390. Poem / Rant "Ideals Have Rubber Hitting the Road of Reality"

Today was ironic.

I saw my old teaching assistant Hannah in the morning
in Kostello's gathering hub
and I saw *oriel at a distance
as I entered my dose of environmental institutions

as if the day after my mind's heart was rejuvinated with hope,
I was then haunted by the re-exposure to the previous experiment
in which *oriel, Hannah, and I converged and aligned
on Decker's Deck the previous April.

And I realized I wore the same clothes I wore today
of that day of that past alignment.
Not that the probability of wearing different clothes
was very high.

Hannah analyzed me up and down
as if I had never changed in any surfacial dimension
and *oriel glanced his eyes around the room
in glossy sporadic-ness
only to prevent any form of meeting an locking of stares.

He wore an oversized, dark coat, suit, and tie.
I missed his "defense" presentation for the project
he was "over with" ever since last summer
and resisted to pursue the internship granted to him.

And then to my distaste of recollection
I still have a bag of $130 worth of clothes
affiliated with his institutions,
as he dragged me to Ross dress-for-less
and stated that real-world survival required an Image Show
as if we regressed to high school cliques
from the initial premises
of higher dimensions of shen minds.

I had to "look good."
For whom? For what purpose?
Those dxmn clothes are too late to return
and I refuse to wear them.

Dxmmit.

Lost godxm $130-something dollars.

And I have a tumor bag rotting in moisture of rain in my car trunk.

That boy--despite his lengthy age--had no sense of Reality.
And today, after opening the vulnerability of my mind's heart the day before,
this new day I felt anger all over on the way how he treated me--
and how he dropped me like a contaminated hot potato.

One day I was a human being
and the next I was a high-maintenance bacterium.
One day my mind was fascinating
and the next I was a Touch Toy.
And the next and the next and the next...
I was a Touch Toy.

And then the Touch Toy was no longer worth playing with
because he got bored with exclusivity
and exclusively tended to his project of Overwithedness
because it cost $40,000 to do it.

And so today, I felt anger, and I still feel angry.
And I have a right to feel angry.

Because I am NOT a Contaminated Hot Potato
and no one should EVER treat me like one.
And I cannot ALLOW anyone to treat me like one.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Dxmmit.

I have a right to feel anger.
I have a right to be angry.
I have a right to report to Johnny of my lessons learned.

I mean *oriel was a most fascinating spirit, full of ideal principles,
but over time of interaction,
as the onion peeled, as all onions do peel
the principles marginally-to-never seemed to match reality...
in practice...
in life pursuits....

In the end, his *orielian spirit of seeming boundlessness was worth it
but the rest of imprisoned physicality can be tossed in the trash.

He is an orphan
because he chose to be an orphan.

When I am foraging for inspiration,
I need everything aligned--everything--
I need to be surrounded by people
who's ideals have rubber hitting the road of reality.

And I need a track record of it.

But as with all else,
*oriel was a first experiment
and you extract all positive, pragmatic gadgets
amidst the City Dump of Stench.

Johnny?

389. A Clever Poem on Psychologists, Shared with Dr. Barry Spacks

Earlier this morning I was quite sleep deprived. It is a dangerous condition because I am socially desensitized and when I encounter someone I know I tend to ramble forever. As if I had undergone a drunken stupor.

I am sorry Barry Spacks had to be the victim. I even warned him, and he scoffed, "Don't worry! I don't mind rambling at all!" Man, my housemates' Kyle and Karl got me down pat. They know when to politely avoid me and shut me down and tell me to go sleep. I feel so bad--we went overtime in office hours. Hopefully I didn't seem like too much of an out of control, non-self-contained idiot. *Sigh*

What came out of it though is that I recited the beginning of a poem and Dr. Spacks just liked it the way how it was, so I'll just ditto the first lines here and call it a poem.

When you enter the room happy
And leave the room depressed,
That's when you end your relationship
With your psychologist!

388. Poem/Song Called "Inspiration"

we need the fuel
of inspiration
--w'need the spark
of advocation
--t'continue
our perspiration
--t'world's drowning
in information
desp'rate words (terms)
for our salvation--

so the battle of the blood's
now the battle of the brain--

so t'welfare o'mind's warfare
is the final sole string--

for us weave?

