"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
A friend had shared these artworks in photos while on a trip. I was at awe back then at the shapes and the reminiscences they were expressing. I didn't understand any of the text or the contest, but just seeing these erect symbols in pictures instilled me with a foggy dread and evoked the stillness of grey Eastern Berlin and the clashing communism niched within hopeful Prague. Now with this new video on my feed, I go back to explore again these monuments
"They are located all over former Yugoslavia (Balkan peninsula). These are from Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia. They are all commemorating the evils of war and heroic acts. For instance, the one in Jasenovac (the bird-like sculpture) is located on the place of former WWII Croatian concentration camp Jasenovac (if you google the Jasenovac you will see, it is supposed to be the cruelest and most horrifying camp of WWII). what is fascinating is the level of abstraction and arguably attempt to make peace amongst different nationalities who did despicable things to one another, not only during WWII but also sadly even in the 90s"
I remembered the pictures and I should put them here. I should have done back when I found them, but damn I was so not in the head space adequate to take that sort of actions
While sitting here, preparing for my quantum finale and anticipating the relief I hopefully would feel once all my exams are over and my grades are up, I realized that this moment is but the fractal of my PhD journey so far, to the punctuation point.
Sitting in coffee shops where regulars have registered me by now, white noise of the comers and goers that have no coffee culture whatsoever, laptop turned on always and providing references and music, assignments and white paper nesting near a cup of coffee doomed to always be filled and emptied, over and over again, even when my hands start shacking and my heart beats too fast too oddly, my eyes aching from the pdf reading while my pocket is thankful for the spared 300 something dollar textbook that wouldn't have been enough anyway because right now it is an affair of at least three books per class, my food hastily gobbled up, the cheapest vegetarian thing I could get plus a little treat because that's how my life is right now: spending too much on outside vegetarian food and constantly buying myself treats to nurse the stress and the anxiety as best as I could do. And the whole thing while permuting between Shisho if I am feeling a teeny tiny hope or a little ember of energy
Or Vangelis, otherwise.
And I must admit between the two, it was Vangelis who frequently ruled over the sound space. This semester is under the hymn of Sweet Solitude and The Blue Monkey, they take the cup home these two.
I am taking a break, trying to decide if it's grim or sad or melancholic or negative or normal to have this moment as a fractal. I haven't been able to read my own moods for few months now. And just when I surrendered to no longer looking for the why and how, I stumbled upon the response.
And man did it provide the how and why and made sense of plenty of things. I was listening to this in another coffee shop, working on another assignment from another class. I stopped and just listened to that thing on repeat, digesting the facts and letting them sink in. I have been more tranquil since then, more than I have been in some time, and it helped me with the final push I so needed to wrap up this infernal semester.
I mean this moment was fated to wrap up anyway, but to me, the matter of how I would come out of it was the main issue. I contemplate how I am coming out of it now and I am not satisfied, I'm not unhappy, I'm not frustrated either. I'm just existing, which is much better than whatever the hell I was doing before.
On another hand, while I spent my time mostly in coffee shops when I wasn't at work, I managed to go to the movies frequently, the most I have been in my whole life. I also attended every local performance of our classic local hall and every play in the region. Finally, I went through my mandatory marathons, namely Dune saga. Man how much I cried at work, before class, while donating plasma and while driving, over Leto II mainly, and the rest unevenly. It just never gets to a point where I am used to the books and the events. My understanding doesn't help with the emotional turmoil the books set in me.
I am getting tired already in this iHOP, and the waiter is not helping: Dude keeps bringing the coffee, and I keep drinking, he keeps refilling the cream bowl and I keep putting some in my mug. But it will all be over soon.
And then, I promise, I will go to a coffee shop and sit, and not do anything for the whole time while I am sitting. No book, no laptop, no phone, nothing.
A croire que la semaine des examens et un Lundi ne sont jamais une bonne excuse pour qu'un type specifique de trous de culs la mette en sourdine.
Non, le type "stick-up-his-butt" doit en plus circuler entre les bureaux comme le sheriff a mater nos ecrans parce que son dernier email pseudo "passif-agressif-poliment-cinglant" n'a pas rempli son but et que par consequent, il a toujours pas acces aux licenses. Moi, par contre, je trouve que ce genre d'emails remplit admirablement son but. La preuve: Personne ne lache les licenses des logiciels ou annule leur acces au serveur et monsieur reste bloque, incapable d'ouvrir l'un ou l'autre.
Et ce type, a chaque fois qu'il passe troisieme et decide de faire son sheriff, pour une foutredieu de raison que je comprendrai jamais si ca se trouve, il decide de marquer une pause a ma gauche et de parler au "kisses-asses-and-tell-them-how-they-taste" en diagonal de moi. Il ne va pas echanger deux phrases puis continuer, non! Il ne va pas non plus decider de contourner les bureaux et aller vers son interlocuteur, non! Il ne va pas la fermer et passer a autre chose non!
