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Welcome to The Adventures of Horatio
A blog on culture, media and freedom.
Posted on Tuesday, August 05
Dear Diary : 33 years and counting
Posted by horatio on Saturday, February 06, 2010 (21:21:16) (1 reads)
~33 for Bashō~
33 years and counting
life continues to be a whirlwind with no landing site
but i find myself less worried about that
and more engaged with the spinning whirl
of the here and now
and learning how to enjoy tasting the moment
for the moment, rather than as a mere appetizer
for the eternal moment of future becoming
being embodied in one's body
and comfortable in one's skin
seemingly mundane things
yet amazingly not at all
i'm a nerd underneath, she said
or was it inside, i can't remember
either way we embraced our inner glow
our radiating circuits, as she put it
even without having to speak in code
C++ = PhP / MySql
{if/then} becomes probability
instead of functionality
utility yields to aesthetics
aesthetics melts before beauty
beauty mirrors nature
in watery reflecting pools
and slowly unfolding maidenhair ferns
entangled with cinnamon wooly bears
and the smell of cedar and pine needles
what is this feeling of being
this eternal return to a desire to understand
something hidden yet completely revealed
visible yet invisible, transparently opaque
glimmering like a stained-glass mirage
before the all seeing minds-eye
familiarity and cognitive dissonance
a house of nacre mirrors and cobalt prisms
perfectly faceted and stitched together
into polygonal wings of a flying serpent
that speaks only in haiku
古池や 蛙飛込む 水の音
cgc | 2.6.10
comments? |   | Dear Diary | Score: 0
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Dear Diary : phantasmagoriaporiasma
Posted by horatio on Monday, February 01, 2010 (03:24:45) (3 reads)
floating somewhere between a lost past and an unknown future
the little child rocks back and forth
cradling a small crystal terrapin between his legs
running his fingers over the carapace crevices
tracing a destiny unfurling
like a virgin frond of the maidenhair
black and green, mirroring his heart
overhead a dragon glides by
lost in the aerial heights and thinning oxygen
snorting flames and dissolving clouds of myst
hermes trismegistus with leathery skin
and cinnamon slit eyes glowing and pulsing
tigers eye, carnelian, hematite, lapis, emerald, amber
tears of dragonsblood resin drip off
crystal mana sap from heaven
floating on the windscent of pine and conifer
is this the life i dreamt when i awoke in the limestone cave
or when i burrowed under the ancient sycamore grove
or in my nest of rhododendron tentacles and lycanthropic lichens
gleaming, panting, howling
feral dreaming in stereoscopic vision
of transgenetic bunnies glowing green from bioluminescent bacteria
and foxfire brunches after the chickweed buffet ran out
when the turtle stepped out of his shell he died
but for a moment he had exquisite dreams of freedom
stretching out clawed appendages to the heavens
to trace the crest of the moon overhead
as the fox sang a song of mushroom dreams and rotten logs
sweeter than the first pregnant violet full of spring dew drops
but it tastes salty and bitter, said the turtle
that is because you are dying, replied the fox
as he pulled the trillium shroud closer
sweetness cannot exist in this world, whispered the fox
without the bitterness and the chaos
i don't understand, choked the turtle, his eyes blurring
charcoal streaks across his beak
your song is so beautiful it kills me
it is not my song, replied the fox
the song is rather your heart
blown from the throat of the spring peepers
and rippling across the cat tails and water lilies
come to set your inner desires free
give of yourself freely, or give nothing at all
but the little turtle didn't understand
he had spent his whole life living in a shell
closed off from the world, safe, hidden
layer upon layer, sharp claws and quick eyes
always moving slowly in calculated steps
he had never heard his own heart beat
between calcium ribs and crystal plates
and yet he thought he was happy
until that day he stepped out of his shell
and traced moonbeams and danced with wolves
ah the ecstasy of it all
wordless, worldless
and the dirt smelled of liberation and hope
as miniature claws carved tortoisian heiroglyphics
across the canvas of the forest floor
and when it was all over
the fox pulled the shroud closer
and the turtles eyes
one red, one yellow
shone brighter than a million suns
as the fox smudged the shell one last time
and asked the raven and the hawk
the dragon and the wolf to look out for
the little traveler
knowing that he was called home
and the little boy rocked, all alone
a crystal terrapin in his lap
his head filled with the smell of sage
and the sound of drums...