387. Poem / Song Called "Stepped off the Planet" (For My Grandfather Ray)

I stepped off the planet
W' my lungs full of fluids
Of my very own ocean
My petri of potion.

I stepped off the planet
My bones brittle broken
Of my very own mountain
Quite rigid of tendons.

I stepped off the planet
My wiring still firing
But my form just gave in
Yet circuits worth keeping--

So I stepped off the planet
With one more thing
On my to-do list--

But what's the point?
What's the point?

Life ran out of time
T'make all rhythms rhyme.


So I made a trip to hxll
To-meet Mark Twain o'er beer
Conversing, waiting for my son,
And my granddaughter.

So I made a trip to hxll
To-meet Mark Twain o'er beer
Conversing, waiting for my son,
And my granddaughter.

So my wiring kept firing
My wiring keeps firing
However do I please
Whatever my musings

My wiring kept firing
My wiring still firing
Is the very only thing
That was worth any-ah dxmn.

[For my grandfather, Ray]

386. Pandora Knows My Musical Tastes Better Than I Do... / "Mad World" by Gary Jules

An Appreciation for Some Music Lyrics--Mad World
Dr. Spacks and I had a conversation about the relationships between poetry and song-writing. Song-writing and vocal performance can very easily drown out and compromise the lyrics. Which means, more times than not, the lyrics do not stand as a very strong, naked (music-absent) poem, simply because implicit meanings are added through the layers of music performance. I think "Mad World" by Gary Jules might be able to stand uniquely as a poem, independent of the ghostly beautiful music performance. We also discussed the notions of "cycles" and "flipping hamburgers." The Flipping Hamburger University is just doing it in test-tubes, and it's kind of sad you need some big shot credential to do that. I emphasized though, that life is full of cycles, it's just a matter of some cycles hardly changing, slowly evolving, and other cycles are open to innovation--small baby steps and huge leaps of innovation. I think in poetry there can be several baby steps made. But Dr. Spacks also made this wonderful analogy that "a poem is a living organism. You are to foster it, build it, let it evolve. You never know where the poem will take you." I followed it up with "No wonder why I write most of my poetry in the car--because that is the only time I have free space and time to let something just spontaneously evolve!" Chryss Yost (prominent poet in Santa Barbara) emphasized that "poetry is a craft. You are building a system," which made me think why poems don't start at the bottom of the pages, since you are building something bottom-up. Hmmm. Good idea!

"Mad World" by Gary Jules

All around me are familiar faces

Worn out places, worn out faces

Bright and early for their daily races

Going nowhere, going nowhere

Their tears are filling up their glasses

No expression, no expression

Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow

No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I'm dying

Are the best I've ever had

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles

It's a very, very mad world mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday

And I feel the way that every child should

Sit and listen, sit and listen

Went to school and I was very nervous

No one knew me, no one knew me

Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson

Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I'm dying

Are the best I've ever had

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles

It's a very, very mad world ... mad world

Enlarging your world

Mad world

After listening to Pandora for about two or three days, only subscribed to two streams--one being Daftpunk and the other being Gorillaz (though I should add Bjork and Regina Spektor and Nick Drake, for sure)--I have come to realize that my tastes in music are very idea-based music with VERY pure melodies. Nick Drake-esque. And if it becomes layered, then it becomes tribal, classical symphonic Rite of Spring Bjorkesque. For example, here are some songs that have given me pricked ears and teary eyes: the song above "Mad World" by Gary Jules, "We're Going to be Friends" by White Stripes, "Fall Line" by Jack Johnson, "In the Waiting Line" By Zero 7, "I'm Happy / Feeling Glad / Got Sunshine in a Bag" by Gorillaz, "Crazy" by Gnarles Barkeley. I am becoming even more musically predictable to myself!

My housemate Kyle converted me... got me addicted to Pandora.... It's scary to think that Pandora perhaps knows my musical tastes better than I know my own!

385. "Mindfield" Procrastination Project and "The Bower of Santa Barbara" for Coastal Fund Photography Contest / Spectrum / Wind-Teeth Submissions

Sunset Wave of Curiosity. Submitted to the Coastal Fund Photography Contest. "At the brink of sunset, the waves of curiosity overpower the ocean's waves as two students probe in the nooks and crannies of ephemeral tidepools during a low tide near by Coal Oil Point."

