Every angel is a potential devil whenever the devil calls him a bitch ass. Whenever I read a Superman or Batman comic I find The Joker or Lex Luthor in so many words taunting their enemies with the same idea: "The two of you are bitches because you are too scared to do anything for yourselves". And whenever you do you end up feeling extremely guilty about it. Even though Bats plays this rouge/playboy role, secretly he's not really having any fun at all. The funny thing is The Joker knows that somewhere within his arch enemies' heart there is some regret that he can't live a normal life. So he taunts him and in so many words calls him a bitch every time. I think I would laugh my ass off if some writer in the comic universe allowed The Joker to call him a bitch. It would be classic because most readers know that this is what he was thinking and doing all along. Lex on the other hand would take a much more refined approach. He'd probably never say it but his assistant Mercy probably would.
Ok so I guess it's evident now that I have a fixation with super heroes. I guess the most interesting thing about them is that in reality they're not that super, especially when you put them in the most modern of contexts. In this land of smart phones and i-pods which have made people almost sinfully self absorbed, a heroes story would grow to be a little insignificant, especially after CNN is done with it. I guess this why I'm so fascinated with comics. It takes a special kind of writer to create characters such as these specifically because they are freaks. And the most freakish thing about them is their undying optimism even when the enemy calling them a punk ass.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Genius of Imperfection
"Better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven"
- J. Milton Paradise Lost
Let us assume that there is a god. Let us also assume for the sake of argument that this god is a perfect god. From this premise it could be deduced that in an imperfect world populated by individuals who each in their own unique way fall short of perfection, our very existence is an act of genius (more on this later). As I gaze across my classroom observing my anxious students toiling through an exam this notion is quite evident. Every day I watch these young men and women who have been labeled special ed. struggle with the fact that they are not perfect. Because of this often debilitating concept their study habits, concept of time and outright desire to attend school suffers on a daily basis. This is all because somewhere during their development someone informed them of their imperfections in very harsh ways. In fact, they are constantly informed not only by outside influences but in their subconscious minds. I have one student in my 8th period class who blatantly, reports to class late, and when he arrives makes it his mission to be especially disruptive. When I asked him the reason for this destructive routine he replied that he might as well have fun now because he may die tomorrow. He is only 15.
What this student unwittingly described is the dilemma of human existence on a very basic level. Imperfection has been the engine that drives us since the invention of the wheel. It constantly places us mortals on opposite sides of a dichotomy where we are forced to strive for our highest good or be content with mediocrity. For example, each day I wake up and do 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups to start my morning. This routine stems from my drive to be as aesthetically perfect as possible. Although I know that this is impossible, I achieve solace in the very process of it because helps me feel a sense of order (even if it is an illusion) to my life. Some would say that this is a fruitless venture because sooner or later age will catch up to me and I will eventually look like a man who has become comfortable with his own physical existence, which is a solace of a different kind. On a larger scale this example could also be applied to a monk who meditates for hours at time and lives a life of temperance and necessity. This type of existence is of course a far cry from the average person whose mind is steeped in western thought. We could also apply this example to the more (ahem) respectable professions of our society such as medicine, law or finance. At the purest level, the major element that these professions share is that not only do they have the ability to inspire but to deter as well almost unwittingly. For example, the drive and discipline that is needed to be successful in the professional arena is of no consequence to my 15 year old student. In fact, in his mind, it is all just a waste of time.
The genius of this dichotomy is that societies have been run by it for centuries. Our society, which is probably one of the best examples, is predicated on the pursuit of happiness [or perfection] and the contentment of mediocrity. Those of us who pursue perfection/happiness get to manipulate those of us who don’t. Although he may be fully aware what side of the dichotomy he is on, what my student doesn’t know is that his reluctance to reach perfection creates a crisis. Crisis is a by-product of mediocrity and is what fuels the engine of this society. The crisis of illiteracy is what pays my salary and could potentially pay the salaries of the alternative school that may accept him if he continues on his current path, the public defender who could potentially defend him if he decides to commit a crime, the staff of the penal system if he is convicted and countless others whose primary purpose is to serve and profit from the imperfect. And since we are all imperfect someone always gets paid.
On a more personal level, i.e. my obsession with push-ups, we also stand the risk of disillusionment and boredom when we don’t pursue personal goals of perfection. We then fall into the routine of creating our own personal hells in which issues of self-esteem and lack of self-actualization come in to play. It is possible that my student has learned how to make the best of his hell. It is possible that he is the classic example of the Miltonian demon in the above quote who is content with his current position in life. It is also possible that many of us have become slaves to the pursuit of perfection and if you asked him, he is free. If so, then I suppose this perfect god of ours truly blesses the imperfect perfectly.
