Can you imagine a Get IT
pedagogy? Like a JOKE. If
I have to spell it out, make it
perfectly clear, cross t’s and
dot i’s force the issue, who
can get it? Get it?
Getting IT is what counts.
the –ing: yes, Yes, YES.
out of his tub & runs down
the street butt nekkid yelling
I Got It, I Got It,
(In Greek.)
How I ponder (weak & weary)
Einstein’s insistence that the
kind-of-thinking I think that
got me into this tangle can’t
be the kind-of-thinking that
gets me out because it’s the
kind-of-thinking I’m using/
abusing to think-out that I’m
thinking-in.
And
twists the same thorn in my
side
Our universities... continue to teach and
operate in the system that is destroying the
biosphere. Adherence to the old mind-set,
the old curricula, obsolete pedagogy, and
shortsighted planning are producing
graduates who are trained to
perpetuate the destruction
of the biosphere
These kinds of words make for good grant
funding and graduation speech, I bet, but
don’t give a clue as to HOW? How to get
out of the pickle I’m in when the pickle
I’m in is home-sweet-home and
every body is doing it this
old way.
To My American Literati:
Aren't we all Just Good Country People?
reminded how much of a “reductionist”
he is—and probably how much he
anthropomorphizes, how species-bound.
Right there: it’s as if Flannery's bible
salesman ripped of his smarty-pants leg,
snatched off his glasses and left him in the
hayloft without a leg to stand on almost
as blind as a bat out of hello!.
A moment of grace!
Oh happy day.
I realized this morning sitting in the silence
(I like to call it “chaos”—a gaping chasm
& gap, a yawn waiting for the WORD
which actually
inaugurated, initiated thus providing the
origins of the universe of our converse-
action this morning. )
As I was saying, before I interrupted myself,
digressed, transgressed: I realized this morning
my own narcissistic solipsism (you know:
Narcissus is stuck on his own pond-image but
he doesn’t KNOW it’s his image that has him
in thrall. He thinks it’s Other and Else. It’s like
being an anthropomorphist & reductionist and
not even KNOWING IT— thinking one is
dealing with Else and Other with compassion
and empathy and justice but really just inside
the bubble of Me Me-ing.)
So Anyway, as I was saying: sitting in silence I
began to REALIZE: no possible way could I
know what’s-happening-in-this- room at that
point (seeing as the usual culture filters weren’t
taking up the air-space) nor could I guess what
would break the chaos—or where IT would go?
SCIENCE: where are you when I need you most?
O I could guess—
project my own agenda,
explanation, interpretations,
predictions based on the the handout
and the past— all those wonderful
comments and of course my responses
(Improvised Explosive Devices I call them:
always hoping for some provocation that
might set off some profundity or at least
entertainment).
But no.
Never.
IT never corresponds: the words on the
page, the words in air. The texts and the
context. It’s always a mystery & surprise
& never predictable unless, of course, I
force the issue.:
And so I am reminded how sealed-in I am.
I’m watching images on the cave wall.
I’m gazing at my self in the water
and thinking it’s YOU GUYS.
I’m reducing the whole
to my word view
and thinking it’s
the world.
I’m SAMIZING. What a stroke of good
fortune: to realize the condition my condition
is in. How disillusioning: my dis-embarassed
mental studies & readership programs. Behind
bars, sure: but KNOWING I'm behind bars!
A wretch like me.
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