Hell is other people before my morning coffee

“Hell is other People”
-Jean Paul Sartre



This morning around the end of my 2nd period class I was witness to a lover’s quarrel between two of my students who are currently on the outs. During this spat one told the other to go to hell. I attempted to end this debacle armed with my cup of coffee and the quickness of wit which the right amount of caffeine can sometimes yield. I immediately told the class to take a deep breath and exhale. I then explained that no matter what is going on in one’s life if they can complete this action than there day really isn’t that bad. Corny? Maybe. But it worked. From that point on, every time these two attempted to continue with their argument one of my students would immediately inhale and exhale loudly. The result of course was laughter.

Although this situation ended well, my student’s aggressive request for her ex to visit the land of fire and brimstone suggested to me that he could not have gone without taking her with him. In fact, if we applied the Sartre quote to this situation she was already there waiting for him. In (reflective) reality she should have told him to “come to hell” because the hell in fact could not really exist unless the two of them were involved whether as lovers or friends.
This quote from Sartre further asserts my point:



“The "Other" (meaning simply beings or objects that are not the self) is a construct of reflective consciousness. One must be careful to understand this more as a form of warning than as an ontological statement. However, there is an implication of solipsism here that Sartre considers fundamental to any coherent description of the human condition.[20] Sartre overcomes this solipsism by a kind of ritual. Self consciousness needs "the Other" to prove (display) its own existence. It has a "masochistic desire" to be limited, i.e. limited by the reflective consciousness of another subject. This is expressed metaphorically in the famous line of dialogue from No Exit, "Hell is other people."


I am often blown away when I apply this philosophy to the stresses that I experience in my daily life. When I actually give myself the deserved solitude needed to think about the many “demons” that exist in my life who contribute to my own personal “hell” experience, it is easier to realize the vital role I play in my own salvation. The postal worker who gave me attitude, the train conductor who closed the subway doors just as I was approaching or the payroll secretary who marked me a minute late are all individuals who contribute to my reflective consciousness. In my solitude however, they can all disappear. I can also transform these individuals into angels simply by maintaining a positive attitude and being more time conscious. Again, I am aware of how corny this sounds, but what if everyone took the time to think about it.



I was recently given a warning from my cousin about the dangers of thinking too much. I accept this warning with both love and respect. But there are times like today that remind me that there is some virtue in recognizing the bold examples of wisdom that life can offer. A hokey experiment like today is proof that all the new age books, documentaries and movies that I have consumed over the years actually have some relevance when applied without pretense. And yes sometimes stimulants such as caffeine can help too. With this in mind, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank Jean Paul Sartre, Iyanla Vanzant, Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey, The Dali Lama and Dunkin Donuts for their help in today’s observation.

Echoes from the Black Box (edited)

The more I write the more it becomes evident that I am an absolute weirdo. There are times (like now) that I find myself thinking of things that should no longer hold relevance in my life. Random thoughts involving apparitions from my past never seem to go away completely and always find a way to creep up at the oddest of times.

The person who comes to mind right now (at 1:33 in the morning) is a woman I once knew briefly. In fact our acquaintance was so brief that by any reasonable standard our “relationship” is really a misnomer.  And since we barely knew each other, lamenting over this experience as if she was the one that got away seems a little ridiculous, yet here I am.  When I met the woman in question I was young and quite fond of myself. She knew this, which is probably why we never even became friends.

It was during the 90’s when I was an idealistic poet. Although I’d still like to think of myself as idealistic, a poet is something I have not been in quite some time. She is still a poet/writer and has earned many accolades. During those times when I wrote much more than I do now I thrived on peoples’ perceptions of me. I loved going on stage every week and spinning twines of verbiage which I spent days prior perfecting hoping to be rewarded with a rousing round of applause once it reached the stage. In hindsight, I see clearly how shallow I must have seemed to some, but I can honestly say that during those moments on the stages of the Brooklyn Moon or the Nuyorican Poet’s Café I really felt as if I was part of something that was larger than life. I felt like I was part of a collective of geniuses. She was among those few whom I deemed as such. I had great respect and admiration for her.