Mindfield. Also submitted to the Coastal Fund Photography Contest. "This image sequence entitled 'Mindfield' is the coupling of a distinctive, fog-riddled sunset along the bluffs of Del Playa and the outline of an 'eye' that is intensely watching this spectacle. We, as students and members of the UCSB community, are very fortunate to be immersed in an environment that awakens curiosity, beckons open-mindedness, and asks us to call attention to the details, within our surroundings, as well as inside ourselves--such fundamental elements of life that can be easily bypassed and shoved aside in the hustle and bustle of most California communities."

PDF to the Mindfield Poem:
http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/mindfield1.pdf

PDF to the Mindfield Lyrics / Chords / Song:
http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/mindfield2.pdf

MP3 Sample to the Mindfield Song:
http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/mindfieldfragmentpresentable.mp3

"Mindfield" is a small-scale multi-media project I had undertaken under the guidance and encouragement of Dr. Barry Spacks (poetry and art guru, among other things) through a College of Creative Studies (CCS) Poetry Course. "Mindfield" has essentially become my "procrastination project" when I do not want to directly face my "major projects" that typically require more emotionally-stunted non-artistic endeavors. *Sigh* I will soon be submitting this multi-media work into a photography contest for Coastal Fund, a poetry contest for CCS' Spectrum literary magazine, and/or a submission to "Into the Teeth of the Wind"--also a literary journal formalized in CCS.



"Under your nose. Beneath your feet. Through the scopes. What can you see?" Lucky lucky me. I wear a beautiful bower. A beautiful mental coat called Santa Barbara--and more specifically, UC Santa Barbara. I am immersed in such splendor of an ecosystem 24-7 that I can dive in close to full-time into the ecosystem of my head, knowing that when I attempt to escape, All Things Beautiful await me. I had been considering in making such a photography collection for quite a while, but UCSB's Coastal Fund has a deadline this week for a photography contest, so I decided to gather a baseline of imagery that embodied the Distinct Details of Santa Barbara. (Several photographs I took in this series were from my undergraduate days, 2002-2003, with my first primitive Olympus Camedia digital camera).

Hmmm, I even had some promising photographs way back then!

Small projects can become very large... very fast. I just finished a fish presentation. Then evolving to just a poem. Then went to song lyrics. Then into a demo of the song with simple voice and piano. Now seeking a guitar player. And I won't jinx myself ahead of that!

384. "Woven Atom" Logos for SciArtS Group at UC Santa Barbara: Lydia LeClair is a Spontaneous Genius!

In the name of the borders of chaos and order....

Below is an excerpt I wrote alongside the logos I downloaded onto http://www.picasaweb.com/stokastika.

"Winter Quarter of 2009 has become a very interesting, exciting venture, ever since the creation of a small SciArtS group, consisting of very creative, enthusiastic scientists (with very high energy budgets) who have a knack for art and care about the larger picture--the role of science in society. Last week we discussed the creation of a logo, and within a few seconds the Spontaneously Creative Lydia LeClair belched out an abstract etch that embodied "Woven Atom." It was brilliant! I fell in love with it at first sight! I worked up the logo in photoshop, experimented with different colors and lighting. Geez, I LOVE working with other people! You never know what may happen, and it can turn out SOOO GOOD! I attempted to create a logo but it's a bit too "planned" and perhaps too cluttery (I had no scanner, boohoo!). Excuses, excuses, excuses! Anyhow, I think as a whole it may not work, but the "parts" of the logo I made are infested with great ideas!"

I was scrutinizing my attempted logo and I think if I "hierarchize" the lines, then a more organize appearance may emerge. I think I better lay the dxmn demon to rest right now!

383. Poem Called "Preaching to the Choir" (Inspired by My Mother) What "Testy Love"!

My mother is a genius
for calling me
at the right time
at the right place
in the right mood
to tell me everything
she ever told me
and raised me upon
and I already knew
and knew that I knew
and I knew so well
that I wrote it into
a short story
two hours ago.
And I will rip my hair out
for another round
of this preaching to the choir.

