I would like to see an organization for the rights of all people. I know this covers a wide scope, but until all of us is free none of us is free. I know that has been said many times, but it is true. No one should be discriminated against because of religious belief or non belief, race, gender identification, sexual orientation, political views, etc... I have started making more of a stand against discriminatory remarks even with friends. All people have the right to express themselves in non hurtful ways.
We need to start taking better care of this planet we call home. Many people do not realize how much damage is being done by the big energy and oil companies. More action need to be done to protect this planet and all life on it.
I do not see myself as a citizen of one country but of the human race.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Going from a Fear of Languages to a Love of Languages
Before I started studying French in high school I had a fear of foreign languages, because I had teachers say that they were difficult. I thought that if they had difficulty with them I would also. When I started French I was very relieved to learn that learning languages was something I could learn. As I started learning other languages I found that it was a passion for me. When I studied Russian one of my professors had studied several languages. He was learning Polish, and he said it was very difficult. I should have learned from my earlier experience concerning what teachers said about learning languages that what is difficult for one person to learn may not be as hard for another person. I know that it will take time for me to learn Czech, Polish, German, Russian, Polish and maybe other languages, but the Slavic languages especially seem like a part of myself that has been missing. I love the sound of these languages. When I hear them I fell like I have arrived home. I will be happier when I can learn to communicate in them.
One thing that is funny is the reason that I decided to study French instead of Spanish my sophomore year in high school. I had been told by teachers that French was the more difficult language. I am not always logical, but you know that by now.
Teachers should not scare students away from subjects that were hard for them. Students should be encouraged to find what their passions are and to follow these passions.
Addendum: I remember as a child thinking that I had not been to kindergarten, because I did not remember any gardens for children. I did not know until years later the origin of the word, but it seemed like the logical meaning of the word. I did not learn any German aside from some phrases taught to me by a German exchange student until I was in college. Sometimes I was confused by the pronunciation of my Mother's name, Margaret. I thought it should be Margarette. This was before I knew anything about French pronunciation. In studying French I followed what seemed like correct pronunciation to me instead of my teacher's pronunciation. She was a good teacher, but she spoke French with a South Carolina accent. For Russian I had a German professor and a Swedish professor. I did not let their pronunciation affect my own, but I listened to operas in Russian and also went by my own instinct.
Addendum: I remember as a child thinking that I had not been to kindergarten, because I did not remember any gardens for children. I did not know until years later the origin of the word, but it seemed like the logical meaning of the word. I did not learn any German aside from some phrases taught to me by a German exchange student until I was in college. Sometimes I was confused by the pronunciation of my Mother's name, Margaret. I thought it should be Margarette. This was before I knew anything about French pronunciation. In studying French I followed what seemed like correct pronunciation to me instead of my teacher's pronunciation. She was a good teacher, but she spoke French with a South Carolina accent. For Russian I had a German professor and a Swedish professor. I did not let their pronunciation affect my own, but I listened to operas in Russian and also went by my own instinct.
A few more pieces
Here's another installation.
schism
three minutes after it all began something happened. there was the definite feeling of vagueness in the air.
meanwhile elsewhere a small child asked his mother for permission to ask permission. permission lived down the street in a splendid shack.
the shack had three thousand six hundred and fifty-seven rooms all without fireplaces.
it was the middle of the month and her hair had started to fallout, leaving her with no means of escape.
the facts, stated simply, will suffice. are you sure that is enough coffee, she asked.
he was standing alone minding his own business when suddenly nothing happened.
science kills mr. stein
mr. stein left his lips to science, science was broke and had sold his lips in order to get through graduate school, he was working on his master's degree in basket weaving, specializing in the use of pubic hair and non-aspirin pain relievers.
mr. stein had met science while vacationing in peggy's crotch, a small town in new york. science had just come into town when their auras collided. for weeks there were clashing colours all over the streets.
when science heard about mr. stein's will he beat hi, to death with a ton of used air so that he could kiss the french again, but he was arrested and forced to spend the rest of his life without punctuation
statement #3,756
he wanted to become a writer, but he had a fear of periods.
