Stealing Wool

A Review of Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

2006-05-20T15:46:00.000-06:00

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is a novel of complex beauty that both repulses and attracts, provoking awe and bewilderment in the Reader. Annie Dillard reveals our world as it is from a close up look through nature, adding more details and complexity then is often allowed in our understanding of it.

In this novel, nothing happens. It is not a page-turner driving your interest by what will happen next but rather like an informative article that reveals information by stages because it cannot say it all at once. Though unfolding through the course of a year, through changing seasons and moods, all of these are merely descriptions as the world is – not how it was or will be but how it is and perhaps always will be.

Annie Dillard creates a snapshot of the world as seen through the lenses of an intensely observant eye that struggles to understand what he sees, offering possible interpretations that struggle to be faithful to every observation. Annie Dillard’s protagonist explores the world outside of human civilization, the world weather and landscapes, of plants and animals, and is overwhelmed and amazed by what he finds. The book sometimes reads like a science textbook, sometimes like a treatise on morality, God, and the nature of Dasign, but almost always like poetry.

Both the world described and the language used are grandiose in every sense of the word. There is no doubt that this work is impressive and magnificent, a work of meticulous devotion and personal expression. Sometimes however, the poetic underpinnings of Dillard’s writing that often align the beauty of the work with the world it describes, sometimes seems to be forced and interfere with the readers immersion into the subject of the book rather then the means of its production.

Some thoughts from reading:

It is interesting to me that this book was written by a devout Catholic. Dillard certainly never pulls out any religious dogmatics, or apologetical conclusions leaving many question open. I would love to talk to her, instead of her character, about the difficulties in understanding the divine in a world that is so complex, or from a certain perspective, flawed. Or, in finding the sublime in a world that is obviously never quite the way we see it, with conflicting elements of life and death always at work. Is there really something true and good amongst, or behind, the infinite complexity that is even bigger then all that we see?

I thought it was interesting to see Dillard talk about morality as the human domain. In conservative Christian circles, which I happen to frequent, morality is often strictly divorced from humanity, who must be too thoroughly tainted by original sin or their total depravity. Instead morality is God’s territory, and so, revealed to us more in nature then in humanity.

This idea of the innocence of nature is thoroughly problematized by Dillard, and she points to the library, the centre of civilization and human thought, as the point from which moral wisdom emanates into the world, be it a portal to the divine or the existential creation of it however is left open. Anyway, I liked that.

There was one point on which the protagonist was conclusive which surprised me. It is a point on which I had been leaning one way, and then came to the same conclusion as the protagonist, but which I am not honestly sure of. Is he really so conclusive? Annie, are you sure? Alright, I apoligize. I always want to leave everything till the end, like a mystery writer who doesn’t even tell you that someone has died.

Annie’s protagonist concludes that beauty and ugliness are in opposition. That both are out there, and while they are always mixed and together. He says “I am not washed an beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them…” (added emphasis is mine). About this I have wondered. How can he be sure that “corruption is not the heart of beauty,” one of beauty’s “deep-blue speckles;” That the “frayed and nibbled fringe of the world is a tallith, a prayer shawl, the intricate garment of beauty.”

I remember when I decided that there was a distinct line to be drawn between good an evil, voicing it for the first time on a mountain in the Crowsnest pass, but I is only a guess. The protagonist knows the words of Huston Smith, the truth of which every philosopher of right and wrong is painfully aware of: “In nature the emphasis is in what is rather than what ought to be,” and no follower of Christ can pass over this question too quickly for there is no resurrection without death.

Turning to another curiously religious writer, I think of the words of Isak Dinesen in Out of Africa: “Africa, amongst the continents, will teach it to you: that God and the Devil are one, the majesty co-eternal, not two uncreated but one uncreated…” Must we, as a character in one of Dinesen’s story suggests, learn to love snakes so that we can appreciate the gifts which God will give us?

There is more to think about in five pages of Annie Dillard’s work then I could possibly write here, so I will leave it at that.

“There are no more chilling, invigorating words than these of Christ’s, ‘Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, and are dead.’”

“I wonder how long I will be permited to luxury of this relative solitude. Out here on the rocks the people don’t mean to grapple, to crush and starve and betray, but with all the good will in the world, we do, there’s no other way. We want it; we take it out of each other’s hides; we chew the bitter skins the rest of our lives.”

Contest results and a broken jar of thanks

2006-02-19T21:50:00.000-07:00

If your name is Ian and it is your birthday today, I hope you had a good birthday. I want to thank you for the concert last night. It was a wicked trip down south, and I really enjoyed the show.

For anyone who didn’t see The New Pornographers, you missed out.

This has been too long in coming. I am going to admit that this is not an objective method of judging, but honestly, I have been blessed by these pieces of advice. Thanx chums.

As I said, each entry will be judged by its practicality (can I understand how to put the advice into action? Is it more a platitude than a piece of advice?), specificity (is it advice for me and not advice that could be for anyone? why this advice? and why me?), urgency (how important is it? And how urgent it is for the benefit of my being, not being about something trivial?), originality (does this piece of advice bring to my attention something that I have not thought of? Something which I would be unlikely to have implemented in my life if not for the help of your words?); and finally, each entry will be judged on style (this is primarily the sensitivity and persuasiveness with which the advice is presented, but does not exclude humor or poetic qualities).

Here are the winners and the runners up.

RUNNER UP: JEFF KING

“Here's my advice:

On Tuesdays, drink a steamed latté from Starbucks. While you are drinking it, read something by Ezra Pound and try to reconcile the following truths:
1. Ezra Pound was an anti-semite.
2. Starbucks is the epitome of capitalism.
3. Ezra Pound's poetry is beautiful.
4. Starbucks' steamed lattés are delightful.

Love,
Jeff K.”

Practicality: 8
Specificity: 7
Urgency: 4
Originality: 7
Style: 9
Total: 35

I perhaps should give Jeff some money. At the time I received the advice it was not as significant as it is to me now. I have actually been thinking more about art and the role that beauty plays in our lives. Additionally, I have not finished with the questions of worldly comforts vs. God given gifts. I will admit, I have not found any Ezra Pound, so I haven’t actually tried this one, but I have done many theoretical run-throughs, and I have pondered the works of Shakespear and the thoughts of Heidegger.

This advice was easy to put into practice, and good for me specifically being a philosophy, interested both in aesthetics and ethics. The elements were all original and I love Jeff’s writing but I was so bold as to fail him on urgency. I’m not sure if I can come to any conclusions, and I’m not sure where time spent here will take me. Thank you very much Jeff, and feel free to make an appeal if you want a share of the money.