The Fundamental Theory of Human Behavior by Mama:
(1). Null Hypothesis: The only person you have the ability to know and control and change is yourself. You have no ability to change other people.
(2). Alternate Hypothesis: Through your presence and actions, you have changed other people's behaviors and perceptions. But this change is fundamentally INDIRECT. You are present and tell a story, but the person who receives the story must be OPEN and willing to listen, and willing to change. Increased frequency of encounter of an idea will increase the likelihood that the idea will catch. For example, Brittney Spears is chronically in everyone's faces. So, by default, we think about Brittney Spears.

Another point. I have the ability to change people's behaviors in very slight ways. For example, me and my car occupy space on the freeway. All individuals proximal to my spatial-temporal postition will behave such as to avoid crashing into my car and maintaining a level of dynamic co-existence with all fast-paced elements on the freeway. Simple as that!

This morning was a very intriguing poetry reading by students in Dr. Barry Spacks' College of Creative Studies Course. I get little tingles down my spine when the students make "insights" or new ways of looking at things in our everyday life that we may just take for granted. For example, a student mentioned how her grandmothers hunched back "made a cave for her heart" or another student described the antipastoral climb to Mount Whitney with a bunch of hikers carrying their own sewage in bags. That was a classic! I want to experience that! Wow! Such an anecdote can feed into the "Tragedy of Nature in a Box" essay I have stewing in my computer. But some other day. You have to put one foot in front of the other, and one word behind the next. It is a slow climb out of a rabbit hole to discover the true, evolving structure of yourself.

As for "details" in my life, I had a "timely" phone call incident with my mother that just amplified my frustrations--for I had not jogged and released any energy at that point of the day--and the only way I could vent the incident was through a poem. I read it to my father, who could sympathize immediately, but I think he was making sure that my mother was not around to listen to the conversation. And when she was, my father's response were very "stunted."

I think poetry is a form of fundamental building block that to longer pieces. The accumulation of little "absurd details" in everyday life can lead to the formulation of a whole new world!

Dr. Spacks mentioned how these poetry readings allow us to pick apart our experiences and then even incorporate these experiences into our own poetry.

382. Poem on the Tradeoff of Physical and Mental Consumption

stress overate
to a dulled brain
no neurons raced
in the world
outside--
they all tended fate
of sacrifice
to my tummy.

Physical and mental consumption unfortunately has a trade-off effect.

Last night I was so stressed that I overate. I gave my neurons away not to a heightened sensation to the world outside, but to the selfish, visceral operations of my tummy. It is frustrating, because I walk around the UCSB campus and I perceive things, but have no ability to emotionally grasp them, as I am so attentive when I am operating like a hungry lion on an empty stomach.

So interesting people have morphed into passing, dulled humans. Supersensory white blossoms of these apricot-like trees have shifted into a backdrop nuissance of smell that I tend to repel when strolling through a Macy's or Nordstroms. Everything is flattened and ungraspable, as slowly, the food I consumed--not out of hunger, but out of impulsive self-infliction--slowly, ever so slowly, mechanically, chemically digests.

And so I wait for the restoration of the full capacities of my senses.

ASIDE: The world is changing all around me and you are trying to cling onto something stable amidst all this change. And the only vessel I can seem to hold onto maintain is my own self.

381. Notes on the Hierarchy of Reality (Poem)

People come and go in my life
like ephemeral actors.

But the infrastructure around me
that remains to hold meaning
are the emotional ones.

Of love and hate
and friendship and trust
and jealousy and betrayal
and moreoever a curiosity
that beckons an insurge of new knowledge
of multiplexed, dynamic worlds
I never knew existed.

There are those who inspire
and are actors in my world,
who I project my emotions upon them,
and if I am lucky enough,
they assign emotional value to me.

And there are those who remain
backdrop audience.

For once my story is done,
I run to them for their sage advice
and solitarity of critique.

It is all in the Hierarchy of Reality
the mind constructs under
its own pre-built evolutionary design.

380. Poem / Song / Chant Called Principles of Scientific and Ecological Inertia (Quite Catchy, eh? Ha!)

Poem / Song / Chant Called Principles of Scientific and Ecological Inertia. Page 1.

Poem / Song / Chant Called Principles of Scientific and Ecological Inertia. Page 2.

