This is strange to write about, but I woke up in the middle of the night thinking that I might believe in god again. Not a moralistic god. Not white bearded god who looks down from the clouds and is overly concerned about my genitals. Not god who loves at gunpoint.
Maybe I am just far away enough from allofthatcrap to start reimagining god again, as someone I could actually (/could actually want to) believe in. Just god who listens, just god of peace and acceptance. I don't think this god is someone I could share (hide it under a bushel--yes--), having godiknow grow paler against all the strange claims about theonetruegod.
I don't know. It would be nice.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
the amazing adventures of painfully awkward man
A few years ago I worked with a friend who I endearingly envisioned as the star of an imaginary and brilliant supercomic: The Amazing Adventures of Painfully Awkward Man. His alterego, which as I imagined him was not so far removed from his everyday self, wore glasses and capes made of pastel retro polo shirts, looked down a lot, was a master of pessimism, and at the most unexpected moments blurted things out to which no one was quite sure how to respond, thereby delivering crushing blows of uncomfortable silence.
For instance, in one strip, Painfully Awkward Man might be sitting at a table with friends playing the popular drinking game "Never Have I Ever." In the first frame, Sally Normal might reveal she has never been to Paris, and those who have will subsequently be obliged to take a drink. Next, Nancy Not so Prudish might declare that (though she'd love to) she's never had sex in public, leaving a few around the table to take a drink. [If this happened to be one of the issues in which I made a guest appearance as Painfully Awkward Man's delightful sidekick Painfully Obnoxious Philosopher Woman, then I would probably make some comments about the artificiality and political implications of the division between private and public spaces and probably everyone would throw things at me.] In the next few frames, the game would continue around the table, with participants drinking and sharing similar non-experiences, some related to travel or sex, others to food, occupations, or ethics. Then the turn would fall on Painfully Awkward Man, and he would inevitably blurt out something like "Have any of you ever tried to kill yourself?" And then, WOW! BAM! KAZAAM! Shocked silence around the table for frames, seconds, minutes. Then the comic would either end, or finally someone would laugh and say, "That's not how the game works!"
I've been thinking about PAM, my sort of imaginary superhero, if mostly because lately whenever I get around one of my friends in particular I find myself involuntarily spewing out self-deprecating word vomit in attempts at humor.
For instance:
Me: I feel so worthless and miserable reading books and trying to work on my thesis all day!
Friend: See, I feel worthless when I'm working at some job that I don't really care about just to get a paycheck.
Me: Oh, right, I do too. Ha, I guess it's just a personal problem then.
[or]
Friend: This is why I love philosophy--I love arguing and defending my points with people!
Me: Oh, yeah, see I think I just do philosophy because I like being miserable.
Which is fine. I mean, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with my being perpetually miserable (another joke!) or having a sense of humor about my pessimism/cynicism or not insulating it from others. It's really just a part that has become increasingly easy to play and that I seem to keep falling into where it's comfortable.
But that's just part of why I've been thinking about PAM. Maybe my thinking about him sounds like making fun and seems sort of cruel or unkind at best. But really, I kind of miss thinking of him (and the threads of him in you and me) as heroic. Not in the sense that he or I may have gotten stuck in a role or may be playing to a part. But in the sense of opening ourselves up to more moments where we might resist self-censorship, rather than always seeing those moments as detriments to our personalities or as hallmarks of immaturity. And in not being afraid to stop conversation, to pay attention to those gaps in language and protocol where we are unsure how to proceed.
KAZAAM!