RUNNER UP: AMY BASSILLI

“Jonathan, after reading your proposition, a scripture verse immediately came to mind: 2 Kings 10:16, where Jehu says: “Come with me and see my zeal for the Lord.” Now, I know the background of this verse is weighty but I don’t want to get into all of that here. Commentary gives Jehu a lot of slack for making that statement, but, I don’t want to get into all of that either. Jonathan, my advice to you is this: BE ZEALOUS for the Lord. Be tireless in your pursuit for wisdom and understanding, especially when you’re beginning to feel the pangs of apathy. Be boundless in your expressions of love to God and others and in further understanding how to be loved by God. Be urgent in your hunt for righteousness. Seems like a lot, but really what I'm trying to say is, never be lacking in zeal for the Lord, Jon. Hope to hear from you soon.”

Practicality: 6
Specificity: 5/10
Urgency: 9
Originality: 5
Style: 6
Total: 34

This one is hard to rank I admit, and I don’t think Amy will mind that it doesn’t fit into the contest very well. My biggest point against this is practicality, as I want to follow God, but my will seems delayed. If I really wanted to, I would just do it, so I must want to want to do it… and so it goes. Specificity is also an interesting point. The advice is advice for everyone, and yet here, I know, it is advice for me. So I gave it a split mark and figured I’ll go with the average or something.

It is, however, appreciated as an encouragement. I will come back and read this again and again. I will read all of these again, but there are a couple, specifically those of scripture, that may not always feel specifically relevant all the time, but that’s probably just because we don’t realize that they actually are. I am once again encouraged, emboldened. Thanks.

THIRD PLACE: JONAS

“I like contests, but I am not great at giving advice. But I think I have a pretty good chance of winning, because I am lucky when it comes to winning cash prizes.

My advice for you is, like so much of the best advice, stolen from someone else. In this case, it is a little bit ironic, because my advice is... well, I'll just tell you, and then you'll know.

"It only ever comes back to you making a rational decision based on what you want to do. (BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT) If that's your response then my reply is simply; who else but you can make that decision?"

That's my advice.
~Jonas”

Practicality: 5
Specificity: 8
Urgency: 8
Originality: 9
Style: 7
Total: 37

This advice mattered to me. It has made me work through things. It’s biggest trouble is that it speaks specifically to a subject that is difficult to speak to. In the end, it says to the person who doesn’t know what they want, “I can’t help you.” But that is important. It is important to know what you want sometimes, and when you do something, to do it with a whole hearted commitment.

This advice helped me realize that that is what I want, even if it doesn’t get me there. Thank you David, you will be receiving a cash prize of a currently undetermined amount.

SECOND PLACE: MICHIGAN LITTLE

“this is the best advice I have. It may not be original, as I stole it, and it may seem lame or cheesy if one looks at it with a sceptic's heart, but it has been the most valuable advice I have ever stumbled across. Hard to impliment, difficult to stick to, but there is great truth and reward if you make it.

See Psalm 27:13-14
"I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD."

… …

shalom.
peace.
that's what I get from this...

not surfacy peace, but real deep down peace. There may never be peace on earth, but here in me I have a little piece of peace while I am on the earth.”

Practicality: 7
Specificity: 7
Urgency: 10
Originality: 7
Style: 8
Total: 39

Thank you Michelle. This advice continues to be important to me as I wait on the lord. I am living, and I am not sure that I am following him, but I am living in his grace and waiting for him, and one day I’ll be swept away by his power and love as I run after him. Don’t be surprised when it happens…

Jillian said...

,nahtanoj

advice of jill (it comes with sadness because it thinks of your departure from vancouverland. but alas)...

go to the shell or the 711 and buy a disposable camera. take a walk up commercial and find a store that has a neat thinish notebook of your liking and buy it, and also a special pen (not too expensive). you should take pictures of random or significant things, places, or people from vancouver. maybe just places and things or moments to pause? then in your book, write all the things you've learned while being here, and maybe put things that you wrote and bits of things you created, recipies, words, really anything. and then develope your pictures and put them in too (maybe get doubles and you can put some on your wall at your to-be new home... *tear*)

the key is to have a treasure book of your short but filled-with-memories time here.

and also you could go to a nice coffee place nearby to spend some time with it and the reflective parts of your mind.

you are sitting at the kitchen table.

jillian.

(writing your name backwards was my attempt at original style. i was going to write the whole thing backwards until i decided that i didn't want to do that anymore)

Practicality: 8
Specificity: 9
Urgency: 8
Originality: 8
Style: 8
Total: 41

So Jillian had the advantage of seeing me right where I was. I was at the end of a very short but significant point in my life. I was leaving Vancouver and I had many lessons that I had learned, and many things in my life that were teaching me and which were all about to be swept away in the rush of a life is familiar enough to overwhelm these things I only faintly grasped.

I wrote many things down, and I will reread them tomorrow. Thanks again Jill.

Alright, so that’s it, the contest is done. Prizes will be sent out shortly. Thanks everyone who participated.

And for anyone who read through all this, here is what I most want to say today. How do you pay someone back for something that they have done for you? I was recently blessed by a wonderful gift. It was something I never would have got for myself because I am bad at spending money on anything that would leave me with something to show for it. It is tiny and black and is a wonder of the modern age and actually changes the way the world feels around you.

So I have this thing that I will now use all the time, but even more then I like this thing, I am blessed that it was a gift. I am taken aback and I can’t think of almost any gift I have ever received that displays so much affection and commitment to me. I treasure this gift as a reminder of a friendship that is so much more important then any thing on its own could be.

A few unplanned

2006-02-04T21:14:00.000-07:00

Alright, a couple things happened yesterday that I would forget if I didn’t write them down. At lunch I went to the bathroom in the Safeway, and while I normally tuck the straps of my Carhartts into the side of my pants so they don’t touch the bathroom floor, this time I didn’t bother.

Unfortunately, this was the same time I peed on the floor and soaked my Carhart straps in my own pee. Very unfortunately.

Then, this morning at 6 or so in the morning, when I was up trying to get circulation back into my arm which starts to tingle with shots of pain when I lie down for too long (so at least every night) and when I went to walk back into the bedroom – it was dark – I walked flat out into a closed door. I think I woke my roommates up.

Good night everyone. Sleep well and be funny.

Oh yeah, and one time Ashley was telling me about the class she didn’t want to attend. She said, “it’s about the sexual habits of primates.” Then I asked “so does primates include you and me?”

I'm not sure about the story about taking off my clothes. I started writing it but I got embarassed.

Back on track

2006-01-07T22:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm falling behind. I have many posts to write. I, like my
friend Jacob, have a to-do list, though mine is not quite the same.
Let's do a comparison:

Jacob's list: Account for all suffering

Jonathan's list: Tell the world how Jill gave birth to herself

Jacob: Calculate the probability of God's existence

Jonathan: Tell an embarassing story about taking off my clothes

Jacob: Come as close to a complete consistent set of beliefs as possible

Jonathan: Write a coded message about Harry Potter

So I discovered a secret fertility dance. It involves a lot of arm
swinging, and suprirsisingly, a fair amount of snaping. It looks
and sounds a little like birthing a child and is intended to take
advantage of the blessings that come from life of symetry. If the
dance is performed 9 months before conception of a child it greatly
increases fertility.