Poem / Song / Chant Called Principles of Scientific and Ecological Inertia. Page 3.

PDF file for the poem:
http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/principlescientificecologicalinertia.pdf.

This poem is old. It was written I think in the Spring of 2006, during the time I was taking Dr. Martin Kennedy's Sedimentology course at UC Riverside. This poem draws the parallels of mutations, their successes and failures in evolutionary biology, ecosystems, as well as behavioral changes, and changes in entire human societies. If it works, it sticks, and it grows. It it doesn't work, it decays or collapses, and its parts morph into something else. So I would know, being a survivor of anorexia. Simple, simple logic under the whole jargon conundrum of the University. And so, this form of reasoning is being explored at the societal level by the Panarchy group, in which my advisor, Dr. Oran Young is affiliated with.

It's funny, my poetry--though out of place for a few years, now has context, and growing significance for what I am doing. I feel better, almost every single day now, being at UCSB.

So, the main theme is the properties of cycles of growth, change, collapse, and rebirth. I inserted a phoenix in the end . Because I didn't want to end in "decay / collapse." Coupling of mental observation-processing, mental mutation "epiphany," behavioral change, technological use-creation-change, environmental re-organization-use-change.... I have been wanting to write a story called the Phoenix of Science, documenting how a society had an intellectual bottleneck, and the ones who survived were the rebellious who hated the system, so they re-invented the language, they re-pigeonholed reality.

I also read this poem in light of my grandfather. He is still here, in my mind. He's in the mountains, you know. He's all over Mount Baldy. He's all over southern California. He's not gone. Hardly. In fact, he's freeer than ever.

The other thing I was thinking about is higher levels of organization beyond the individual. Like forming a group, a deep bond with a small group of humans, the co-alignment of purpose and motivation and skills, who create something greater than the capacity of any human can do. With film production, music production, creating an organization that can lead to the first grass-roots gay-elected official in San Francisco (so I have been inspired by Harvey Milk as of late--my neighbor friends took me to watch the movie, he was a phenomenal character). To be able to create a level of organization beyond one human and act like a coordinated super-organism is one of the most thrilling, engrossing feelings I have ever felt in my entire life. I have experienced is most consciously once with the final round of filming at Shifting Sands of Goleta Beach.

Not to mention, "the hardest part is always starting, but once you're going, you keep on rolling!" Get rolling, Vic!

379. Song / Poem "Purpose or a Process" Read to Dr. Barry Spacks Poetry Course

Here is a poem/song called Purpose or a Process. PDF file:
http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/purposeoraprocess.pdf.

I read the poem to Dr. Barry Spacks' poetry class last week and it was well received. I was asked to read it twice. Dr. Spacks mentioned that the title was very intriguing. The week before, when I was alone in my room in Goleta for about four or five days, I included Purpose or a Process as a "Sample of Five Poems that Question Reality." It may stay in the collection, but it may just have to stand on its own.

When I first crafted this poem, it actually emerged as a song, full blown with imagery. It poured out of me as a clear music video, during the Fall of 2007 when I was hanging out with my good friends Oscar and Dulce (I'm still in great touch with Oscar, of course!). My brain somehow was appalled by the Manicured Aesthetic, Pure Perfection of the Paseo Nuevo Mall. Perfect clothes. Perfect people. Perfect make-up. Perfect displays. Perfect, like some kind of Gattaca situation. And then I overlaid the imagery of clothing with machines, with the robotic motions of ships and transport, and the final railroad tracks of workers manufacturing these clothes in foreign countries. And I was angry and helpless all at the same time, because I asked whether a global society could operate in any other way. Someone will always be stuck with the dirty work. It's a matter of how society addresses the value of "dirty work." With imperialism practices, the dirty work is given to the disadvantageous group, whatever group that may be. Before it was posed as "slavery" or "caste system," and now it's posed as "free trade" or "capitalism." Tragic, eh? What delusion in all these stupid social science terms masking the underlying ecological transactions of our leaf cutter ant human selves! And the other issue is to overlay human beahvior with the behavior of multiple species of organisms and geologic phenomena, very much like a Godfrey Reggio film. The music for this poem is very primal drum-beat heavy. Not too much melodic variation, but very deeply profound and gothic vocals. I already have it sitting in my head, waiting to blossom one day :-).