For instance, in one strip, Painfully Awkward Man might be sitting at a table with friends playing the popular drinking game "Never Have I Ever." In the first frame, Sally Normal might reveal she has never been to Paris, and those who have will subsequently be obliged to take a drink. Next, Nancy Not so Prudish might declare that (though she'd love to) she's never had sex in public, leaving a few around the table to take a drink. [If this happened to be one of the issues in which I made a guest appearance as Painfully Awkward Man's delightful sidekick Painfully Obnoxious Philosopher Woman, then I would probably make some comments about the artificiality and political implications of the division between private and public spaces and probably everyone would throw things at me.] In the next few frames, the game would continue around the table, with participants drinking and sharing similar non-experiences, some related to travel or sex, others to food, occupations, or ethics. Then the turn would fall on Painfully Awkward Man, and he would inevitably blurt out something like "Have any of you ever tried to kill yourself?" And then, WOW! BAM! KAZAAM! Shocked silence around the table for frames, seconds, minutes. Then the comic would either end, or finally someone would laugh and say, "That's not how the game works!"
I've been thinking about PAM, my sort of imaginary superhero, if mostly because lately whenever I get around one of my friends in particular I find myself involuntarily spewing out self-deprecating word vomit in attempts at humor.
For instance:
Me: I feel so worthless and miserable reading books and trying to work on my thesis all day!
Friend: See, I feel worthless when I'm working at some job that I don't really care about just to get a paycheck.
Me: Oh, right, I do too. Ha, I guess it's just a personal problem then.
[or]
Friend: This is why I love philosophy--I love arguing and defending my points with people!
Me: Oh, yeah, see I think I just do philosophy because I like being miserable.
Which is fine. I mean, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with my being perpetually miserable (another joke!) or having a sense of humor about my pessimism/cynicism or not insulating it from others. It's really just a part that has become increasingly easy to play and that I seem to keep falling into where it's comfortable.
But that's just part of why I've been thinking about PAM. Maybe my thinking about him sounds like making fun and seems sort of cruel or unkind at best. But really, I kind of miss thinking of him (and the threads of him in you and me) as heroic. Not in the sense that he or I may have gotten stuck in a role or may be playing to a part. But in the sense of opening ourselves up to more moments where we might resist self-censorship, rather than always seeing those moments as detriments to our personalities or as hallmarks of immaturity. And in not being afraid to stop conversation, to pay attention to those gaps in language and protocol where we are unsure how to proceed.
KAZAAM!
Friday, June 20, 2008
no way out but through
So, I've heard from other students and teachers of philosophy that it's relatively *normal* to go through periods of linguistic paralysis, extreme self-doubt, and wanting to quit! philosophy. Or at least, it's not uncommon. That's maybe not exactly what I'm going through right now, but certainly some sort of psychic vertigo.
(Re/)reading Dorothy Allison, Pat Califia, Robert Reid-Pharr, Judith Halberstam, Foucault, Nietzsche, always Nietzsche it seems, Jamaica Kincaid, Jeanette Winterson, Maria Lugones, Lynda Hart, David Halperin, Ladelle McWhorter, Hortense Spillers, Cherrie Moraga, Gloria Anzaldua, Samuel Delaney, I am turned about, taken apart, taken to task, lost, and picked up again, I forget how to speak, forget the meaning of so many words and have to invent new languages.
This is part (though certainly not the only part!) of the problem with getting to work on my master's thesis, I don't know where I'm going to land. I'm not really even sure what it will look or feel like to land, at this point.
The difficulty of writing from such a place is certainly not lost on me--of course, my topic is related in so many ways to the importance of writing from such places, so I guess it's fitting.
(Re/)reading Dorothy Allison, Pat Califia, Robert Reid-Pharr, Judith Halberstam, Foucault, Nietzsche, always Nietzsche it seems, Jamaica Kincaid, Jeanette Winterson, Maria Lugones, Lynda Hart, David Halperin, Ladelle McWhorter, Hortense Spillers, Cherrie Moraga, Gloria Anzaldua, Samuel Delaney, I am turned about, taken apart, taken to task, lost, and picked up again, I forget how to speak, forget the meaning of so many words and have to invent new languages.
This is part (though certainly not the only part!) of the problem with getting to work on my master's thesis, I don't know where I'm going to land. I'm not really even sure what it will look or feel like to land, at this point.
The difficulty of writing from such a place is certainly not lost on me--of course, my topic is related in so many ways to the importance of writing from such places, so I guess it's fitting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