Warning: there is more to come.
a continuation
More stuff. I hope you enjoy.
mass-produced individuality
the sound of sound is a sound not often heard in my neighbourhood, it has been outlawed.
the middle
it was decided that the beginning should be the end, so it was.
ode from a blue car fish
approximately 3753.12 miles from a certain unknown point lived a man who had three. This man who had three was so jealous of a man who had none that he got in his car , drove two feet and ate a mushroom. you may say that this is a bit too far to go to eat a mushroom, but he only had to walk 723 miles to get to his car.
the next tuesday following the day after he received a letter from someone he had not known for years. he was so glad to be finally receiving this letter for which he had been waiting for so long, since he had known absolutely nothing about the sender for so long. the letter, which was mailed from his bathroom, said:
i saw the latest exhibit of your work and it is terrible!
yours,
x.p.q.
critic at large, temporal times
the man who had three was do thrilled to get such a positive review from such an unknown critic he thought to himself that he would invite al of the people of teaneck, new jersey over to a party and serve them cold pork chops in the park. he mailed the invitations, but only a wino with dishpan hands showed up with his pet apple tree following behind him. the wino got drunk on the pork chops and stayed until the day before he got to the party and then he growled at the man who had three and ate a banana which wore a bandanna.
now, dear reader, you may want to take a minute to take two or three valium if this is getting too exciting for you. there is no need for you to be thrown into a padded cell like an orange bullfrog.
you may not have realised it, but the man who had three was, is and will be.
now onto the scene walks the gentlest ax-murderer that you could ever hope to meet.he always says please before he chops off your knees, and he does it so daintily, careful not to get bloodon his white three-piece suit. this person must be named, since we shall never hear from him again, so let's call him archibald, since his name is frank and he loves chocolate. as soon as archibald walks onto the scene he leaves the scene, he always faints at the sight of banana flesh.
have you tried it, if not do so, it is so much fun and it is supposed to be good for you, at least that is what george said.
but the man who had three no onger wore sneakers after the armistice, and this made the french sad. it made them so sad that they had to celebrate the anniversary of what's-his-name without corn flakes.
thus the word had been used.
then the man who had three dreamt a strange dream, he dreamt that everything was as it was.
ode to a nail
(a poem)
this is a poem
there is nothing poetic about it
but
it is a poem
because
you see
it is divided into
short lines
and it has
no punctuation
there is neither rhyme not meter
but
i call it a poem
so
it is a poem
mass-produced individuality
the sound of sound is a sound not often heard in my neighbourhood, it has been outlawed.
the middle
it was decided that the beginning should be the end, so it was.
ode from a blue car fish
approximately 3753.12 miles from a certain unknown point lived a man who had three. This man who had three was so jealous of a man who had none that he got in his car , drove two feet and ate a mushroom. you may say that this is a bit too far to go to eat a mushroom, but he only had to walk 723 miles to get to his car.
the next tuesday following the day after he received a letter from someone he had not known for years. he was so glad to be finally receiving this letter for which he had been waiting for so long, since he had known absolutely nothing about the sender for so long. the letter, which was mailed from his bathroom, said:
i saw the latest exhibit of your work and it is terrible!
yours,
x.p.q.
critic at large, temporal times
the man who had three was do thrilled to get such a positive review from such an unknown critic he thought to himself that he would invite al of the people of teaneck, new jersey over to a party and serve them cold pork chops in the park. he mailed the invitations, but only a wino with dishpan hands showed up with his pet apple tree following behind him. the wino got drunk on the pork chops and stayed until the day before he got to the party and then he growled at the man who had three and ate a banana which wore a bandanna.
now, dear reader, you may want to take a minute to take two or three valium if this is getting too exciting for you. there is no need for you to be thrown into a padded cell like an orange bullfrog.
you may not have realised it, but the man who had three was, is and will be.
now onto the scene walks the gentlest ax-murderer that you could ever hope to meet.he always says please before he chops off your knees, and he does it so daintily, careful not to get bloodon his white three-piece suit. this person must be named, since we shall never hear from him again, so let's call him archibald, since his name is frank and he loves chocolate. as soon as archibald walks onto the scene he leaves the scene, he always faints at the sight of banana flesh.
have you tried it, if not do so, it is so much fun and it is supposed to be good for you, at least that is what george said.
but the man who had three no onger wore sneakers after the armistice, and this made the french sad. it made them so sad that they had to celebrate the anniversary of what's-his-name without corn flakes.
thus the word had been used.
then the man who had three dreamt a strange dream, he dreamt that everything was as it was.
ode to a nail
(a poem)
this is a poem
there is nothing poetic about it
but
it is a poem
because
you see
it is divided into
short lines
and it has
no punctuation
there is neither rhyme not meter
but
i call it a poem
so
it is a poem
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
more stuff
Here we go again.
pop
she wanted to know where the children were so i told her that they were upstairs playing parcheesi with an egg plant.