echoes
black
echoes
green
echoes
gone
cgc | 1.31.10
comments? | | Dear Diary | Score: 0
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Dear Diary : catching up
Posted by horatio on Friday, January 29, 2010 (23:00:58) (2 reads)
Life really does have a way of slipping ahead of you when you're not watching, and sometimes even when you are, and then reaching back to bite you in the rear. Maybe that's not the best analogy, but that's the gist of how life has felt lately. Always a step behind, trying to stay a step ahead, hoping that when it all evens out and adds up, you'll at least me swimming above water. Who knows, some days it works, others, not so much. It seems like lately it has been more of the not so much, and less of the mostly.
I've been healthy most of my life. I was one of those kids that prided themselves on having a perfect, or damn near perfect, attendance record at school. Not really sure why in hindsight, but at the time it seemed like it was important. Somehow I managed to maintain that throughout most of my life, and really didn't ever have an even somewhat serious illness until early in college, and even that was fairly minor. But since this past summer, it seems I hopped on the roller coaster of autoimmune death at some twisted carnival corpus.
I won't bother with all the nasty details, except to say that it began with a wicked case of shingles (basically adult chicken pocks) that taught me a new lesson in the meaning of pain, and which passed through various stages including plaque dermatitis, infection, inflammation, and hopefully now ending with reactive arthritis--a painful and particularly annoying problem that basically threw off the entire left hemisphere of my body since early December. Needless to say, my autoimmune system has been nearly non-existent, and I've probably spent more time in bed the last month and a half that I have in the last 5 years. Not fun...not that I don't like lounging in bed, but laying in bed and finding every movement painful is not my idea of a good time. And it makes for an even worse vacation.
But one of the upsides of this all is the feeling that I have taken too many things for granted, in this last case my health generally--and mobility specifically, and the value in enjoying them mixed with the danger in taking them for granted. Overall, a powerful reminder to reflect on our own mortality and fragility as a species, but perhaps more importantly, a good chance to think about how to do things differently.
One of my resolutions out of all this is to do more writing, blogging, journaling, etc. and get back into the habit of using my brain and my idea and my...pen?...keyboard...more productively. So with that in mind, look forward to more regular writings here in the months to come.
yeah!
comments? | | Dear Diary | Score: 0
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Our Official Blog : Growing Pains
Posted by horatio on Sunday, December 06, 2009 (07:22:31) (32 reads)
Life has a way of sneaking up on you, or so I feel lately. Blink and it seems like yesterday was a lifetime ago, and things that made sense last week seem oddly unfamiliar tomorrow. The well of ink on my lifedesk is miserably empty, leaving me to try and scrape out slivers of inspiration with a sharp blade. If you're not careful, the knife slips and, before you know it, the blood starts to replace the ink in the storytelling that is life. My journals are all empty or old and full of memories, some of which are best left in perpetual storage. Like the pictures in the shoebox, they tell a thousand and one tales of daring, adventure, love and loss.
2009 was a great year, and an awful year, punctuated in the middle like a carnival balloon animal mid contortion, ephemeral, destined to fly away and leave only a crying child holding the empty strings and happy memories. But the balloon never comes back, even if you write your name on its heart. And like the circus, life picks up and moves on to another place, another time, another world.
And while I've been crowing and hurting, i've also been learning. Right now my head feels like an over-ripe watermelon, verging on internal rupture. But I can't say it is a completely bad thing. I love learning, and this has been a particularly rewarding fall as far as new learning, new ideas and academic growth is concerned. Exciting horizons lay in front of me, if I can only ride off into them before the sun sets. Some days it seems so close, other days more like a mirage, always receding as I reach out to grasp hold of it. But I've always been a scrapper, so I just keep brushing off the dust and pulling my boots on tighter.