I remember one night after a performance at the Nuyorican I had an opportunity to walk to the train with her and some other folks whose names escape me. We walked for a few blocks making small talk about the night's showcases, the sound system, etc. until we reached a part of the journey that became very awkward. It was as if she pulled out a sword and sliced away all pretenses when she abruptly uttered the words “I hope you don’t think you are coming home with me because you’re not”. Needless to say the proverbial bubble was burst. There was nothing left to do accept deny the notion and make my way home. I suppose it would be stupid for me to “front” as if the thought had not crossed my mind, but in my own defense I have to say that it was no more than a passing idea that would go through any man’s mind when given the opportunity to talk to an attractive and brilliant woman like her. But I must also admit that if it was my mission it was inchoate at best.  Her words uprooted any such ideas before they even had a chance to germinate. Her approach was so direct that it left little room for any other interaction with her outside of a hello and some possible small talk in the days, months and years that followed.

It is not as if this sort of thing hasn’t happened before in my single life which seems eons ago. Neither is it a secret that for every moment of triumph that exists in the life of a young “player” there are equally as many if not more times when he will crash and burn. I suppose these memories are kind of like my own personal black box that has been recovered from my own personal wreckage. What is unique about this situation is that my plane never even left the runway. It actually exploded before I even thought about boarding. Honestly, it’s quite laughable. Part of me wants to blame it on my friend “T”, who was considered a notorious player back then. It’s quite possible (at least my ego tells me) that my guilt by association with him is what really killed my chances with her. But that would be a cop out of course. What is important is that she has gone on to accomplish many of the things that I had always hoped I would in writing. She has written poetry, which I have taught in my classroom.  One poem was so moving; I literally fought back tears in the middle of my lesson. I remember seeing her on the street after some years and mawkishly gushing to her how much her poem affected me. Her response was a blank stare.  I believe that that was her way of telling me to stop trying.  And whether it was her physical home or a place in her well-guarded sensibilities, I was not invited.

I realize now that during the time of our acquaintance when I was merely performing poetry, she was using it for a greater purpose that I am only now beginning to understand. At the very least, it was a way and a means for her to navigate through the often murky landscape of identity and gender in a land where such concepts can be landmines waiting to explode. Somewhere inside of me I believe I understood that then, but it would be some years later that such insight would make its way to the surface; like in my classroom on the third anniversary of 911 a half a breath away from tears.

I suppose this post is an open apology and a thanks to her; an apology for ever giving her the slightest impression that I would undermine her or her mission as a writer; a thanks for bringing me deeper understanding of myself. It is often that the most humbling moments in our lives are the ones that give us the most wisdom. 

Craig Knight Unplugged

Lately I have been struggling with the question: What is my place in this emerging tech-oriented society? One of the things that I try to do with this blog is to address trends which affect us often beneath the surface. Lately, I have been on the sidelines observing this burgeoning technocracy and frankly, I have some concerns. I have considered the possibility that the current boom of social networking sites, new fangled media devices and personal gaming gadgets that are woven in the fabric of our culture are merely here for our convenience and entertainment. I could possibly be just thinking too much as the title of this blog suggests. However, I feel that it is necessary to pull the coattails of the users of this media and offer a different view. I have also considered the fact that I am no more exempt from this analysis anyone else.


I suppose I could blame my suspicion of technology (which often borders on neo-luddism), on my college background as a dual major in communications and English. I am quite aware that the very notion of a criticism of technology using a blog as my canvas could be considered somewhat hypocritical by some, but it doesn’t exclude the fact that cyberspace is where it would reach the largest audience. I am also fully aware that on a mainstream level this analysis could be considered fascinating by some and nauseating for others. It is because these thoughts as they live and breathe in my mind are the result of what happens when George Orwell, Alvin Toffler and Ray Bradbury smoke a bong with Marshall Mcluhan and Thomas Friedman while watching The Matrix. Needless to say, I can’t help myself.