7/25/91
ralph bloch
as a child he was given a set of wooden blocks, blocks with letters and numbers and illustrations engraved on them. he saw this as the first sign that he was meant to be a writer.
he used a pen name when publishing all of his works, having lost his given name amongst the clutter on the top of his desk. the papers from his desk were gathered by a bulldozer and later buried after his unanswered letters fell off and wiped out half of manhattan.
these letters had been sent in response to a letter he had written to the editor of a small weekly newspaper regarding the use of periods as a form of punctuation. he had not as yet submitted anything to any publishers, because he had developed a fear of the post office.
some considered it fortunate that his early writings were lost because they contained no references to the nose hairs of the rich and famous.
after the incident he wrote constantly for the rest of eternity pausing only to pause.
7/9/91
reality state
he was a house breeder. he would mate two chateaux, and in a millennium a hut would be born to the proud parents. he would try to sell the offspring in the first two millennia of its life,because dwellings that are not trained before they become mobile homes are difficult to train. there was one unfortunate couple who bought a town house that had not been trained, the town house went berserk and attacked a tribe of pygmy perverts and rearranged their furniture. the village was declared a disaster area by the secretary of interior decorating. our hero's auntie at one time trained pre-pubescent dwellings, but she retired when she won the multiversal lottery. he had not been trained in training dwellings. after three millennia in the business he sold his stables to a retired brick. this action was followed by a non sequitur.
remember to give it a title
there was much activity, but little being done; much talking, but little being said. the majority of the committee's vocabulary was on strike, only pronouns and indefinite articles were working, and they were out to lunch. the article went to bed without supper.
10/29/91
resemblance
he was thirty-three years late for the first meeting of the union of left-handed elephant washers. his toaster had broken down and his favourite repair shop was closed temporarily because of a lack of excuses.
meanwhile the other members of the union were occupied with a coin-operated zen coffee machine that was clapping its right hand furiously. after several years of this they went to a chinese gymnasium and practiced a lively dance of death choreographed by dali.
oh, shit, i don't have a period with which to end this piece, i just ran out
the return of the obnoxious vegetarian
the bistro of his mind was selling fast food
logic came and left without its watch
her arm was unique in that it had a hand at the end of it
four lines are not sufficient to feed a starving cockroach
pop
she wanted to know where the children were so i told her that they were upstairs playing parcheesi with an egg plant.
7/25/91
ralph bloch
as a child he was given a set of wooden blocks, blocks with letters and numbers and illustrations engraved on them. he saw this as the first sign that he was meant to be a writer.
he used a pen name when publishing all of his works, having lost his given name amongst the clutter on the top of his desk. the papers from his desk were gathered by a bulldozer and later buried after his unanswered letters fell off and wiped out half of manhattan.
these letters had been sent in response to a letter he had written to the editor of a small weekly newspaper regarding the use of periods as a form of punctuation. he had not as yet submitted anything to any publishers, because he had developed a fear of the post office.
some considered it fortunate that his early writings were lost because they contained no references to the nose hairs of the rich and famous.
after the incident he wrote constantly for the rest of eternity pausing only to pause.
7/9/91
reality state
he was a house breeder. he would mate two chateaux, and in a millennium a hut would be born to the proud parents. he would try to sell the offspring in the first two millennia of its life,because dwellings that are not trained before they become mobile homes are difficult to train. there was one unfortunate couple who bought a town house that had not been trained, the town house went berserk and attacked a tribe of pygmy perverts and rearranged their furniture. the village was declared a disaster area by the secretary of interior decorating. our hero's auntie at one time trained pre-pubescent dwellings, but she retired when she won the multiversal lottery. he had not been trained in training dwellings. after three millennia in the business he sold his stables to a retired brick. this action was followed by a non sequitur.
remember to give it a title
there was much activity, but little being done; much talking, but little being said. the majority of the committee's vocabulary was on strike, only pronouns and indefinite articles were working, and they were out to lunch. the article went to bed without supper.
