Link to "The Power of Silence"

http://www.amazon.com/Power-Silence-Carlos-Castaneda/dp/067173248X

"In this new work, Don Juanabsent from Castaneda's preceding three worksonce again appears prominently. To convey the advanced spirituality of the Yaqui shaman, Castaneda relates stories told by Don Juan and his own experiences with the don. Such mysterious concepts as "stalking" and "intent," the "knocking" and trickery of the spirit, are all discussed. The vivid depictions of Don Juan's powers and personality will reawaken readers' fascination with earlier volumes, and since only one of three sets of six stories supposedly related by Don Juan appears here, doubtless more books are to come."

Book Recomendation

Carlos Castaneda's "The Power of Silence" is slightly farfetched when compared to most people's view of the world, but given the context of 337, it makes a lot of sense. It is the maybe factual account of a skeptic apprenticing under a Mexican shaman/magician/wise-man. It explains an elaborate construction of existance. Its general principles remind me a lot of Bruno, as it advocates a universal connecting force, and allows the (washed) individual to become devine.

Response to John. On schizophrenics

John Kushman-
"Schizophrenics and Memory palaces

Schizophrenics are someone considerred to have a mental disorder which distorts they way in which they percieve. Oddly enough we could all be considered schizo's to the average person with our memory palaces; figments of our imagination's that have the possibility to store unlimited amounts of information. Right now My own has a punch of somber students with their heads down in frustration with our penicls frozen inches above the desk while a drunk professor stumbles about with a mug in his hands and green gills etched behind his ears while A certain students has a crooked mischevious smile acrossed his face with glazed eyes and a crooked hat pointing down acroos his left cheek. A giant Calendar flaps in my mind between March 17 and Febraury 20. If this is what my mind has placed in the palace right now, tell me what will happen when i begin placing theory's in them and letting them form into others. What will happen. From another perspective what happens when i begen writing novels and store chapters inside and let them go crazy, who's to say they won't loose control and form into odd things i have no explanation for? Right now I/we all have the beginning of a very real and yet not real world forming inside our memory. Keep this in mind."

This reminded me of a test I took. One of my english teachers in high school administered his final at a coffee shop near campus rather than in the classroom. He did this so he could test students with an oral discussion of the semester's content, rather than an essay or objective test. The teacher's main point of the class was the debate over the existance of an objective moral truth. I was prepared to argue for such a universal truth, but as I walked into the shop and sat down, I noticed a woman sitting by herself at another table. She was having a heated argument with someone across from her, that only she could see. It was then that I realized truth is subjective. Her reality, or perception of reality, was very different from mine. This, however, did not make her wrong. My perception was simply identical to most other people's -maybe, who's to say?

Names, or: everyone's topic

Today's presentations included several on the topic of names, and after reading Tai's most recent post, I made a connection. He mentioned that 337 was one of the few classes where he knew everyone's names. This is true for me as well, and it may be the reason I enjoy the class so much. The use of names allows the reader to identify with the speaker on a more intimate level. Rather than just anyone speaking in class, it's Chris the Scribbler telling a funny story. Now I know something about his Dad also. Too much can be achieved from learning someone's name. I've always been bad with names, hopefully that will change.

Start of epathet poem

Lessons were taught by Shaman old
Who had green blood, we were told.
Words of Joyce recited he
Quoting often “mememorme”
And he told of Walter Ong
Who spoke of nature’s wisdom song.
And too of Kane he spoke, you see
Of his resenting technology.
This I’m sure, it’s written down
Or was it the other way around?
No mistakes in oral performance
If poets do not stop talking
Striped Hat sang beautifully
You’re all glad it wasn’t me.
Keen Ben gave us Franklin quotes
And Lego cabin anecdotes.
Crazy Carly had curly hair,
But no snakes did it bare.
It was Cayla’s head snakes did crown,
Has she ever washed down?
Zah Zin Zach watched two or three
Of Morris’s episodes on TV.
Checkmark’s scalp with pain was met,
At least he has an epithet.

Chinese

Last semester I lived in the dorms and my nextdoor neighbor was Chinese. Taking this class has given me a new perspective when listening to him talk on the phone. I don’t understand a word he says, but I always know whether he is speaking to his mom, dad, or a friend. Listening to words that to me mean nothing emphasizes tonality and pace. The Chinese language further underscores these through its ability to flow in a way English cannot. When he speaks to his mother, he assumes a respectful tone, and although he can get carried away, his pace is much slower and his tone less excited. When speaking to his friends, the words he uses are much shorter, suggesting they are slang –or at least less formal diction. Conversations with his father lay somewhere in between formality and unchecked conversation. It is interesting that I never recognized his phone conversations as such striking examples of language’s devices, but before 337 I was unwashed.

Pollock as the Anti-Writing

The emphasis on most writing is its content. The sounds of words and their appearance on the page exists to represent or describe an action, thing, or idea. Authors occasionally experiment with literature’s form, as Shaman Sexson has described James Joyce as doing. However, words are limiting in this endeavor, and the result of such experiments as Finnigans Wake is a book that few people actually read.
The opposite of this, therefore, is Jackson Pollock. His art was not meant to depict content, such as a person or a place; it was meant to simply exist as a byproduct of an action. Pollock’s pieces chronicle his act of painting, and their chaos suggests it was an interesting sight. He would dance and move while violently flinging paint at the canvas. If his dances had any linearity or meaning, it was lost on him. To anyone viewing his work, they can only admire the principle of his attempt to eliminate content and represent pure action. Again, this attempts to reconcile the shortcomings of writing as a method of documentation.