- J. Milton Paradise Lost
Let us assume that there is a god. Let us also assume for the sake of argument that this god is a perfect god. From this premise it could be deduced that in an imperfect world populated by individuals who each in their own unique way fall short of perfection, our very existence is an act of genius (more on this later). As I gaze across my classroom observing my anxious students toiling through an exam this notion is quite evident. Every day I watch these young men and women who have been labeled special ed. struggle with the fact that they are not perfect. Because of this often debilitating concept their study habits, concept of time and outright desire to attend school suffers on a daily basis. This is all because somewhere during their development someone informed them of their imperfections in very harsh ways. In fact, they are constantly informed not only by outside influences but in their subconscious minds. I have one student in my 8th period class who blatantly, reports to class late, and when he arrives makes it his mission to be especially disruptive. When I asked him the reason for this destructive routine he replied that he might as well have fun now because he may die tomorrow. He is only 15.
What this student unwittingly described is the dilemma of human existence on a very basic level. Imperfection has been the engine that drives us since the invention of the wheel. It constantly places us mortals on opposite sides of a dichotomy where we are forced to strive for our highest good or be content with mediocrity. For example, each day I wake up and do 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups to start my morning. This routine stems from my drive to be as aesthetically perfect as possible. Although I know that this is impossible, I achieve solace in the very process of it because helps me feel a sense of order (even if it is an illusion) to my life. Some would say that this is a fruitless venture because sooner or later age will catch up to me and I will eventually look like a man who has become comfortable with his own physical existence, which is a solace of a different kind. On a larger scale this example could also be applied to a monk who meditates for hours at time and lives a life of temperance and necessity. This type of existence is of course a far cry from the average person whose mind is steeped in western thought. We could also apply this example to the more (ahem) respectable professions of our society such as medicine, law or finance. At the purest level, the major element that these professions share is that not only do they have the ability to inspire but to deter as well almost unwittingly. For example, the drive and discipline that is needed to be successful in the professional arena is of no consequence to my 15 year old student. In fact, in his mind, it is all just a waste of time.
The genius of this dichotomy is that societies have been run by it for centuries. Our society, which is probably one of the best examples, is predicated on the pursuit of happiness [or perfection] and the contentment of mediocrity. Those of us who pursue perfection/happiness get to manipulate those of us who don’t. Although he may be fully aware what side of the dichotomy he is on, what my student doesn’t know is that his reluctance to reach perfection creates a crisis. Crisis is a by-product of mediocrity and is what fuels the engine of this society. The crisis of illiteracy is what pays my salary and could potentially pay the salaries of the alternative school that may accept him if he continues on his current path, the public defender who could potentially defend him if he decides to commit a crime, the staff of the penal system if he is convicted and countless others whose primary purpose is to serve and profit from the imperfect. And since we are all imperfect someone always gets paid.
On a more personal level, i.e. my obsession with push-ups, we also stand the risk of disillusionment and boredom when we don’t pursue personal goals of perfection. We then fall into the routine of creating our own personal hells in which issues of self-esteem and lack of self-actualization come in to play. It is possible that my student has learned how to make the best of his hell. It is possible that he is the classic example of the Miltonian demon in the above quote who is content with his current position in life. It is also possible that many of us have become slaves to the pursuit of perfection and if you asked him, he is free. If so, then I suppose this perfect god of ours truly blesses the imperfect perfectly.
Monday, September 28, 2009
What happens after I watch Californication
Writing takes courage. I needed to say this more to myself than anyone who happens to be reading this blog. Once a person utters the words “I am a writer” he becomes immediately responsible for the title. This means that he or she is expected be an authority on any subject that he writes on even if the subject happens to be himself. The reason why this is especially frightening to me is that I can be criticized on anything under the sun via this blog especially since the very title of it suggests that what is on my mind incessantly is indeed every thing under the sun. But I can live with the fear.
So here I am again, naked to the three readers I have, (myself being one of them), attempting to get passed fear, the only thing in the world that has the ability to compel me to or stop me from writing. In fact, I have realized through writing these thoughts that I have never even dared to call myself a writer until recently, when I wrote something which forced me to make the claim [of writer] in my own defense of being viewed as a faker. I was forced to say to myself “I am a writer and sometimes we upset people”. That’s what writers do sometimes. We can even upset our friends when really all we are being is honest. A friend told me once that all writing is is being honest. Sometimes I feel like I’m lying everywhere else and this is the only place I can be honest. And I’m starting to think that many of us haven’t made the claim on a great deal of things we love to do for fear of disappointment and rejection. This is why we (or I, whichever the reader prefers) “half do” a great deal of things.
Damn. All that from watching Californication.
