waldopaper

Kindled Spirits

Posted in Answers, Reality, Stupid-heads by waldopaper on October 8, 2015

What is man…

Larry Levine.jpg

“Send thine hand from above; rid me, and deliver me out of great waters, from the hand of strange children” –Psalm 144

Every writer, every college teacher and all who love rivers mourn for the life of Lawrence Levine, the English Comp. professor murdered in Umpqua, Oregon,  We were the same age so he undoubtedly remembered trying to give peace a chance.  I remembered teaching writing.

Every third person I see is yakking on a cell phone.   Why weren’t there lines around the block waiting for pay phones before cell phones existed… now that pay phones are all but extinct?   What are they talking about?   By what one can overhear… not much.

Where are you?   In an elevator.  Going to see proctologist.  What are you doing? Doing.  Doing.   It is an alarm clock.   Time for the mind to turn turtle on task.  My goodness, my high tower, my strength; teach their hands to war.  Light knife took on a wife of its own:  The Machine.

Could see it coming.  One day some noob walks in the door and blows out your brittle brain.   Why didn’t they get that out of their system in high school?   Instead they seem to be contributing to it.  Whose they?  I don’t know.   Whoever they’re all texting on their phones over there.

It should have been a dream job. Reading the expository efforts of mostly returning adults.  Fly fishing in Oregon.   “Middle Class” is supposed to be so vital… we want to save it.   Bourgeoisie own the means of production… through “creative destruction.”  So the age of oxymoron began.

Oxymoron cannot see the elephant in the room.  How can they perceive paradox? Terrorists or freedom fighters?   WMDs or Strategic Arms?  Activists or extremists?   Compare and contrast does not seem to be doing the job.  On the other hand, pattern recognition is only the beginning.

So you introduce them to the Keven Ryan Paradox  at your peril.   But it was only the second class.  Old Guy probably never saw the flash mob.  The bullet scattered brain to janitors work and drums. Memedemic carrier, stepping in blood, “Behold the head of a traitor” it comes.

Memedemic should be capitalized like Black Death.  Somewhere Levine is giving the kid a pass for presentation and a fail for content.   Hell of a way to get published. Betting on some good stuff.  Major event in Hi story.  Insert smiley face.  Begin to learn why some things go viral.

Like war?  Have one.  Take two… their sprawl.  We de-serve a brake today.  Stop sign the elephant in the room.  Levine is getting an evaluation pass for content… but presentation killed half the class. Gregor Duncan could draw irony whistling 88 iron. Guide Glide say, “Anything done on the river is done to be on the river.”

No matter where you go there you scar.  Support our brave tropes.  Goodnight Levine.

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One Response

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  1. robinonfoot said, on October 9, 2015 at 1:08 am

    I love your blogs, Jeb.   Maybe it was the inspiration of today’s blog.   Maybe it was the sillyness of another day at werk.   My heart has been burning telling me to go.   My brain has been saying “stay awhile, last through the winter.”    Today, I’d requested a dual course number for an Entering level class where half of the students are Newcomers (the first level of ENL).   I wanted a way to “assess” the newcomers at their level, and also a course number so I could request the newcomer materials.    Instead of understanding my request, I was reprimanded, told that “We are not going to track or lane our students through scheduling and manipulation.  We are getting our kids ready for graduation in four years.”  I was reminded that OTHER teachers had kids at multiple levels and that we are all expected to differentiate.   I’m calling spades spades.   I’m heading in tomorrow fully expecting to be let go, or walking out, or holding on quietly until I can get my retirement plans in order.   I’ll give my notice soon.   The search is on for a place to land, and I expect we will sell the house.   I realize winter is upon us.    I will be riding the wave out of the compound with you, my brother.   Don’t want to stick around and loose this precious time.   Nope, I’m feeling a sense of relief and a bit of sadness.    The reference to 9/11 blow me away.   As time goes on, will more “information” leak out, or are we entering a Big Brotherhood era, with those who have the means and the access run the show.  Interesting chicken story Joann Piatt told me yesterday.   A flock of chickens were segregated into two groups, the exceptional layers and the rest of the flock.   The rest of the flock thrived.  The exceptional layers ended up dying off… killing each other.  Too many chiefs.   Reminded me of Vonneguts “Slaughter House Five” where the Trafamadorians explain to Billy Pilgrim:  There were fives sexes on Tralfamadore, each of them performing a step necessary inthe creation of a new individual. They looked identical to Billy-because their sex differences were all in the fourth dimension. One of the biggest moral bombshells handed to Billy by the Tralfamadorians, incidentally, had to do with sex on Earth. They said their flying-saucer crews had identified no fewer than seven sexes on Earth, each essential to reproduction. Again: Billy couldn’t possibly imagine what five of those seven sexes had to do with the making of a baby, since they were sexually active only in the fourth dimension. The Tralfamadorians tried to give Billy clues that would help him imagine sex in the invisible dimension. They told him that there could be no Earthling babies without male homosexuals. There could be babies without female homosexuals. There couldn’t be babies without women over sixty-five years old. There could be babies without men over sixty-five. There couldn’t be babies without other babies who had lived an hour or less after birth. And so on. It w1as gibberish to Billy. We can hardly imagine our universe, can we.   We can’t much imagine what’s next.   But we believe.   “Almost as if there were no heaven.  But there is, they tell me, And I believe.”    Decades ago, my brother.   Yet, only a few moments ago.   Our children were born and we were too.  Our parents held us and we hold them now.   We hold them in that magical place we can’t know much about, except as “magic” and “belief”.     But there IS they tell me, and I believe.   There’s gotta be some way out of here, said the….. me to you.   I see a hair brained idea.   I see a lot of them.  Come on, let’s ride the magic bus, eh?  Thanks for sharing this.   Tomorrow is Elsa’s b-day.   We’re going to meet her at CS3 on Calhoun.   Wanna join us?   R


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