the value of programs like YASP.

Class today had me thinking a lot about what it means to be labeled "offending."  What is it we are afraid of in offending people with our words or actions?  It seems that, as a class, we've agreed that censoring oneself and withholding thoughts in order not to offend, is actually more offensive than taking the risk to share.  But there is the other edge of offending about which we didn't speak, the type of offending that causes one to be marked as an "offender."

I came into my room after class and saw Offending Women on my bed and thought about how many different meanings that phrase had depending on where one puts emphasis and how one defines both what it is to offend and what it is to be a woman.  In our class, we discussed taking the risk to offend each other with the knowledge that one action won't define how we see a person.  But some people don't have the ability to risk offense because a single mistake can and will define them forever as an offender, as someone who has offended in the past and who society sees as likely to offend in the future.

The language in our readings and that we use in class continues to fascinate me...

"i can't trust him anymore" she takes a step to the side, three-fourths angle, quarter turn,
"if you say you're going" another three-fourths angled stepping, quarter-turned,
"you have to carry through," pots and pans ring over and through her speech she turns on the one she speaks

she is speaking but in her speech is her dance; and her movement is dance is speech, i can't focus on exact words or subject but can only watch her sway hin-und-hinter, arms swiging emotion outward, each turn punctuating point, a symbolic universe of referential comings-and-goings, at once meant as performance of self, for no-one's eyes, yet a performance for the speaker on the other end of the line; her feet shuffle, wandering yet placed

i feel overwhelming voyerism and turn away in shame, a watcher knowing one is being watched in turn: i turn my eyes to the sky as the hair pricks on the back of my neck-- gaze or cool breeze? no creatures are winging, or watching. it seems as though i am the only one looking from this level.

cold gusts behind me, rushing from the west. i look east, toward the new upcroppings of Hilton Suites. i wonder, if such status and priveledge is afforded to those who have a view,

why do we not place greater importance on the bird's eye-view
as it moves from cold northern mountains to southern oceanside
(not the warm plateau)

There are people in my spot.

I repeat, there are people in my spot.

At first, I was incredibly disoriented by this. It wasn’t one person, opening up the possibility of bonding, but an entire class of them, not one of which I recognized. I’m upset by it- how could they find this place I had begun to associate with myself. I had found it, I had figmented it in my mind. It was as if they had found me, or at least a piece of me I had been hiding from everyone else.

But now, I am trying to see this is an opportunity. A chance to practice wild writing in an unexpected encounter. How does the pond feel about their presence? I had been hoping to practice some natural writing by writing about alternate personas of the place, but I had begun to practice the words in my head, taking away their spontaneity. Because I was completely surprised by the presence of people at my spot, I can write for nature, from a place of natural.

Let’s see how this goes:

They slip the still, shallow shape onto my surface, insinuating it just above my soul, using it as a vessel to look inward at me. I react, as one does (obviously); little ripples, a path behind their natural intrusion. Newtonian sense I’ve known intrinsically since infanthood; afterall, he based it on my brethren.

I am going to tell my walking story in the manner of a Keres tale. A dictionary can be found here (Queres = Keres).

FIRST TELLING

Where weathered rock and flowing water meet

When hot, moist air retreats at summer’s end;

Above, the vivid boughs do speak of fall

While underfoot the earth prepares for sleep.

The sparrow hops upon the iron rail

While under trees cicadas speak their death.

KERES TELLING

Not so long ago. In Kuwami from Tidyami the ts'itsi arrived. Here came Shuum'ə Daaw'aatra from Uw'aititaan Daaw'aatra, from Tidyami. K'uisrka went and k'uuchini came to the trees. Many animals go at kasraiti's end. 

I tweeted about this, but I also wanted to post the link on here. Diane Von Furstenberg (the designer) taped her runway show using Google Glasses. She, along with some of her collaborators and models wore the glasses and it was edited in to a video. Watch it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30Pjl31cyDY

I had a hard time reading Offending Women, not because of the level of it's cohesiveness or vocabulary, but because of how angry it made me. The examples Haney gave of the treatment women faced at Alliance made me question how they could be justified in continuing thier program. Though I'm sure living in a house with few restrictions was far more comfortable than living in a prison, the verbal and mental abuse the women faced was uncalled for and unjustified in my opinion. 

In class, our group discussed Clark’s cyborg readings and how that played into our feelings towards the class. There was a general consensus amongst the people in our group that the Clark reading was more confusing rather than informative. The main reason I think this is, is the writing style that Clark adopts. In his writing, Clark tends to try to prove concepts by examples rather than solidifying his claims and arguments by using original research. Thus, Clark’s text seems more like a thoughtful muse, rather than a piece of writing meant to prove a certain fact.