So here I am again, naked to the three readers I have, (myself being one of them), attempting to get passed fear, the only thing in the world that has the ability to compel me to or stop me from writing. In fact, I have realized through writing these thoughts that I have never even dared to call myself a writer until recently, when I wrote something which forced me to make the claim [of writer] in my own defense of being viewed as a faker. I was forced to say to myself “I am a writer and sometimes we upset people”. That’s what writers do sometimes. We can even upset our friends when really all we are being is honest. A friend told me once that all writing is is being honest. Sometimes I feel like I’m lying everywhere else and this is the only place I can be honest. And I’m starting to think that many of us haven’t made the claim on a great deal of things we love to do for fear of disappointment and rejection. This is why we (or I, whichever the reader prefers) “half do” a great deal of things.
Damn. All that from watching Californication.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
a moment to acknowledge
A Different Kind of Nigga'
May 5, 2009
Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!
Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest
I spoke to this young man two days ago. He was late again to another teacher's class as I happened to be leaving. I asked him if he was working on the problem. I will admit to paraphrasing but the general gist was that the importance of his puntuality was starting to sink in. He seemed to be more adjusted and at peace with his surroundings than last semester. Two students approached me today and informed me that he was shot to death later that same day. I remember taking offense to the his previous description of me but now I think that it will forever mean something more. I now know that our brief acquaintance will be a constant reminder that teachers are not the only ones who teach in the classroom. Our students have just as much power to influence as we do. It is possible that he was paying me a compliment. So I will take this time now to thank him for helping to shape me into a different kind of teacher.
R.I.P Jahlal Lee
May 5, 2009
Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!
Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest
I spoke to this young man two days ago. He was late again to another teacher's class as I happened to be leaving. I asked him if he was working on the problem. I will admit to paraphrasing but the general gist was that the importance of his puntuality was starting to sink in. He seemed to be more adjusted and at peace with his surroundings than last semester. Two students approached me today and informed me that he was shot to death later that same day. I remember taking offense to the his previous description of me but now I think that it will forever mean something more. I now know that our brief acquaintance will be a constant reminder that teachers are not the only ones who teach in the classroom. Our students have just as much power to influence as we do. It is possible that he was paying me a compliment. So I will take this time now to thank him for helping to shape me into a different kind of teacher.
R.I.P Jahlal Lee
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thoughts on 911
I remember walking through the village as the smell of change in the form of smoke informed me that things in this country would never be the same again. There was a sense of disbelief almost surreal heavy on my soul. I remember the need to call family and friends just to let them know they were in my thoughts and to see if they were ok and being frustrated because all the lines were down. I still experience these feelings 8 years later since the towers fell. It’s funny how these thoughts always find a way to creep in to my lessons during the first week of school. For the past three years I have used the poem First Writing Since by Suheir Hammad to illustrate the emotions that could have been possibly felt by people who some may view as the enemy. It’s funny how every time I use this device it brings me up close and personal with the reality that there really are no enemies in war…only victims. This year I decided not to use it because it always proves to be just emotionally charged enough to tip me over the edge of composure. I guess testosterone took over this time. I guess I should get to know my students a little more before I allow them to see me struggling with these emotions in the middle of class when they find their way to the surface as they always do. People around me are just as confused if not more, when they do, especially since I didn’t personally lose anyone in the attacks, although there were some close calls. Maybe I’m just a softy to feel this way every single year. But to deny these feelings would be far worse.
May God bless you all.
May God bless you all.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Thoughts Triggered in the Wee Hours
It is now 5:58 A.M. and I am bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to begin the new day. The only issue is that I have not slept. I have spent most of my evening thinking about guns, the upcoming school year and a series of miscellaneous occurrences from my past respectively. Since sorting out this stuff is always so much fun, let’s begin.
Guns: I’m discovering now that since 40 is now within reach enough to give me a wedgy, mortality feels slightly more real. Never before have had I thought about security and safety in the wee hours of the morning as I have as of late. I must have run through at least 10 to 15 different scenarios tonight of what I would do in the event of a break in. I have always thought that the very presence of a gun is what brings violence in to ones life. Now I find myself wondering if it would be foolish not to have one (legally of course). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have a family and a home to protect. Lately this instinct to protect my family feels ten times more intense. I must admit that it feels slightly hypocritical because I know it is also attached to something materialistic, but it exists nevertheless. And the raw truth of the matter is that I have never been so driven to protect what is mine (i.e.: home, family) than at this moment in time.
School year (a.k.a job, a.k.a bread and butter, a.k.a my half of the mortgage):
Last year I pelted out quite a bit of ramblings about change. I am realizing with each passing day that there is always change to spare. I wonder if Mr. Obama really knew the weight of the word and what it would mean to the average citizen in this country when he uttered it so many times during his campaign. Its latest manifestation has appeared in the halls of my current work place in the form of a new principal. I’m not sure what this will mean accept that it probably won’t be comfortable. Change on many levels is making many of us uncomfortable. I suppose the fact that I’m not alone in this scenario is in its own ironic way…comforting.