It would be redundant to rehash the behemoth that the internet has become. But the examples of its influence on the masses are either so subtle that they continue to go on undetected or the exodus of its users from the world of human contact has become so overwhelming that many simply don’t want to get left behind no matter what the cost to human relationships. I am not ashamed to say that I have personally experienced the effects of its influence. And to be fair, there are others who feel that when used correctly this mode of communication can only enhance the way we relate to one another in the world. Acknowledging the many opinions abounds on this subject I only have my personal experiences to build upon. Lately they have been quite scary. For example, domestic squabbles as a result of my interactions on sites such as Myspace and Facebook as well as other examples have caused me to take necessary breaks from the cyber world when needed.

The sudden accessibility of old high school crushes, friend requests and public comments which in the past were prevented by filters determined by human fate or God’s will (whichever you believe) have now been accelerated by search engines. Interaction with past acquaintances or even something as personal as one’s inner dialogue (ie: what are you doing now?) can now be made available with a few keystrokes or a simple click of the mouse depending on how much an individual user’s ego would compel them to share. This new technology empowers the individual on a level that has never been possible in human history. What does one do with all of this information? And how reliable is it in the landscape of the human spirit?

According to McLuhan, this type of contact skews relationships with the natural world. In his view, (paraphrased) involvement with the media only allows us the opportunity to experience fragmented versions of the world around us. The deeper we immerse ourselves in any medium the more we are presented with facsimiles of our individual selves. A practical application of this theory can be seen daily in my classroom. One example that I see often is the adolescent male who is so immersed in the life and character of his favorite rap star that he feels compelled to spew out his lyrics in public places with the aid of his I-pod despite the effects that such outbursts have on the people in his general proximity. A more profound example of this same phenomenon is when this behavior also occurs without the aid of any device at all, which suggests that once the individual feels comfortable enough to do his Jay-Z impersonation without hearing the scrutiny of the outside world he can then give himself consent to cease to care when the headphones come off. Therefore the behavior that is learned with the aid of said device takes on a somewhat warped life of its own. I will of course acknowledge that this theory might just come from watching too many science fiction movies, but it’s still something to ponder. Another more palatable example however is from a recent holiday party where in every corner of the room attendees at this gathering could be seen gazing at laptop screens or other media devices checking Face book and viewing videos on You Tube instead of actually interacting with each other. Again, I could be thinking way too much or social contact as we know is in a drastic state of flux.

Given the amount of power that the media provides to the individual, in my opinion it is necessary that certain moral and social checks and balances be put in place. However, such regulations can only be enforced by the individual since the internet is a free system that flourishes in the public domain. Here in lies the dilemma. The person who tells us when we have been spending too much time in cyberspace is the same person who should tell us when we have been watching too much TV, eating too much ice cream, or when we have had too much to drink. When we are young this person is of course our parents. When we grow older they are replaced by little voices in our heads that I am not sure aren’t being jammed by netware. In essence, the internet is becoming an extension of our collective conscience. It would behoove us ask ourselves when social networking, gossip, chat rooms and other sites become more than just guilty pleasures. There is one place where we can begin: When we find ourselves spending more time on Facebook or any other site then actually talking to face to face with our loved ones, it is time to unplug.

Patience: Bold as Love

In my self absorbed state; when the challenges that I find significant seem to be all that matter, I find myself astounded by the level of perseverance that I have achieved in order to do my job. I am an educator; a beacon of light to some and a mere distraction to others (depending on the day). I face many challenges in my week but in my most patient state when I’m not so egoistic; epiphanies often find their way to the surface. At this very moment of clarity I realize that the youth of today are challenged with issues that would rival Job’s. The earthquakes that plague their lives come with aftershocks that would rattle the foundation of the average individual. Often I am told by friends and associates that my profession is admirable and that they themselves could never amass the level of patience that is needed do what I do. I tend to agree. I have also been told by many who know me that this profession is perfect for me because I have always possessed (allegedly) the required patience needed to fill the task of being a teacher. I guess that makes me a virtuous man (he writes with a slight smirk on his face), because after all patience is a virtue.

