Pulling current Rheostat rolling back slowly to Let more power through Shine more light as the filament Grew more heated More strident More incandescent The gassy tube more charged and pulsing Scattering widely what it took in
Pretty neat, this one. Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com
Things wear out as they are used They rot in place as they are not And there is no preservation in the end Nothing to keep things as they have been Despite the desires and protests of many
The globe on the fixture has been swapped out And it may be that the bulb does not Cast so much as once it did When the switch is toggled But it still alleviates the gloom From time to time
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At the end of the week just past, I had the opportunity once again to take part in the International Congress on Medieval Studies at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan. As was the case last year, but not in the years about which I have written in this webspace (2018, 2019, and 2020), my participation was virtual; as was not the case last year, but was in previous years, the Congress did have on-site meetings, meaning this year’s exercise was a hybrid event. I continued my work with the Tales after Tolkien Society, about which here, and I do still have a few things to do for it in the coming few days, an attenuation of an academic career attempted in earnest but which was never truly begun.
Yep, this one again. Image is still mine.
Perhaps it is maudlin; perhaps it is elegaic. I would like to flatter myself that it is the latter.
In any event, it was good to have the reconnection with old friends and to hear new ideas. It was good to have a few of those new ideas, as well, and to push them out into the world, even if only in a small way. (The text of the paper I gave will go online soon; there’re a few things I need to adjust, infelicities noted in passing during the presentation.) It was good to be able to look ahead to some kind of a scholarly future, despite my utter lack of institutional affiliation and the correctness of my decision to get out of the profession of teaching. And, given some of the other context and contacts, there is some hope that others will take up where I have been obliged to leave off, save for the occasional bit of puttering that remains entertained by those scholars I am privileged to know, who yet persist and find reward in the work to which I had hoped to devote myself.
I am not apostate from that priesthood, but I had to leave the ivory tower, never advancing much beyond its basement, if at all.
I was reminded of it this weekend. I do not know if it was not a good thing.
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It’s often becried By those who’ve espied If you’ve done nothing wrong You have nothing to hide We know it’s not true Some things I don’t rue But don’t want others watching Me carry them through
How often they try To catch folks in a lie; If you’ve done nothing wrong What have you to deny? We know it’s not true We all know someone who Had their words twisted ’round And it might’ve been you.
Across many years We’ve oft had to hear If you’ve done nothing wrong You have nothing to fear We know it’s not true Whatever you do Something ugly can always Happen to you
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I had had the thought that, in discussing what I mean to discuss today, I would borrow from the Gettysburg Address and make some declamation beginning with “Eight square and no more years ago,” because it has been so long and because the word-play suggested itself to me for a moment. I know many would get the joke; I know, too, that I do not have the skills and insight to carry that joke through the way it really ought to be done, and I suspect that the joke would not go over so well as I would like. A great many of my jokes go that way, after all, as most know who speak to me for more than a few moments. Consequently, I shall content myself with but a short comment, knowing that the day needs but little from me said about it.
The birthday girl herself… Family photo
Happy birthday, Mom!
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How many Look at things through Manichean lenses Polarizing into Chiaroscuro starkness And think they have the whole picture
Red and yellow and pink and green… Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com
I try to look Not only at the shades of grey But across a broader spectrum Where others see only black and white And think themselves well bleached
I know I am deeply stained Both with ink and otherwise Unlike the Scottish lady at play That I cannot get those spots out And even so There are hues I miss
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Today marks the victory of Mexico over France at Puebla, and, in the part of the world where I grew up and where I live again, it is spent as a celebration of Mexican culture. (Admittedly, where I am used to be Mexico, but it wasn’t still Mexico at the time Puebla happened. Oh, no, there was another war going on, and this part of the world was on the wrong side of it.) Given how much of the rest of the year a lot of people here spend decrying that culture, the observance strikes me as odd to disingenuous to hypocritical to appropriative and reductionist, at least as many make the observance. But then, that’s hardly unique to this day, as I think I might’ve mentioned a fewtimesbefore.
It’s admittedly not a holiday meal for me, but just a regular dinner. Photo by Chitokan C. on Pexels.com
For me, the day is something that attracts attention; again, I live where I live, and, for better or worse, I identify as a resident of that part of the world, so the common observances are part of the identificatory markers. And I confess to some hypocrisy of my own; I do love me some tacos, and they do tend to be on special on Cinco de Mayo. It’s far removed from the origination of the observance, and it doesn’t do me any credit, thought it does contribute to my waistline being what it is.
There is this, too: My wife and child are both Hispanic, specifically of Mexican descent. My wife’s grandmother, though born in the US, grew up south of the Rio Grande; her parents hailed from there, if memory serves, or her grandparents did. So they, at least, have the more direct tie, and I am happy to celebrate their heritage with them, even if I do not share it myself. It is part of who they are, even if it is not the part they necessarily foreground; I am rather quite fond of the both of them, so why should I not laud what contributes to making them who they are, so long as it does not hurt them?