Miscellaneous: The third head of the three headed beast that won’t allow me to sleep this morning comes in the form of bullies who got the best of me when I was a kid, former bosses who did the same and a host of one-liners that I wish I had said to old ex-girlfriends who escaped with slithers of my self-esteem which took years to replace. Currently I can’t think of any of those one-liners but I think that I am coming closer to the realization as the wedgy grip on my mortality tightens what happens now pretty much trumps all that shit. It is quite possible that the hand gripping that wedgy has nothing to do with my age. Maybe it’s all those memories that bring us closer to death. Maybe those embarrassing and shameful moments that we won’t let go grip us by our briefs and pull us back in time while the present stands there shrugging its shoulders wondering why we keep lagging behind.
It is quite possible that this new principal might remind me of a former boss…or maybe not. And in either scenario I won’t have to recreate the scene in the movie Lean on Me when the disgruntled teacher turned over a desk to avoid striking his principal crazy Joe Clark because I have a bona fide teaching license and can always find another job. It is also possible that the crime rate may drop to a respectable level at least on my block and I won’t have to become a gun toting masked vigilante. And maybe the next time my fiancé irritates me I’ll just let it go because I’ll realize that when my ex did it, she was just an evil bitch and my fiancé’ is not out to get me even though she might be getting on my nerves. I guess the lesson that my current delirium is trying to teach is that metaphorically or otherwise it’s not always wise to come out guns blazing especially in this illusion of decorum. There are times however, when moments of clarity do apply.
Wish me luck and good luck to all of you…all three of you. ;-)
Guns: I’m discovering now that since 40 is now within reach enough to give me a wedgy, mortality feels slightly more real. Never before have had I thought about security and safety in the wee hours of the morning as I have as of late. I must have run through at least 10 to 15 different scenarios tonight of what I would do in the event of a break in. I have always thought that the very presence of a gun is what brings violence in to ones life. Now I find myself wondering if it would be foolish not to have one (legally of course). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have a family and a home to protect. Lately this instinct to protect my family feels ten times more intense. I must admit that it feels slightly hypocritical because I know it is also attached to something materialistic, but it exists nevertheless. And the raw truth of the matter is that I have never been so driven to protect what is mine (i.e.: home, family) than at this moment in time.
School year (a.k.a job, a.k.a bread and butter, a.k.a my half of the mortgage):
Last year I pelted out quite a bit of ramblings about change. I am realizing with each passing day that there is always change to spare. I wonder if Mr. Obama really knew the weight of the word and what it would mean to the average citizen in this country when he uttered it so many times during his campaign. Its latest manifestation has appeared in the halls of my current work place in the form of a new principal. I’m not sure what this will mean accept that it probably won’t be comfortable. Change on many levels is making many of us uncomfortable. I suppose the fact that I’m not alone in this scenario is in its own ironic way…comforting.
Miscellaneous: The third head of the three headed beast that won’t allow me to sleep this morning comes in the form of bullies who got the best of me when I was a kid, former bosses who did the same and a host of one-liners that I wish I had said to old ex-girlfriends who escaped with slithers of my self-esteem which took years to replace. Currently I can’t think of any of those one-liners but I think that I am coming closer to the realization as the wedgy grip on my mortality tightens what happens now pretty much trumps all that shit. It is quite possible that the hand gripping that wedgy has nothing to do with my age. Maybe it’s all those memories that bring us closer to death. Maybe those embarrassing and shameful moments that we won’t let go grip us by our briefs and pull us back in time while the present stands there shrugging its shoulders wondering why we keep lagging behind.
It is quite possible that this new principal might remind me of a former boss…or maybe not. And in either scenario I won’t have to recreate the scene in the movie Lean on Me when the disgruntled teacher turned over a desk to avoid striking his principal crazy Joe Clark because I have a bona fide teaching license and can always find another job. It is also possible that the crime rate may drop to a respectable level at least on my block and I won’t have to become a gun toting masked vigilante. And maybe the next time my fiancé irritates me I’ll just let it go because I’ll realize that when my ex did it, she was just an evil bitch and my fiancé’ is not out to get me even though she might be getting on my nerves. I guess the lesson that my current delirium is trying to teach is that metaphorically or otherwise it’s not always wise to come out guns blazing especially in this illusion of decorum. There are times however, when moments of clarity do apply.
Wish me luck and good luck to all of you…all three of you. ;-)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
better than cookies
Just when I think I'm having a moment of brilliance, something even more brilliant happens. Tonight I finally convinced the subject of the last entry to read this blog. As soon as she sat down to read, my 6 year old daughter Autumn walks in, grabs the computer and proceeds to read it aloud. Now that's remarkable!
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