When I presented the poem to the class, I was very explanatory. I was explaining who I am and where I come from, which is complex. I don't talk about anorexia, but if you keep prying me, I will reveal to you the dark source of all my light. First of all, I explained that in science, there are some fundamental issues in the philosophy in terms of "what is" versus "what ought to be." The notion of collecting data and observing the world, or actually learning something about the world and making decisions about your life and this society... the overall greater role of science in society. Hence, the dualist issue of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle and the Gonzo Principle. Observer Effect. Interactor Effect. Do we do environmental science in denial of its implication for behavioral or societal change, or do we accept the need for a collective stimulation-response effect of a social organism (hence, the notion of "panarchy"). Flow of Knowledge --> Action.

Then, in the end, when you finally acknowledge that you know something and you are ready to change your world and collective behavior, then you start to realize that you as an individual are part of a vast, vast system. And you feel... absolutely helpless. How can one individual change an entire society? Besides Obama. We're fxcked. As my mother ingrained in me, "The only person you can change is yourself," which is a superb null hypothesis to start with. Which is why I live in this modern society for amusement, but I am mentally divorced from it, and I am ready to live in the boonies and hunt and fish. Can't wait! The vastness of society, this sense of helplessness.

Then you ask, is it a purpose, you impose a will or a purpose? Or you take a step back like an alien, like a scientist (observer-based scientist) and watch life as a process, because your relative sense of purpose is so diminuitive, you are swallowed into the realm or machine of process.

In the story, the two main characters make a huge epiphany, and if everyone saw what they saw, if everyone knew what they knew, then all the creatures would change their behavior. Then they came to realize that they can't snap their fingers and the creatures will change. Telling a story is futile, that experience combined with exposure to the story will one day allow the other creatures to snap... in their own terms. But at least through the process, the two characters found each other, and sought refuge in each other's company though the world operated in another spectrum, another dimension of perception and change. So, the story ends in tragedy, but also in simultaneous triumph. Finding friendship admist destruction (very much like the end of Fight Club).

Aside: Last quarter I mapped my soul on the previous existing scientific literature.

378. The Elephant and the Oak Tree Overspill // Song-Poem for Music Video Called "Perceptual Relativity"

Perceptual Relativity Poem / Song. Page 1.

Perceptual Relativity Poem / Song. Page 2.

PDF file for the Perceptual Relativity Poem / Song:

http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/perceptualrelativity.pdf.

Spillover from writing The Elephant and the Oak Tree (EOT). The concept for this poem came back in a trying time in the Fall of 2005. I was driving late at night and experienced the notion of relativity with the outline of a car in front of me. At one point I asked the question: Is the car coming closer or farther from me? Or is it of fixed distance, and it's changing size and shape? How will I ever come to know? Coming to think about it, I remember being on Martin Luther King offramp nearby UC Riverside.

The poem came later, and flashes of network-based photographer, e.g. branching networks in biology and geology, ripples, dunes, biological formations that seem to have mathematical rhythmicity to them. I am gathering a set of photographs related to this concept. The poem/song/future music video is intended to have a techno trance feel to it. I can't help flashing to a god-forbid beer commercial that showed the fast-paced succession of flora on a tropical island. It was phenomenal special effects for a biologist. And of all things, it was a beer commercial--Corona beer, I think.

I was about to use this song as a concept for a video for the Coastal Fund, but it never happened, which is just fine. My mind crafted a collage of scientists with different hats which perceive different things around the coast of UC Santa Barbara, which is still in my head, and I can use it for my own purposes.

This song/poem is associated with EOT because the main character goes through perceptual relativity throughout the entire story and struggles to figure out where she is at in space and time, and whether she should zoom in or zoom out.

377. Vamping the Lulu Storefront at http://lulu.com/questionreality

Continuing the Fateful Day of October 15, 2005. First step is to vamp up the website, the fundamental baseline stepping stone to which I will be dumping my brain on. Invasion of internet niche space much like the Adaptive Grid Model. Having a website was before a luxury. Now it's a necessity. Existing in this planar field of cyberspace. Sam said that when that all shuts down and collapses, at least he has his field notes. Just as long as a fire doesn't get his office.