But then, given how things are in this part of the world and many others, perhaps they would come to harm from the acknowledgement of their ancestry. Enough people do so where I can see it, and I look in few places and with poor eyesight; there is surely far more of it of which I am unaware.
Funny how that kind of thing can work out.
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Plant in the season Fertilize the fields Reap when the time comes But the rains will fail sometimes And some seeds Despite the best tending Never sprout Or Germinating Become plants that never bear fruit
Perhaps hope once sprang here. Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com
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They say to Set your course by your own North Star Pick out Polaris and plot out a path But they do not realize that Over the years Even that star drifts across the sky
None of them stand still forever… Photo by Free Nature Stock on Pexels.com
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O, Stupid God, again I make my plea
That you will turn your gaze away from me;
Let your eyes look elsewhere; leave me be.
O, Stupid God, please do not bless my friends
Save it is with your absence or your end;
Others ask for you to them defend.
O, Stupid God, my labors please ignore
And all the deeds I do, I you implore;
Those that I do, I know, would but you bore.
O, Stupid God, my family please preserve
And from your course against them sudden swerve;
Let them your absence have that they deserve.
Let all the hymns sung to your praise be ceased
And all who suffer at your hands be eased.
Picture not related. I just think it’s pretty. Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com
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What’s the point of all of this
Really
Sitting in these stifling rooms
Day after day
Learning things our older brothers and sisters learned
Our cousins and their friends
About how the world works
The way things are supposed to be
When it’s clear that
The world doesn’t work that way anymore
If it ever did
Skills that might’ve served once
But’ve been replaced by machines and software
AI putting out paintings and poems
Progressive generation of music
Notes that never could’ve been heard before
All the things they said would make us better people
Given over to machines
While it’s clear we’re being trained as cogs ourselves
Wheels meant to turn and go nowhere
But just feed things through so
Someone else can have them
And be swapped out when we can do no more
Never so clean in real life… Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Is this really all there is to it all
Making those of us who still might’ve had futures
Something to enjoy
Into the shapes filled by those a few classes ahead
Bullets in chambers to be fired at enemies whose only crimes are
Different colored skin
Different modes of dress
Different prayers lifted up
Or none
Or sitting on something someone else wants
But doesn’t want to pay for
Themselves
Unless they spend the melted and remade metals
They think we ought to be
Coins cast at some problem or another
‘cause cash is king and they want to show off their crowns
Do they really only want us to fill their bodybags
Graves they make us dig ‘cause they won’t lift a shovel
There’s someone else to do that for them
Of course
Or their pockets with the work they want done
Don’t want to pay to have done
Any more than they can help
‘cause they don’t think they have enough
Even when they have more than they could ever spend
More dollars than days of their lives and ours
?
It seems that way
Learning the lessons they leave for us to take
Making us machines they can program as they please
So we don’t question
Or if we question
Keep it to ourselves
‘cause the pasts they push forward
Seem short on complaint and long on compliance
I was just following orders
Doing what the boss said I ought to do
A commoner refrain
‘cause if we say anything
We are weak and entitled
Even if we are the ones they want to carry them forward
And their bags of money
Swelling with what has been stolen
And none of us want to look weak in front of the rest
‘cause we know one of the things we’ve been taught to do
Sharks in the sea and wolves in the woods
Is to find the ones in the herd that struggle
And take them out
And it ain’t like most of us keep ourselves from doing it
Rather than letting it be done to us
Of course
You can’t say anything about this
Have to hold the line they give you
So you don’t find yourself out of work
The work you thought you wanted to do
Before you found out what you would have to do
How it keeps changing
Demanding more of you
Offering no more
You’ve got your own kids to feed
Maybe
Or a cat or something
‘cause we’ve heard the folks your age and older talk about
How nobody can afford it anymore
Who couldn’t already
We listen even when you think we don’t hear you
And want you to be honest even when you can’t
Safely
But it ain’t like we’re safe
Is it
?
Seems like we see it every day
On those screens we supposedly stare at too much
But if the world’s so scary as you say
Why do you blame us for turning away from it
Toward something where we have
Something that seems like control
?
It ain’t like the screen makes us do another drill
Leaves us in a lockdown
Look
You can’t say anything
But we ain’t caught quite yet
We can still speak up
At least a little
Maybe only here
Maybe only now
But still
And if there’s only the one chance to be heard
Before the echoes fade into the void
Or grinding gears drown them all out
Drown us all out
Or the rat-a-tat-tat of clicking keyboards
Beats out the tattoo of our subsumation
Then let us scream and be heard
Even if it’s disruptive now
‘cause we ain’t going to have the chance again
One way or another
And it ain’t like what gets taught here matters after
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Elliott RWI 