10/29/91
resemblance
he was thirty-three years late for the first meeting of the union of left-handed elephant washers. his toaster had broken down and his favourite repair shop was closed temporarily because of a lack of excuses.
meanwhile the other members of the union were occupied with a coin-operated zen coffee machine that was clapping its right hand furiously. after several years of this they went to a chinese gymnasium and practiced a lively dance of death choreographed by dali.
oh, shit, i don't have a period with which to end this piece, i just ran out
the return of the obnoxious vegetarian
the bistro of his mind was selling fast food
logic came and left without its watch
her arm was unique in that it had a hand at the end of it
four lines are not sufficient to feed a starving cockroach
Conquering Fear of Failure
One sentence I remember translating in Latin class was "He was for a long time, but he did not live a long time." I do not remember the Latin. I do not want this to be said about me. Progress is never made by people who let fear of failure stop them, and they do not let failures stop them. When we fail we learn from our mistakes and move on. This is a lesson that I am still learning. I have too often let the fear of rejection stop me from submitting my writing for publication. The time has come for me to put this behind me. I have too often let my own insecurities get in my way. I am the only one who can change this. I have drawn inspiration from some fighters in MMA, Urijah Faber, Georges Saint-Pierre and Jens Pulver among others. Urijah Faber had to deal with people who said that he was too small to have a career as a fighter. GSP grew up being bullied. Jens Pulver had a difficult childhood with an abusive father. All three overcame obstacles to become champions. The time has come for me to stop letting my self doubts get in my way. I have some things to say, and I am going to say them.
The only sport of which I am a fan is MMA, but I would like to see a hockey match, preferably in Prague or Bratislava.
Three more pieces
Here are three more pieces
#10
he was a man who saw whatever he saw. he lived where he lived on the street where he lived. every morning he would wake up when he stopped sleeping.
his neighbours were upset because he had an annoying habit of being, especially on thursdays.
every week he went to work at the place where he was employed.
his meals consisted of comestibles which he chewed and swallowed and beverages which he swallowed without chewing, causing his family great distress.
he also had an unusual habit of breathing in and breathing out. people often said that he had a remarkable resemblance to himself.
and then suddenly on the day that he stopped living he died.
a ph.d. named phred
thomas decided to be a philosophy professor so that he could get a discount at the copy store on the corner. he worked his way through college by styling the nasal and pubic hair of students who had never studied calculus.
thomas, or as most of his friends called him, thomas, graduated within the top one hundred percent in his undergraduate class at generic u.
he was able to get his master's and doctoral degrees in the amount of time that it took him to do the amount of work required to get those degrees.
he was finally made a full professor after many large meals.
he had been teaching for twenty-seven years five months and one day when he realised that he had developed no personal or impersonal philosophy of life. so he sat on the collected writings of danielle steel and pondered this problem.
he finally found the answer in a remote corner of his mind behind six cobwebs: life is life without hte commercials.
8/6/91
a period piece
the yard sale had been a success, everything had been sold except for a few used metaphors, some of them had gotten mixed together and as a result had gone sour. someone had bought all of the dented similes, she said that the wanted to use them as kitty litter. he sold his collection of split infinitives to a librarian who needed book ends. a biker from delaware bought three fifths of his dangling modifiers to hang from his pierced body parts. almost everything else left was purchased by a family restaurant to be used in a stew.
To be continued...
#10
he was a man who saw whatever he saw. he lived where he lived on the street where he lived. every morning he would wake up when he stopped sleeping.
his neighbours were upset because he had an annoying habit of being, especially on thursdays.
every week he went to work at the place where he was employed.
his meals consisted of comestibles which he chewed and swallowed and beverages which he swallowed without chewing, causing his family great distress.
he also had an unusual habit of breathing in and breathing out. people often said that he had a remarkable resemblance to himself.
and then suddenly on the day that he stopped living he died.
a ph.d. named phred
thomas decided to be a philosophy professor so that he could get a discount at the copy store on the corner. he worked his way through college by styling the nasal and pubic hair of students who had never studied calculus.
thomas, or as most of his friends called him, thomas, graduated within the top one hundred percent in his undergraduate class at generic u.
he was able to get his master's and doctoral degrees in the amount of time that it took him to do the amount of work required to get those degrees.
he was finally made a full professor after many large meals.
he had been teaching for twenty-seven years five months and one day when he realised that he had developed no personal or impersonal philosophy of life. so he sat on the collected writings of danielle steel and pondered this problem.
he finally found the answer in a remote corner of his mind behind six cobwebs: life is life without hte commercials.
8/6/91
a period piece
the yard sale had been a success, everything had been sold except for a few used metaphors, some of them had gotten mixed together and as a result had gone sour. someone had bought all of the dented similes, she said that the wanted to use them as kitty litter. he sold his collection of split infinitives to a librarian who needed book ends. a biker from delaware bought three fifths of his dangling modifiers to hang from his pierced body parts. almost everything else left was purchased by a family restaurant to be used in a stew.
To be continued...
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