And so I was thinking the same.

This website was built on the capacity to love and invest in somebody else. It is a beautiful thing, but a dangerous thing. As I have mentioned more than once in my previous blog, I have chosen not to invest in any one particular island of a person, but an entire world of a place, a region. Santa Barbara. I shall never be 100% burned ever again.

In the collage above, I provided images of the Revamped and Old Website. PDFs are below:

http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/1.questionrealityrevampwebsite.pdf
http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/2.questionrealitywebsiteOLD.pdf

I also included my Stokastika Profile I made through Google Groups. I have been meaning to put this up for quite a while. And finally, with a blank slate, I have an excuse to do so. PDF below.

http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/3.stokastikaprofile.pdf

As you can see in my Google Stokastika profile, I am chronically going through a Relativistic Identity Crisis. Profile is accessed at http://groups.google.com/groups/profile?user=stokastika@gmail.com&qt_a=Look+up+author.

376. Poem / Song Called "A CHESS of Fish," Coupled Human-Environmental SystemS (CHESS), and Identity Crisis of Environmental Media Graduate Students

Poem / Song called CHESS of Fish. I placed it first because it's the shortest and the catchiest of the three documents in this blog. I wrote it right before I wrote the final draft news journalism article on Dr. Chris Costello's research "Sharing Fisheries Wealth for Ocean Health." Oooh! It rhymes! And... I read this poem to Dr. Barry Spacks' poetry class last Monday. It was fresh off my plate, so I was excited about it. In the scheme of the three poems I read: Matrix of Metaphors, Purpose or a Process, and CHESS of Fish, it was well received. Dr. Spacks informed us that we should assume the highest of intellect of our readers, and we shouldn't footnote anything in the poems, but "CHESS" is a splended exception, since it's such a cool acronym that does not stand on its own. I quickly asked Dr. Spacks about my "knowledge set" for poetry. I didn't know who Burkowski was (some bar-based poet, women, the whole Hollywood of poetry), but most of the students don't even know what a tunicate is. So, can anyone give anyone a guilt trip for knowing anything or not knowing anything. Should I know existing poets, or should I know knowledge of the world that can feed into novel poetry? I will continue to invest in learning about tunicates and rhyolite, but some investment of being exposed to existing poets. I would rather expand my palate beyond the literature of existing poets.

PDF file for CHESS of fish: http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/2.CHESSofFISH.pdf.

Short Story / Screenwrite Scene in the Grocery Store between Terra, Buz, and a bag of "organic" Oreo Cookies. The piece is entitled "Humans are Connected to the Environment? A Discovery of the Obvious." I wrote this after I wrote the Fisheries Information Network (FIN) first set of notes. I sent it to a few of my friends in the lab and my father. My dad, knowing Terra and Buz very well, had a huge belly laugh. He said the "oreo cookie" situation really worked and amplified and tangible-ized the absurdity. *Whew* He also felt very bad for Buz who had to deal with Terra's out-of-control existentialist rant in the middle of the grocery store.

PDF FILE for the screenwrite for "Discovery of the Obvious" is right here:

http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/4.humanenvironmentconnected.pdf.

Short Blurb on "Identity Crisis of Environmental Media Graduate Students." Page 1.

Short Blurb on "Identity Crisis of Environmental Media Graduate Students." Page 2.
PDF file for the Blurb:

http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/7.identitycrisisenvironmentalmediagr.pdf

It's funny. I am putting all this material on my blog. It keeps coming out. I work very hard. One day it will have a "better" place, "better" meaning other people may put it somewhere other than this blog. Maybe one day some people will absorb to some degree the things I think about. Like I said, a writer's work is only appreciated after he or she is dead. Going based on that null hypothesis, I need to continue to work, because that is how I survive. That is how I stay mentally sane.

At the root of all of this, it's only for sanity and survival... through the desire to care and attach myself to others and my surroundings.

375. Today is October 15 or 16, 2005 of My Writer Life (Bonus Three Poems!)

Writer Life. Short Essay. Page 1.

Writer Life. Short Essay. Page 2.

Writer Life. Short Essay. Page 3.

PDF file for Writer Life:

http://stokastika2.googlepages.com/writerlife.pdf.