With this in mind, I decided to do a little research. What is it about patience that makes it so (pardon the expression) damned virtuous. I decided first to look up the word virtue. This is what I found

1. moral excellence; goodness; righteousness
2. conformity of one's life and conduct to moral and ethical principles; uprightness; rectitude.
3. a particular moral excellence. Compare cardinal virtues, natural virtue, theological virtue.

Needless to say, reading these definitions made me feel a little uncomfortable. Although I’d like to think that I aspire to be virtuous most of the time, I don’t think that on most days my patience comes from such aspirations. In fact, in many cases the patience that I exhibit comes from apathy as a means of self preservation. I would even venture to say that many of us in our work lives possess similar safety mechanisms to keep from going utterly insane.

Therefore, the question that still remains is how do we reach the virtuous part of our patience? Does it even exist? I received the answer to this question recently while I was sitting home noodling on my guitar. I decided after 10 years of procrastination and fear to try my hand at learning two of my favorite Jimi Hendrix tunes; Axis: Bold as Love and Little Wing. Anyone who is a guitar player and appreciates this man’s music would probably say that the very thought of learning it can be quite overwhelming. I can’t really say what it was that motivated me to venture on this path of hammer ons, B minor 9ths and embellishments. They always intimidated me in the past. The only thing that I can say is that from somewhere inside of me the patience appeared. It came without judgment or regret. I just took a deep breath and allowed my self to learn each song as if I had all the time in the world. In essence, it came from love I possessed for his music and for me.

I came in to work today with an extra pep in my step. When my students and colleagues asked me how my weekend was, I smiled and told them it was time well spent. And occasionally when I came across a student who decided that he wanted to disrupt my class by talking out of turn, coming in late, or asking to go the bathroom in the middle of my lesson, my patience was transformed from an act of survival to an act of love. I think in those moments I discovered patience as a bonafide virtue.

True Players For Real

When asked about his thoughts after the Arizona Cardinals claimed the lead in the fourth quarter of Super Bowl XLIII, Steelers head coach Mike Tomlin said: “I figured that if they were going to score then that was the best time for them to do it.” Tomlin was of course referring to the time that was allotted to his team to rally and come back to win what turned out to be a pretty impressive display. The humorous thing here is that I didn’t even plan on watching it. I figured maybe I’d watch a little of the second half which by that time would probably be a one sided blow out. Much to my delight, I was wrong. I was instead able to extract yet another interesting tidbit of wisdom from one of those lucky individuals who have been blessed with the insight that comes with love of the game. I began to think to myself; Is it possible that all of the people out there who have dubbed themselves “true players for real” (with Puffy’s approval) were right? Let me explain.

In many of my conversations with sports enthusiasts and non-enthusiasts alike I have tried to explain one thing: What makes moments like Santonio Holme’s game winning catch so amazing is that such feats are unique, unscripted and will never happen again in quite the same fashion. Some would argue that men are drawn to these moments of intestinal fortitude because we are obsessed with immortality. I can’t help but think how enraptured I would be as an elderly man if I was given the opportunity to reflect upon such instance in my life.

What Tomlin’s post-game remarks made clear was that true players in the game of life spend their whole lives thinking and preparing for history. When the Cardinals scored, instead of panicking he viewed it as an opportunity to do something amazing whereas most would view it is as a crisis. Santonio Holmes probably daydreamed all through out his youth about that amazing grab that he made with 35 seconds left. It is astonishing to think about the number of individuals among us who have this same game winning mentality even when the accolades are not always as numerous; the single mother who must figure how to juggle multiple responsibilities driven by the single goal of making it to the next day; the struggling student who has multiple assignments due at the end of the semester; the president who has inherited the seemingly impossible task of leading a country out the worst financial crisis since the great depression.

All of the people mentioned here would not choose any other fate then the one which they are experiencing at this very moment in time because if they are fortunate enough to reflect back on such times they would realize that they were given the opportunity to be the best that they could be. The accolades are just icing on the cake.