Where is all of this leading; I haven't a clue? I wish I did. All I can do is wait and see.
comments? | | Our Official Blog | Score: 0
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Dear Diary : clutter
Posted by horatio on Sunday, November 22, 2009 (17:53:24) (39 reads)
Clutter in my mental gutter
the backpressure finally builds up
and comes crashing over the vinyl walls
meant to keep everything in working order
but this diluge is too much for restraint
too many summers and too many falls
of leaves and decayed mental matter
has gathered in mt house of usher
and now the maddness is growing
louder than any crow of Poe
or rattling bars of yellow wallpaper cages
Somewhere a man is praying
and Leviathan is laughing
laughing at the absurdness of the world
the depth of the oceans darkness
and the shimmer of decadent moonlight
refracting like diamonds on its oil slicked surface
I discovered recently that the fuzzy floor
which I had for so long now been rubbing my toes on
was actually an accumulation of dirty socks and hairballs
pretending to be a rug for the sack of discordant playfulness
but i can't really feel too upset about it
as I suspect I would have done the same in their place
although I am sure I would have eaten at least a few
of the books left on the floor like snacks for floor snakes
sliding amongst the dark cracks and folded paper gaps
But now that the shine of the waxed wood floor
has been restored in all of its glory
i see the dark shadows creeping back and forth
across the floor of my moonlight room
and i wonder if they were always there
hiding between the books and dirty socks
plotting a silent coup against academic pretensions
and theoretical investigations into the essence of sense
or the sense of the se or the e of y-e-s like si
comments? | | Dear Diary | Score: 0
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Our Official Blog : Political Dissent, Speech Acts and the New School Milieu
Posted by horatio on Monday, October 05, 2009 (01:18:28) (112 reads)
An Open Letter to the New School
10.2.09
As many people at the New School are likely now aware, student protests at a Milano public forum on Homeland Security, where Tom Ridge was the featured guest, have sparked considerable controversy around issues of freedom of speech and political protest. This is a controversy deeply entwined with not only the history and legacy of the New School, but also with the current campus climate and administration of the school. Some of the questions that have emerged so far include:
~ Were students justified in protesting the appearance of Tom Ridge at the New School?
~ Were the specific tactics used to disrupt the Tom Ridge event appropriate?
~ What standards does the community use to judge what is "appropriate" or "inappropriate" actions?
~ Are all forms of protest equally legitimate and protected?
~ What is the relationship between the protection of free speech on campus and the creation of a safe space for academic discussion and debate?
~ Should the university only invite individuals to speak whose values or politics we agree with?
~ What exactly are the core values and the mission of the New School today, and how do they relate to our historical legacy as an institution?
~ Does the university community have an affirmative obligation to condemn actions which pose a potential threat to free speech at the New School?
~ Can issues of political dissent be separated from the political critique being offered by those acts?
These are all very important questions which the university is now grappling with, but which I believe we as a community are not adequately discussing. With that being said, I believe the academic community at the New School has an obligation to engage with these issues in a constructive and timely manner—one which does justice to our political views and positions as individual members—as well as our philosophical obligation as the embodiment or living spirit that defines the New School. We must demonstrate the value of theory and practice in a unified manner in and out of the classroom.
In an attempt to do just that, I offer the following reflections to the New School community. First, by addressing the underlying political issues as I understand them and as I see them relating to the specific issue of Tom Ridge speaking at the New School. Second, by framing the issues of political dissent and free speech in both a very grounded New School context, as well as a larger philosophical context. And finally, by trying to suggest the interconnections between the first and seconds parts, and their immediate ramifications for our school.
Continued in Read More link below...