"Stick-up-his-butt" decidera que c'est le moment de parler de sa maison nouvellement acquise alors qu'il est meme pas je ne sais quoi, qu'il pense integrer le cycle doctoral mais attend un prof qui le merite, que lui au moins il est reglo avec son pretre dans son service catho, que son the bio infusion est europeen certifie, que...
-Where the Fuck is Eminem? Where is Fucking Eminem when you need? Dude, where you at?
Desole Maitre Hirasawa, desole OST de FF, desole la musique classique ou les ondes positives qui ameliorent la concentration et les meditations inspirees plus new-age tu meurs. Si ce n'est pas Eminem a fond dans mes oreilles au travail, je vais finir par lui enfoncer un autre balai dans le cul a ce petit trou de cul. Apparemment, si "stick-up-his-butt" ne fait pas son travail dans son coin, personne ne va se concentrer sur le sien. Et apparemment, les tenseurs de quatrieme rang qui riment pas trop et les reductions de donnees de tests qui recquierent des interpolations manuelles sont des choses que je peux faire en auto-pilote en ayant sa voix de petit con arrogant dans l'oreille.
Putain! Deja que bosser avec des enfants qui n'ont pas vu grand chose du monde que ce petit bout de midwest de mes deux, c'est triste. Mais en plus, avoir affaire a des gamineries aussi previsibles qu'irritantes de la part de pseudo-adultes qui n'ont aucune autre experience professionnelle et sociale en dehors du labo aseptise, plaisant et bien securise avec son personnel unidimensionnel tout aussi aseptise et tres positif a l'americaine, ca me casse le crane et les nichons de plus en plus.
Surtout en de telles periodes de stress.
Mais une chose est sure, quand je demande du Eminem, je le demande haut et fort. Et avec ma voix ca porte, du coup, "stick-up-his-butt" essaie de me jeter un regard mais je suis pas presente et il degage dare-dare. Mais merci hein, j'avais besoin de me calmer et de me concentrer, la je dois me defouler et vomir ce ramassis de connerie tout en gaspillant presqu'une heure a cause de ses betises.
Bilott doesn’t regret fighting DuPont for the last 16 years, nor for letting PFOA consume his career. But he is still angry. ‘‘The thought that DuPont could get away with this for this long,’’ Bilott says, his tone landing halfway between wonder and rage, ‘‘that they could keep making a profit off it, then get the agreement of the governmental agencies to slowly phase it out, only to replace it with an alternative with unknown human effects — we told the agencies about this in 2001, and they’ve essentially done nothing. That’s 14 years of this stuff continuing to be used, continuing to be in the drinking water all over the country. DuPont just quietly switches over to the next substance. And in the meantime, they fight everyone who has been injured by it.’’
So I had to drop him and his kitty brother by their parents. The lady sent me this picture after my departure.
Nothing touched and broke my heart like this in a while.
I can't wait for winter break to get them back :(
11/26/19
For my BBBS program, there were few questions concerning mentorships.
Whenever I get this line of questioning, I mention my uncle and my father, both for their commitments to my education and my independence. I have come to realize with every passing day and encounter with a girl, how incredibly privileged I was that the men in my family, the ones holding power and authority, have encourage my erudite pursuits and my desire for independence. I have realized how much could have gone wrong or wouldn't have been encouraged in so many instances. For that, I'm grateful, I'm privileged and will always mention them fondly in such aspects.
But when we were getting into some in-depth questioning, I was reflecting on something Seneca said in the lines of "We don’t get to choose our parents, but we can truly choose whose children
we’d like to be.”
And in that aspect, other parental figures show up, mentors to be clear and articulate and honest.
I came to realize early on how much of Hirasawa's child I am on the artistic scale, mental one and other levels I fail to recognize or ignore yet.
As I revisit my formative years, I see the marks of mentorship of others too to varying degrees, and perhaps the greatest common denominator between all of them is that they have no idea how much they have impacted my life, my mind, my soul, my dreams, my aspirations. I doubt they were expecting for their reach to go this far and be this deep, I don't know if they would believe it, in their graves or in other spaces and within the minds where they exist. I doubt any of it. They are like warriors of dawn's dewdrops, reminiscent of a night whose tale is folded within its darkness and fated to disappear with the rays of an assertive sun, their existence only suspected through the life they brought, spared and sublimated during the few moments they shared with the landscape.
My coordinator insists that I will be a mentor and a great guide and an amazing addition to my Little's life and... and... and... I find it all overwhelming, too much to ask from me and the kid. If I get to be an insignificant presence like those dawn dewdrops warrior, I'd be more than happy and most likely unaware of it anyway.
So for now, whenever they want me to explain what I want to be for the kid, whether her family or the other staff member, I jokingly said "a butler". She has the most saying on how she wants our time to go, and I follow and structure where she leads. I think that's the next best thing maybe?