As you have probably already guessed, Jill performed the secret fertility
dance nine months before her own conception, but performed it so long
that in the end she gave birth to herself. That’s why Jill is so small. Not
that being small is that significant part of who Jill is, but it is fun to talk
about.

I will really miss you Jill. I will continue to think of you and be excited
about life and all its often unnoticed intricacies and complexities and
simplicities.

Part II

2005-12-12T22:48:00.000-07:00

That last post might have been a little... well... let's just say...
Okay, so here it is, I was pretty much pumped, because I suck at basketball, and only hit one in every fifty shots I take. And there I had it! right when it counted, when everybody was watching, drained a 30 footer from at least 15 feet from the basket.

So there I was, having just nailed that five foot shot, and feeling so good, joggin' back down the court to get on D and only slightly fazed by the previously mentioned chuckles. And one of the sideliners yells, "Hey, Jon! Missing something?"

Uh hello? I nailed that lay-up. But this is High School.

Have you guys read Daytona's post on washing pants? Well I, like Daytona (I'll take any chance I get to associate myself with that guy. Did I mention I work with him? And I'm reading the same book as him? Oh how I long for the day when he might put me as a link on his blog... sorry, back the the story) don't wash my pants very often either and so, since I try to change my underwear more frequently, there develops a lopsided ratio where the number of underwear I wear dramatically outnumbers the pants. With this many pairs of underwear floating around, it is ineivitable that eventually, one is going to get stuck in the pant leg of the pants that I am wearing. One might expect that this would be easily noticed, and the underwear would be removed from the pant leg shortly after putting the pants on, but one might be wrong.

So there it was, my dirty little gonch, lying on the shiny, well lit, hardwood floor, one hundred feet down the court from where I stood.

This is the perfect opportunity for an interactive polling session.

What should the little grade ten Begger do? Does he

(a) Sheelpishly walk the 100 foot walk of shame to actually pick up the underpants that have so recently droped from the bottom of his pant leg?
or
(b) Not touch them again, laughing off any association with the shameful knickers, and certainly not deigning to touch them again, and perhaps promptly leaving the gym
or
(c) Here you end the story. What does The Begger do in YOUR ending?

Part I

2005-12-10T14:39:00.000-07:00

So I want to thank everyone for their advice (enter my contest! win MONEY!!!) and I will still be taking entries till December 24 so feel free to enter a second entry or tell your wisest friends about my contest.

As thanks for your help and to illustrate my need for advice:

So once I was in highschool. It was sometime in the late nineties, the part that wasn't completely dominated by Kurt Cobain's music, and when that crazy basketball fad was going. As a typical high school student I spent my lunch hour shootin' hoops and dreaming big dreams, wondering how the coach managed to miss my incredible potential as the team Pick Setter (for those of you who aren't basketball fans, the Pick Setter plays just South of the Point Guard).

One day I was playing B-ball with a bunch of friends, and on this particular day, a large portion of the jocks were watching. I dribbled down the court and gave myself a secret "high-five" as I notice that the d-man (that's the guy who was trying to stop me from scoring) was givin' just a little to much slack.

So easy breazy in goes my jump shot, as most of you who know me would expect and back down the court I go. Phft, big deal, I could hit that all day, my calm, unshakable game face only slightly fazed by a few chuckles from the knuckle heads on the sidelines...

To be continued!

Read the post before this one!

2005-12-08T00:12:00.000-07:00

Today I was thinking, you know what, I'm sad. But then, hokey shi–zen! Have you ever felt blue and wondered if there was anything good in the world? Have you ever thought, I don't know if here is any real tenderness, and real companionship to be found out there. Well check this out!

http://www.funnyhub.com/videos/page.cgi/dog-says-i-love-you

Here I am thinking, this dog knows something I don't.

Oh yeah! And read my last post! Enter my contest! It's not hard! Win money!

Contest Here! $$$ Attention! $$$ Win Money!

2005-12-04T03:35:00.000-07:00

Alright! I propose a contest. I want a piece of advice, a piece of constructive criticism, and I am willing to pay to get it. Wouldn’t it be nice if we had someone who was really looking out for us? Someone to help us make those most difficult decisions, those most difficult movements in life that get us to the place where it is best for us to be?

I am offering a minimum of $10 dollars to whoever can give me the best piece of advice.
Each entry will be judged by its practicality (can I understand how to put the advice into action? Is it more a platitude than a piece of advice?), specificity (is it advice for me and not advice that could be for anyone? why this advice? and why me?), urgency (how important is it? And how urgent it is for the benefit of my being, not being about something trivial?), originality (does this piece of advice bring to my attention something that I have not thought of? Something which I would be unlikely to have implemented in my life if not for the help of your words?); and finally, each entry will be judged on style (this is primarily the sensitivity and persuasiveness with which the advice is presented, but does not exclude humor or poetic qualities).

When I said a minimum of $10, I was saying that even I am unimpressed by every entry, I will still award a $10 prize to the “best” entry, but if I am truly persuaded by a valuable piece of advice, I will increase the prize money to $20 and offer a $10 second place prize if there is a second piece of advice that is of great value to me as well.

So what do you think? Please enter! Tell your friends! Or rather, tell friends of mine who don’t read my blog! You may enter as many as three separate entries which can be posted here or emailed to me if you feel hesitant about posting them here. Thank you in advance for all of you who are so kind as to participate in this contest, and I hope that you find the treasure of your heart at the end of a rainbow.

Love,

The Beggar

Vacuum

2005-11-25T00:13:00.000-07:00

I was away for three days, and something wonderful has happened – our home got a vacuum! We were planning on borrowing or renting one but now we have our very own. Much thanks to whoever got it, and much thanks to Nathan for putting time and effort into grazing the layers of shiizen off of our floor, for which he is forgiven for leaving that greasy green-tan ear plug on my pillow, which was pretty gross.

Our home is looking better and better as time goes by. We have two simple lamps now, a couple wooden shelves, a rug and a couple of paintings. Since the removal of that fuzz, which from above looked like a bacterial colony with a significant housing development program going on, and from ground level looked like another layer of our atmosphere, with floating clouds of disease threatening the life of all those under 3 inches tall, it is even more a place that feels good to be in.

"Whenever there is lost the consciousness that every man is an object of concern for us just because he is a man, civilization and morals are shaken, and the advance to fully developed inhumanity is only a question of time." - Albert Schweitzer

From Burnaby

2005-11-23T21:14:00.000-07:00

So this is the longest that I have been away from home. Since I got here that is. Funny how in a couple of weeks this place seems more like home then any place that I have lived in the past while. You’re a special bunch you are, and you know who I mean. Yes you, the one reading this in your black T-shirt, and you two, over there at your desk and reading your book on the couch, snuggled under your blanket and in your woolen sweater.

Things are good over here. They treat me well, make me feel at home and are really awesome folk. See you guys tomorrow.

Move to Vancouver

2005-11-22T17:40:00.000-07:00

Top 10 Reasons to Move to Vancouver

1) The fish here are fresh. That means they taste like rotting sea vegetation instead of stale rotting sea vegetation.