Read More... (30.19 KB) | comments? | | Our Official Blog | Score: 5
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Dear Diary : reflecting on frustrations
Posted by horatio on Wednesday, September 30, 2009 (15:11:11) (72 reads)
It's just been one of those weeks, or at least that's how it feels right now. Talk about ups and downs. I feel like a rag doll in the teeth of some wild little dog trying to rip out all of the stuffing from the ears.
I had a dream about a huge monster bird thing haunting me, walked in the rain, got soaked and thoroughly enjoyed it, got reprimanded by some friends for speaking my mind, am about fed up with campus politics and Tom f-ing Ridge, and if I have to read another pamphlet about destroying time and the university bullshit I am going to puke. I feel like I am trying to be a bridge between impossible contradictions and I'm falling down.
Some days, I wonder why I even care at all. It would be a hell of a lot easier to just forget it all, throw my convictions on the shelf along with all my politics, and just dissolve into Modern Combat III, Cartoon Network, Quiznos subs and washing dishes or selling junk for $6 an hour. But I can't stop caring. I don't have room on my bookshelf for all of my politics, and I got tired of tv a long time ago. But right now I'm tired of people too. Tired of all the assanine bs, the ignorance and the shallowness. The social conservativism of my peers, who actually have nothing to conserve but a rotten status quo that even they don't fully understand and believe in, but since they can't see anything else, all they can do is cling tighter and tighter.
Is this really living, or just the warm up for total and complete alienated death of our being and an authentic life? Right now, I really can't tell...
comments? | | Dear Diary | Score: 0
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Dear Diary : Reflections on Life
Posted by horatio on Wednesday, August 05, 2009 (17:57:05) (78 reads)
Life sure feels strange sometimes, or at least it does for me, and especially as of late.
Did you ever have the feeling that you were the captain of a vast yet desolate ship, sails at full mast, the sounds of the wind and sea raging all around you, as you plunged headlong into the darkness and fog just beyond your sight?
Or what about walking the narrow edge of a steep mountain precipice, every step a risk, as you half fearfully and half excitedly peer over the careening edge just over your shoulder and wonder how long you would fall for if you were to slip just a bit?
Or perhaps the feeling is so much bore mundane or banal--as Arendt might call it--and that very mendacity is as maddening, if not more, than anything one's mind might conjure in the last fits and throws of, say, the last quaff from a frothy glass of hemlock.
Sometimes life requires a re-evaluation. Sometimes we require a different life than the one we are leading. And sometimes life just crashes and melts like that computer hard drive you loved so much because it had all of your memories saved on it. And no matter how many times you hit reset, no matter how many disk scans you try running, no emergency boot disk will restore the damage. And so we yell and scream, and sometimes we even cry. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn't. Either way it doesn't really matter, as we still get to the same place at the end of the day.
I guess in a lot of ways, it's like the old parable about traveling the mountain, and every path leading to the top. It's not the destination itself that ultimately matters, but the paths we have to walk to reach it that will ultimately define who and what we are. And in those adventures, the best story is the one we have yet to write for ourselves. So like the intrepid explorers, we too must continue to survey the landscape of our selves and probe the distant mountains of our psyche as we explore the world. And perhaps, like the capitan, we too may meet a Dersu Uzulu along the way, or have the chance for a wild tiger to cross our paths in unexplored territory.
Why is it then that the first steps on a new journey are sometimes the hardest to take?
comments? | | Dear Diary | Score: 0
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Supreme Courts and Objectivity
Posted by horatio on Sunday, June 07, 2009 (02:18:18) (90 reads)
On the Sotomeyer question... reflections to follow.
Q: Initial thought: When has there ever been an "objective" Supreme Court Justice that was not influenced by "his or her social, political or religious views"? and since when has the court ever had a "judge that objectively applies the law to the facts?"
A: to follow...
comments? | | Score: 0
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Our Official Blog : Consumer (Red)
Posted by horatio on Monday, May 18, 2009 (18:57:58) (101 reads)
Here is a poster cover I have been working on for the latest issue of Canon magazine. Just a design inspired by a friend's work on the Red campaign...
comments? | | Our Official Blog | Score: 0
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