2) People here seem to be attempting to reverse the trends of capitalism. I heard of this one group of people who instead of always clambering for more, more, more, were willing to shell out $820 a month for the chance to live simply, in a one room apartment.

3) It’s the best and only place in the world where you can live in B.C. AND get a job!

4) You are 40% less likely to die in a drought.

5) Vancouver gives you the chance to meet lots of friends who you haven’t seen since they moved away from that boring old prairie town of yours.

6) Some people complain that it is always cloudy here but that is a load of crap! I mean, how would they even know that when you can’t see thirty feet in all this fog?

7) If you get tired of the humid, +10 temperatures you are only a twenty minute drive from either some frigid mountain air or an icy northern ocean.

8) Vancouver, when compared to 95% of other Canadian cities, has four times the number of concerts and shows that you can’t afford to go to.

9) Vancouver is the perfect city to expeience a new place but at the same time is familiar enough to prevent you from suffering from too much culture shock; at least if you're from Asia.

10) If you like walking, or even if you don’t, you can walk all the way from the east side of Vancouver to the west side of Vancouver.

A green chair.

2005-11-21T22:02:00.000-07:00

Old news:

It is a Saturday morning, and it almost feels like a Saturday morning. It is a week since I arrived here almost exactly to the minute, and I feel fairly settled. Often a week slips by for me without me starting at all the things I need to start at, but I’ve been doing alright.

I am here to do a lot of reading and writing. I want to do at least four hours a day and while I’m not quite there (averaging about three hours) I have been making significant efforts. I have also done a lot of grocery shopping and a little bit of seeing what is around here to do. I will make a to-do-list with everything that I have yet to bother with.

It is raining outside but the kids across the street don’t seem to realize that. They are outside doing whatever ten year old boys do while I stand on our balcony under the overhang watching them.

One of them calls up to his father about something I can’t quite make out. “Fair!” or “Chair!” and then sure enough, out comes Pops onto the third floor balcony and tosses down a green chair. Apparently mission accomplished, the boys grab the chair and run off.

Tuesday, November 1

2005-11-02T15:36:00.000-07:00

The sun is a bleach that cleans, whitens, sterilizes, and reduces the landscape. Today it is cloudy, with a sixty percent chance of rain, and while the sky is gray, the trees are greener, gold-er, or more naked as we drive through this old red-brick town.

This morning I forgot to bring my towel to the bathroom, so I was flossing my teeth in front of the mirror as I dried. The funny thing about the bathroom in this little southern home, is that there are two doors to the bathroom. One comes from a normal public space, but another comes from Claire’s roommate’s room; So while I dried, naked, and flossing in front of the mirror I think Claire’s roommate got a bit of a shock.

Poor girl. First, running into a naked stranger in her own bathroom, and if that wasn’t enough, then hearing him and his two friends laughing hysterically in the next room.

I’m on my way back from Tennessee and I feel like life is so abundant, so bursting with significance, with affection and loneliness that I’m not sure what to do with it all. My life is moving again, but it moves so fast. Right now it is 10:30 and we are driving home again. It seems a bit like we just got out of the car, but 9 tired hours from now I will be far from Tennessee. And just as soon I will be with two more people who I care about, for an even more brief period of time. Excitement after excitement with barely time to realize it.

October 27, 2005

2005-11-02T15:31:00.000-07:00

I’m on my way to Tennessee. I was supposed to be moving to Vancouver, but that is on hold one more time. My life has been a life on hold for so long; since September 15 I’ve been waiting for everything I need to do. Now I’ve got my passport, I’ve driven at night through the rain at 150, picked up our final team member and at 7:30 on this Thursday morning, it’s my turn to sleep and my life is going again.

Driving is an important part of life. You are both in motion and at rest. You know where you are and where you are going, overcoming Heisenburg’s uncertainty principle. HUP is basically the most interesting thing ever if it wasn’t for a few other really interesting things.

Jason, Brian and I are talking about what we are going to spend money on this trip, and I can’t really think of anything that I want to buy, but you know what? I’m going to spend money, and I might even spend a lot.

Brian’s words were, “working is awesome.” Do you know why? Because you make a lot of money, enough that eventually “cost” starts to loose it’s meaning. For a working man it is no sacrifice to spend money. We realized that we were soon going ot be like old men, like our fathers, for whom cost and need play a calculated role in the face of disposable income and usefulness.

It is true, people to spend to satisfy desire, but I think our production outstrips our desire. Now we are creating desire to use up our boundless energies. All you need to do is give people and excuse to give you money. There are masses of wallets, expense accounts and good credit records begging you to give them something on which to spend themselves. “What can you do? Do something that I think I’ll want and then I’ll pay you!”

I am sick of trying to find new desires. Having bought all I want, and spent twice what I need on food and entertainment, I’m gonna find something else to spend my money on.

Tuesday, October 25

2005-11-02T15:27:00.000-07:00

Jillian Wong and I both started thinking about rituals, and about making rituals for our own lives at the same time, in different places. I like that.

I was thinking about something in the morning that involved ordering morning activities, drinking green tea, and maybe some sun gazing, or something like it. I would also like a corresponding bed time ritual.

Jill suggested something about hool-a-hooping in Stanley Park. I like that idea especially now because I managed to get one of those giant rings going for more then two seconds on Sunday. Have you tried hool-a-hooping before? It isn’t as easy as I once thought.

This last Sunday, however, was a magical day. My sisters, brother-in-laws, and nieces and nephews all come over on Sundays so it is always a special day, but this Sunday we all learned to hool-a-hoop. Each family member attempted to waive any expectations of success, telling the rest of the family that they had tried before and never managed to do it. But each member, in succession, successfully managed to looked ridiculous as they gyrated their body, each with their own awkward looking style, and swung the hoop around their hips denying its efforts to fall to their ankles.

Friday, October 21, 2005

2005-10-22T23:43:00.000-06:00

This post is posted differently then the day it was written. It was written today (Saturday, October 22) but I just want to mention Rachel Tomalty. I knew it was her birthday the day before, and I wanted to wish her a happy birthday on her birthday, but I didn't remember until it was too late. Shoot. I thought maybe the thought might count, especially if I wasn't tying to tell her that the thought counted, so I decided to write it here, so that someone would know that I really had the thought. Happy Birthday Rachel.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

2005-10-22T23:38:00.000-06:00

Not much for such a long absence, but think of all the man-hours wasted at traffic lights. I sat at a light watching no one go through the intersection and felt the wasted hours. Not so much mine, but mine, plus the guy next to me, and the guy behind him, and the millions of others. If only I could get my hands on that.

Now that I’m a business man, I recognize the significance of an hour of work. If I could use all that wasted time for something, for anything, get them to make bead necklaces or stitch up shoes. Now all I have to do is figure out how to make everyone else understand how important it is that they devote their lives to working for me. Any ideas?

Saturay, October 15, 2005

2005-10-15T15:04:00.000-06:00

The more precisely the position is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known in this instant, and vice versa.
--Heisenberg, uncertainty paper, 1927

I really love the HUP, but I'm not sure that everyone has the same appreciation for it that I do.

So Peter and I have a business cell phone now, like real construction foremen always do. We had two for a bit thinking that we were getting a special deal, but it turns out we were just paying twice what we needed.

So the funny part was that we had two numbers, one that ended in N-A-I-L and one that ended in W-O-O-D which are obviously good numbers but one might wonder whether we were a framing business or something a little less reputable. When we went down to one number we figured NAIL might be the safer bet.

For the sake of an interactive sight,

NAIL vs. WOOD

what do you think?

Wednesday, October 12

2005-10-14T20:52:00.000-06:00

Alright, I admit it, I’m not the typical construction worker. The thing I like the most about work are the people there. Today, we finished almost all the work they had for us, so we were given another house to work on while we wait for them to get the duplexes ready. That meant that all seven of us were working on one house again today, and it felt like Christmas! And when Ryan puts all those pretty red chalk lines accross the OSB I start counting down the days...

No, it wasn’t quite as fun, but it was really busy, with people bustling all over. And there is a similarity between relationships with fellow workers and with family, you always know where you stand. Each of us has our roles, you be Dad, and I’ll be the guy who nails together a new beam pocket.

It is late, I’ve got to go to bed. ‘Night all.

Jonny

Tuesday, October 11

2005-10-14T20:50:00.000-06:00

I am watching a T.V. program, where one of the main characters is named Rory. Lots of people watch it, though I think they are mostly girls. I think Lindsay (don’t tell her I spelt her name right) is one of them. It is a bit stylized which allows bad actors to appear as just quirky people, and includes lots of name dropping of names that would not normally make it onto television (this episode included Nietszche, Marx, and Schopoenhour). I have only ever seen one episode before this one and Rory, the character whose name I know, had a poster of Derrida on her wall. Isn’t that amazing? Derrida!

Alright, I apologize. I know it is a stupid show, and I know I shouldn’t have to use exclamation marks to get my point across, and I know that it is stupid to use Derrida as an excuse to watch terrible T.V. and write like a youth pastor.

Today was a good day at work. It was kind of long, wearying, and frustrating in lots of ways, but both Tristan and I were a little sleep deprived; I got to work with him for a lot of the day. We built our house with one of the main support beams in the wrong place, and the rest of the house on top of it. So today, since Pete was busy, Tristan and I, with a total of 5 weeks of framing experience and 7 ½ hours of sleep between the two of us, set out to put up some posts to support the house, chop the floor out from under us, and make everything right.

Alright, I want to get some sleep.

Monday, October 10, 2005

2005-10-10T22:14:00.000-06:00

I got into the car with my Dad and when he started the car music started. Normally we ride without music, having different taste in music and not enough time to talk about the multiple possible worlds there are to talk about. The thing is, that the music that started was Jack Johnson, and I didn’t know the song very well; it was Jack Johnson’s new album and I don’t own his new album.

It turns out, my Dad bought it on one of his impulse buys. He was in Costco and it Jack was available in one of their listening booths. My Dad had a listen, and he told me that he thought “This sounds like J music.” AND THEN HE BOUGHT IT! This is a very interesting event. It is an unlikely behaviour, and I need to figure out how I can encourage more of it.

Imagine, “Yeah, that new camera you wanted, I thought I’d pick it up. And I got that new lazy boy you liked, and the new Subaru WRX Empriza wagon in the driveway, I don’t know when I’ll use it, but it just looked like the kind of car you might like.”

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow, but I might only work eight more days, and that is not very many at all. Yipee!

Saturday, October 8, 2005

2005-10-10T21:56:00.000-06:00

I am at my father’s house, in the room that I use as a bedroom when I am here. The sun is pouring in the window, glancing off a sidewall and hitting everything with its indirect light. The room looks like the very start of the day and is early morning bright.

This room is not bright on its own. It has walls that look white, but they are the darkest shade of white my father would let my sister use. The bedding is an only slightly darker color that I could name if I knew the names of colors that are as many as there are numbers. It is the color of white when it is dirty from an earthy dust. Sometimes I think it looks dirty, but not mostly, and when the sun is shining, I think they look white, only warmer. There are some light colored woods, a couple picture frames, a desk and two shelves, suspended on the wall. It is as you would find in a hot climate, with decorations that seem like they are conserving themselves, making use of negative space that is filled with hot air.

The decorations are almost entirely African: two tall, elegant dark wood figures, their elongated mahogany bodies graced with colorful golden beadwork. They used stand on two sides of a long wall, each on a tiny wooden shelf that clings to the corners by an unseen mechanism, but I put together. Separately they were too tall, skinny and plain to take up their space, but together they are striking, beautiful and in their one corner they make the whole room beautiful. The other corner now contains a pot patterned only by two colors in large plains, a rich fiery red and a darkest grey.

Next to it hangs a picture of an undetailed face painted with only black paint on a paper that looks tea stained. It is a wild looking face with one side entirely black from shadow and the other side mostly covered by dark and wild hair. It could be ominous, but it isn’t; it is the face of my father, painted by my mother. My father had a wild and crazy beard for the first seventeen and one half years of my life, and from old pictures I now realize that his hair was always as wild and silly as my father.

Next to that is a photograph of my mother with four little black boys. In the background is one of the worst examples of poverty I have ever seen. It was taken near the end of my grade three year; my whole family went on a trip to South Africa, but my mother’s ticket was paid for by the Alberta government on a grant for her to do research to write a book, which she wrote. This picture was taken after the family had gone home and my mother was doing whatever writers do to help them write books.

Underneath that is a hook for a picture that is leaned up against the wall on the floor. I think I know what picture it is (the one of the trees that look like birch trees in the golden dry grass) but I can’t tell because it is facing the wall.

The opposing wall has two shelves that contain more objects with a history of their own as well as childhood memories for me, except for one green stone face that I don’t know where it came from, how long we have had it, or whether it is African. It doesn’t match the room. It also has a dark wooden dresser toped by a grey pot full of tiny dried flowers. Wild, thick dead grass topped by many grey flowers with spiky petals that are too small to be measured by comparison to any common object.

This description threatens to suggest that the room is cluttered by decoration, but there are just enough to make one think that the empty space is full of African air, even if the sky outside looks like one that is made of blue ice, ready to drop snow on a fading fall.

I am in this room, and I am being here, but more so I am writing here. I am actively engaged in writing and I am now writing myself in. I should make my character doing something different from what I am doing; wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote myself in saying, ‘I am in this room, and I am taking delight in doing nothing, in letting mind go free’ or even, ‘I am concentrating on the light moving across the walls around the room as the fall sun, to lazy to climb too high, wanders, strolls, lazes with its hands in its pockets across the sky. As if looking at the ground, not straying too far from the horizon as it watches the fall leaves pass underneath.’ Now how could I be doing that if I am writing?

September 30

2005-10-01T15:28:00.000-06:00

It is Friday. I have no work tomorrow and I am eating by myself in Sam Wok. I am eating “Diced Chicken in Szechwan Sauce,” chicken combined with mushrooms, celery, broccoli, onion, water chestnuts and cashews. The décor consists of an black pink and silver painting of slashes that was painted in the very womb that gave birth to the eighties, and a bare fish tank with overgrown gold fish. The whole place makes you think of linoleum, but it is clean, and the food is good and the ginger beef is very good. I love Friday.

The last two days of work have been great, and I am really excited about working with Ryan AND Tristan. Seriously, can you think of anybody better to work with? It is too bad we won’t get Jason Lyons now, but he’s a hoser anyway eh? There is more going on with lots of people working and it feels kind of exciting. I think it is getting harder for Peter because he has to keep up with all the mistakes that we make, everything happens so fast. Everything is also probably more fun because I am twice as good as I was at the beginning of the week.

Today our roof trusses showed up that we have been waiting for for two weeks. For those of you who don’t know what roof trusses are, they are these giant triangles of lumber where the bottom is longer then the whole house and then with a number of pieces filling in the triangle to brace it. So we have a pile of twelve of these joists, two of which are sheeted with OSB, which makes them about twice as heavy, and no crane, or zoom-boom in sight to help us get them up two stories to the roof of the house. But we needed to do the roof, and we needed to make room for our neighbor’s trusses that were coming, so the five of us figured we’d just hand-bomb them up. That’s what we do, us framers, we hand-bomb things. Even giant heavy joists up two stories to roofs without roofs so people are balancing at the same time as “hand-bombing” them up. It’s because we are so strong.

So the old man next to us said that we couldn’t get them up, and that someone was likely to get hurt, but it turns out that he was only half right. Peter almost got pushed off the side of the house, Ryan almost have 400 pounds of wood dropped on him like a piano on Wiley Coyote (you should have seen it, I was holding the bottom of the triangle, and Pete, thirty five odd feet away from me and 12 feet up was holding the other end with Ryan in the middle, underneath the OSB covered wall of wood when he slipped, the top end almost sliding of the side of the house and me hold my end up just enough so that when Ryan was squished his guts would probably spray out my side) and I almost strained my back. It was exciting. I am looking forward to more stories like that.

But seriously, one of our guys, Fraiser, is a behemoth of a man. He carries around walls I can barely wiggle, and readjusts the house with a swing of his hammer. I really don’t know how other crews are going to get their trusses up. We are talking about lending them Fraiser for $50 an hour, and really, he is probably worth more then that when he is working for us. Don’t worry, we are giving him a raise.

But even with all that, I am so glad it is the weekend. Finally fricken Friday if you know what I mean. I am so pumped.

Missed Events: I was in the entrance of an IGA, staring out the “EXIT” doors and waiting to be picked up, and as I am waiting a man outside begins to walk towards me. He is walking purposefully, as a large portion of the population seems to do, since they seem to have things they need to do, intending to enter the IGA. However, what I was immediately aware of was that he was trying to go in the out door.

I expected him to notice and to turn aside, but as the seconds past and he came closer and closer he still didn’t notice. You want to know if he will notice or if he will participate in a brilliant comedic act, but as he is getting too close, you are almost dissapointedly aware that you can save him and cross the censor to open the door. Closer and closer, and I’m sure he would have hit it, but I’ll never know, and I’ll never see because I stepped in and opened the door.

Thursday, September 29, 2005: 10:04

2005-10-01T15:21:00.000-06:00

My Dad called me.

My Dad is so wonderful. Right now what seems best to me is for him to retire and then for the two of us to move somewhere remote into a little shack and to fish, sleep and read short stories for many years. Perhaps a lightly wooded area about half an hours hike to a beach where waves crash against big jagged rocks and it would be dangerous for anyone but good swimmers to swim. But there would be a sort of bay where the water was calm, protected from the waves by a buttress of rocks, and warmer, the lesser body of water being more easily influenced by the sun then the sea.

If you were to only see the landscape in the near vicinity of this small dwelling, one would think it was in Britain, but it isn’t. It is in Portugal, and the closest populous would speak mostly Arabic. Despite my best efforts I would never learn Arabic or Portuguese, understanding both their grammer and syntax but failing to hold on to the words that actually meant things. We would get by with just enough to let people know what we needed so we could purchase our basic needs and they could laugh at my attempts to communicate and then we would drive back home in our European version of a wood paneled station wagon. It might be a really ugly green color, but not the sort of ugly that actually seems cool.

The Muslim portion of the population would go to Mecca on their religious journeys that every good Muslim must make and my Dad and I would think about those trips often. Most of our books would be about stories of Muslim devotion and these journeys to the one place on earth that seems to almost touch heaven in a violent collision of man with God, stories about journeys closer to an unreachable God.

I can’t believe we would fish. It seems so stupid that I would keep eating fish even though I can never learn to like it. Often I would try a new recipe: with tomatoes, onions, a Turkish alchohol, more butter, more salt, but mostly I would just eat it as it should be, simply fried with whatever vegetables on the side, and think of how I should like it by now. But I would enjoy the fishing.

This is not how this entry was supposed to go. I had intended to write about the man I saw who walked towards the exit only automatic door from the outside. I was going to write about the funny messages we got about friends who wanted work and I still haven’t mentioned the talk from Sunday or how nice that hot tub that I mentioned earlier turned out to be, but a small, silly thing happened that made me sad, and then my dad called.

Thursday, September 29, 2005: 10:04

2005-10-01T14:13:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, September 27, 2005: 7:51

2005-09-27T21:04:00.000-06:00

I am back at the sugar bowl. Twice in two day seems like a lot, but I think I would like to come back here all the time. I am a little disappointed because the sugar bowl is one of those places that is laid out just so, so everybody likes it. It turns out I am just like everyone. They just played a song by Archade Fire which is another new band that is all the rage, and I, just like everybody else am totally wooed by them.

I am going to come here often. I like just being here and typing on my computer and spending more money then I should on the food here. I want to write more, and I like writing here so that is that.

There are more sunrises and sunsets this fall then in any I can remember. It seems that every time I step outside the sun is either rising or setting. Don’t ask me to explain it, but it seems to be as wonderful as it is impossible.

On our way home from work we passed a tall, raggedly dressed man standing outside of a storage yard for various large pieces of construction equipment. He looked like homeless people do with greasy hair and mismatched dirty clothes and a very worn face only slightly obscured by heavy scruff, but of course I don’t know if he was homeless. Anyway, what made him interesting was that he seemed fully engaged in scratching the neck of the storage yards guard dog, a rottweiler. Rottweilers are bred to be vicious, to be animals that do not like you and will attack you before you give them cause. It seems like man betrayed man’s best friend when he set out to make such an unhappy creature. And yet these to were so happy in each other’s company. I wished I was scratching the neck of nasty guard dog who was trained to kill me.

Homage to Ryan - I have never been in to reading blogs, and I am still not. Much like newspapers, magazines or anything that seems quick and easy to read, I cannot get through them even when I think I really want to read them. However, once I did read an entry by Ryan Gurnett. I was impressed by his writing. Light, entertaining, clever and even thoughtful, though he didn’t do that anoiying thoughtful thing to death.

His entry was on his finally caving in and buying carhartts, which are a sort of symbol of status or something in the framer’s world. Today, I too bought Carhartts. You can buy them with and easy conscience because they are very practical, comfortable, and most of all durable, for all the wear and tear of putting up houses, but it is strange to buy something that you are so glad to own.

I bought something new, I’m typing on my new laptop in my favourite coffee shop eating prawns and drinking a beer, correction, a strongbow cider. It is too bad I have to go to bed or else I would smoke a cigarette, drink a coffee and stay up all night in this most beautiful of fall weather and lounge languidly in my sloth and bliss. I am a glutton for pleasure. I hope that this keeps making me so greatfull for everything for everything I have and doesn’t make me too selfish, but right now I’m just going to try to enjoy it.

Peace out everybody, I hope you sleep well.

Monday, September 26, 2005. 8:23

2005-09-26T21:28:00.000-06:00

I am sitting in the Sugar bowl at 8:00 at night. It is already very dark outside and as usual the dim lighting creates a calming atmosphere even with the half a dozen conversations all competing with each other and the music, by a band you probably haven’t heard of. I have ordered myself a water, a coffee, a bowl full of all sorts of strange things that I think is an Indian concoction, both spicy and sweet. These are all just to top off the Thai grilled chicken that I ordered because I haven’t eaten supper yet.

I am treating myself because I feel like I need a treat. I don’t really feel like going to work these days, and yet work seems to be almost all I do. Normally I think I would like working. I have always said I like how work simplifies life; when you are working you know exactly what you are supposed to be doing, but this time I feel like I should be doing something else. If you were to ask what I was “supposed” to be doing, I would probably list off a bunch of social activities, which may seem a little ridiculous, but I don’t think it is. On top of that, I might say that I think I am supposed to be moving to Vancouver. Although a similar feeling comes to mind, and this occurs to me only as an afterthought, and not because I actually think the two feelings are related, but this is not the only time recently that I have felt like I ought to be doing something other than what I am doing.

The table in front of me is crowded. The laptop takes up a lot of space on a small table, and it seems like things work out better when one is either eating or typing and not trying to do both. The cream, sugar, salt and pepper, a candle, a napkin, and my garbage, which includes a wrist band from the hospital today, all make the table look cluttered.

Was that silly of me? To just mention the hospital so casually like that? Well, yes, I am a little anoid that I dislocated my shoulder at work today. For me dislocating my shoulder is not a particularly noteworthy event, but this time it was my right arm, which has never happened before, and… well, enough of that.

I really like the look of table tops. I have long talked about taking pictures of them to make an album, and I think I am going to do it. One of the projects I will take up while I am in Vancouver. I am really looking forward to going to Vancouver.

Well, if I have my way, I’ll convince Becky and Russ to go over to the King’s house tonight so that they can have a hot tub with Ashley and I, but I haven’t gotten a hold of any of them yet, so we’ll see.

Friday, September 23

2005-09-26T21:26:00.000-06:00

Another day. Right now I am in Three Hills, that is the name of the town, not just a description of geographical features, to watch two of my PIT girls, that is, girls who were in a personnel training program at camp this summer which I facilitated, play volley ball. Coming back to people you really care about is important.

Yesterday I saw a brief clip of the news where they reported that a new version of the Bible had been put together called “The 100 Minute Bible.” The purpose was so summarize the contents of the Bible into a manageable size. The Bible has been weighed, and calculated and its sum has been simplified. We have taken the unmanageable and managed it, as if God’s submission to our understanding was essential in his action. Does this Bible include Jeremiah something something? Let me offer it to you, and I ask you to read it with a careful eye so that you get all that this fantastic passage has to offer. That is, watch for the punch line.

The Israelites had been living in rebellion against God, but in a new fervor to serve Him, they renounced their sin and promised to free their slaves as God had commanded. This was a system set up in Jewish law that allowed slaves only to be kept for seven years before they were given up and set free.

However, after having obeyed God in this, and being true to their vow to follow Him, they changed their minds, once again turning to evil, and recaptured their slaves. And so the word of the Lord came to them through the prophet Jeremiah who said, “Since you have failed to declare freedom for your slaves as I commanded, I now declare freedom for you: freedom to die by the sword, plague and famine.”

So I don’t know if that passage made it in. I would hope that it does, but that isn’t really the point.

Post Script: I drove across the high level bridge today, speeding and singing passionately and I wondered about whether I was silly or not.

September 21

2005-09-22T20:25:00.000-06:00

So I went over to Wednesday Night Supper at the Bennett’s today. Wednesday Night Supper at the Bennett’s is a social ritual that developed last year out of the goodness of Mrs. Bennett’s heart, combining her gifts as a host with her desire to bring people together and has been a blessing in the lives of many young students who are given a community, but more importantly, a home, to be a part of.

It was good as usual. There were typical conversations about Christian involvement in culture, with the usual cracks at the quality of Christian product with the vouching for Christians to challenge themselves to be better and to participate in the “seven pillars of civilization” pitted against the desire for Christians to have entirely different aims then the rest of culture. This led to an in depth discussion of the value of home schooling or Christian education vs. the public school system, which yielded some very interesting information which I will no disclose here so as not to deprive you of discovering it when you to get your chance to have one of these conversations. If you do not often converse with large groups of Christians, then I suggest you find some so you to can enjoy one of these conversations, which are just fine if you are in the right mood.

At evenings end I walked out to the car (my friend and boss Peter’s station wagon. His sister’s actually, but she lives far away in the mountains) and was surprised to find that it lacked 4 ½ thousand dollars of tools that had been present in it when I had last seen it. Peter and I have just started a framing company in which he provided the expertise and I provided the capital which had allowed us to buy the tools that were no longer there.

PSYCHE! It was the wrong station wagon. Everything turned out okay.

On a note that I am not really ready to talk about too openly, I’ve had some pretty intense events taking place in my life recently and I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to feel about all of them, which often makes me feel like a basket case, but I got a chance to talk to Lisa today, and it was so good for me. She made me feel normal again, and that is what I need these days: a good dose of normal. So I go to bed tonight a more content person. Goodnight all, thanks for listening.

Sept. 20

2005-09-21T20:08:00.000-06:00

Today was an important day.

I am working as a framer for the first time in my life. I have worked 5 days, one complete week, and I am still pretty slow at things but I am getting better. However, my boss, who is a very good boss, wants me to be faster, to get better faster, and today took active steps to help me improve.

He knows I am afraid of heights, and being afraid of heights is not a good quality for a framer. I have worked at heights before. When I worked at The Refinery my first year I had to climb up towers a hundred feet high on ladders and raise and lower all our equipment over those ladders, and at first your legs shake and I feel sick to my stomach but it isn’t long before I get the hang of it. However, the safety precautions at The Refinery are extensive and so I never really had much to fear.

More recently I climbed up a tower on the top of a mountain that was probably at least 100 feet high, and by the time I was on my way down I felt at ease hanging on the ladder and doing chin ups.

But none of these situations have the potential for falling or tripping or dying that my new job provides. It is frustrating because most of the time I am asked to do things that I am totally capable of doing. I can walk on a beam. I can. I’ve done it. And yet, when I am up there everything seems much more difficult. In fact, it actually is more difficult sometimes, because it is harder to walk on a beam when your knees are shaking.

So I was given some jobs today that freaked me out. I had to nail in some studs that were lying on the gap for the stairs. It was probably pretty safe, though it is hard to tell when you are scared out of your mind, but the drop there is two stories plus the basement, so it’s a long way.

Anyway, the day before I had just gotten used to walking on the walls and the beams of the second floor, and I really think I had that down, but my boss didn’t see my progress, all he say was that now I was afraid of these new things that were even higher or more sketchy. So finally I was given the job of patching some OSB to the outside of the building that was high enough that I had to climb to the top of the wooden ladder (wooden ladders are notoriously precarious) with the OSB, which acted as a sort of sail for my ladder/sail boat and a staple gun, to make sure I didn’t have any hands to hold on to the things that weren’t there to hold on to anyway.

While I was up there I had to rip off some two by sixes that were attacked to the wall, and the force of my prying and pounding would sometimes send the top of the ladder sliding along the wall of the house I was leaning against. So I took forever to do the job, but not because I was freaked out, because most of the time, when my ladder wasn’t actually in the process of falling over, I was fine. But my boss was really doing me a service. He was sending me off to do things that I wouldn’t have done if it were up to me, and it made me more capable, and made me less afraid. What a good boss.

But something more important happened today as well. I found something that I have been missing for a long time. I’m trying to remember when I lost it, and I thought that maybe it was last September, but it turns out it may have been as long ago as the December previous to last September. I found my sense of humor. I remembered what humor is, what I find funny, and what is so good about it. I hope I don’t lose it again.

I was on the top of a ladder, the wind was blowing my OSB and I was trying really hard not to drop it at the same time as balancing the ladder that was shaking as I climbed, still feeling a little nervous that our compressed gas powered staple gun would shoot a staple right through me and I heard a fire truck fly by on a nearby street with sirens blazing, and I thought to myself, “This isn’t so dangerous after all.”

So that is it for now. May you always awaken to a life full of the greatest gifts you can receive: goodness, humility and joy.

Nothing new I guess

2004-11-06T13:27:00.002-07:00

I am given courage, I am lifted up by the writings I have read by many who are close to me. Jacob, Daytona Splendor, Jillian, The Protagonist, and, of course, my faithful friend and reader Soren. I find no topic more important than that which has been illuminated by these people in various contexts, that of love. When I speak of love I do not want to bring forth thoughts of false sentimentality, of a the "aww" that that falls from the mouths of a cynical people who have been given reason to doubt.
I bring us back to a point where I finished earlier, on the heals of Derrida, to clarify that love is both be the beginning and the end of my project.
Derrida makes a claim that can easily be lost amidst the disorder that is his article "Glas." In his demonstration of the constructedness of meaning, of the maleability of reason, Derrida wants to open his mind and his heart to those who are rejected by these artificially naturalized principles, telling us

"I begin with love."
"This concept does not leave much room, despite appearances, for chitchat, or for declaration."

In these words I find a hope and confidence that love is strong enough to build upon. This, I pray, will be the thread that binds my thoughts and offers the reader some insight into my aims and intentions in a series of disjointed posts.

A place to start

2004-10-29T18:01:00.000-06:00

Descartes, one of the best know proponents of foundationalism, attempted to find knowledge that was sure. From his famous cogito, "I think therefore I am," he established the existence of a world independent of his perception as well as a good god, in the capital "G" sense of the word.

However, since that time many thinkers have put a shadow over all the world that Descartes desired to illuminate. Nothing seems as stable as Descartes would have hoped, and foundation after foundation has proved unsuitable for building a house of knowledge in which we might bed down with certainty.

Mathematics has a field called "Ring Theory" which considers the way we define and understand numbers. This examination of mathematics' most foundational concepts provides mathematicians with solutions to problems that other alternatives could not solve, each also coming with its own unique set of unsolvable paradoxes. If even mathematics is faced with undecidable problems, from where do we expect to obtain knowledge?

This is only one of many evidences that leave me certain of my uncertainty. This uncertainty comes to me as a messenger, like one of Jobs servants who escaped calamity, to tell me, "all knowledge has been destroyed and I alone have escaped to tell you."

I find this point boring, and not even worthy of debate. I only put it down because it seems to be a point whose important implications hide in the background of every discussion. I admit that here a phenomenological approach, or the Kierkegaardian claim, "subjectivity is truth," can play an interesting role, and I am glad, and even blessed, to talk about such things. However, here my goal is not to abandon truth but to rethink it.

Maybe I will be able to redeem this post with a quote is at least interesting to read. If you don't like quotes you probably haven't bothered to come back to this blog anyway.

"The will to truth which will still tempt us to many a venture, that famous truthfulness of which all philosophers so far have spoken with respect--what questions has this will to truth not laid before us! What strange, wicked, questionable questions! That is a long story even now-- and yet it seems as if it had scarcely begun. Is it any wonder that we should finally become suspicious, lose patience, and turn away impatiently? that we should finally learn from this Sphinx to ask questions too? Who is it really that puts questions to us here? What in us really wants 'truth'?"

-Friedrich Nietzsche

"natural" language

2004-10-22T23:35:00.000-06:00

"[Flowers] are a proud
assertion that a ray of
beauty outvalues all the
utilities of the world."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

My impotency as impetus for these words.

2004-10-20T00:51:00.000-06:00

"We expect rather less of philosophy today, since we are content to regard as the Absolute whatever corsets and bras embrace."
-Marshall Mcluhan

"...neither accept nor avoid as rule or principle the empirico-chronological delay of the narrative, the recit.

A bastard course.
Is there a place for the bastard in ontotheology or in the Hegelian family? That is a question to be left to one side, to be held on the margin or a leash when entering a true family or the family of truth. No doubt the question is not so exterior to that of the Klang; at least, without corresponding with the Hegelian concept of exteriority, its exteriority presses another exeriority toward the question's center
A bastard path, then, that will have to feign to follow naturally the circle of the family, in order to enter it, or parcel it out [partager], or partake of [partager] it as one takes part in a community, holy communion, the last supper scene, or part [partager] it as one does by dissociating.
I shall say no more about procession or method. As Hegel would say, they will speak of (for) themselves whil marching.

I begin with love."
- Derrida (1930-
...October 8th, 2004)

From his 1970(?) article "Glas."

"it is in the unknown where knowledge must must bow to love"
-Anonymous