Additional commentary of thoughts below:

0. Ever since I applied to the AAAS Mass Media Fellowship, I feel that I have acquired heightened consciousness and that my writing has improved... to some degree.

1.In the Questioning of Reality, my profession is to extract the best out of everybody and everything, and discard all things that are negative and broken, saving them for another day for a deeper transformation into light.

2. I need to wake up every single day and see something new. Even if I have to work hard and write to see it. Even if it takes blood and sweat and tears from connecting fragmented neurons of the deep… for me to see it. For me to see something new….

3. The only person who can change me is my own self.

4. The more I learn about the environment and interactions with the environment, the more I learn about the innerworkings of my own mind.

5. To Know More? To Know Less? But don’t Know Too Much, for I have learned in several occasions it leads Down the Road to Disappointment.

6. I just wrote “Fruiel” out of me (fake name for protection). I am no longer in pain…. The experiences are in me; the person is out of me. If you know what I mean. It’s a very writerly psychological trick.

7. It’s amazing to think I have been through so much torment the last three years and to only think that I have only consciously received two gray hairs is close to biologically daunting!

8. The best part about October 15, 2005 is that you will never know the future. You will never know the consequences of your own actions. Nothing is predictable. It’s blank slate all over again, carving a road, and living twice. Seeing new elements of your environment you have never seen before… every single day is a brand new adventure of altered inner perception.

9. When you don’t consider the outcome of the future, you stop thinking about “what is the next big break” of external forces. But you think about the internal forces; you think about and tend to the community of people who have come to accept and love you… and have made a home for you. You are tending to them through your writing. The rest of “greatness” is an illusion; it’s a fun game to pursue, but meaningless beyond your own very close intellectual kin… except perhaps, to greet new members of your intimate audience. In the end of the day, all you do is care about the people who care about you.

10. My aunt Jeri Lyn thoughtfully said over Christmas, “To be an artist, you must be bold and brave to be alone. To venture into the vulnerable reaches of your seemingly tough, yet fragile mind. To sort out the deep-rooted tangles. I have Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax by my side. A children’s book that changed the world. If he can dig through himself, then so can I!

11. It’s all about the deeper motives… the deeper motives in your own hands. It’s not about the Biologically Incorrect Blog. It’s about the Lulu.

12. POEM CALLED INTELLECTUAL POTPOURRI

So I met those two lovers
Of intellectual potpourri
They had great big bowers
Colored, playful rivalry

Certified geniuses
All stood back and stared and gawked
Their teasing thoughts meaningless
Rehashing what is for what it ought—

To be changed.

The sincerity of problems
Of our day.


Oh so silly!

The Sanctified Science of Potpourri!
Society exalts Egoes Of Arbitrary
To pseudo-subgod Higher Beings

For the Intellectual Entertainment
Of the Long Hours of Tonight
Just to relish and forget
In the long, long minutes
Of long lines

Of stores distracting
With groceries.

*Spit!*

13. POEM CALLED ECOLOGICAL RATIONALITY VERSUS EVOLUTIONARY PRIMALITY

If the world were less populated,
I would be easily satisfied with
The pre-existing protocols of biology—
Forage for a male and give birth to new human flesh—
The usual mindless routine of evolution.

But the world is not that way today,
And there is pressing value
For the birth of New Ideas
As opposed to the birth of empty-minded human biomass,
To which merely serves as a draining resource
Than a bountiful agent of thoughtful change.

And though evolution guides my thoughts toward
The Commonplace of Ingrained Biological Institutions,
My Ecological Rationality Trumps the Reptile
And it manipulates that lizard in me
Towards its very own goals….

In hope of finding all those
Who do and share and pursue the same.

14. Poem called LANDSCAPE'S COAT

So we were wearing similar coats

and it got too hot, it got too close.

Now we have our own landscape attire

Now what is our true, underlying desire?

In a stretched time lapse

Allo-pamatric romance

In space-time collapse

The pained study relapses

And Case Closed

Opens Again

Resuming Trial 2

Of the Experiment.

Will it end

In the same

Conclusion?

373. Big Dog Little Dog (My First Poem Under Dr. Barry Spacks)

Big Dog, Little Dog

There was a gentle, big dog
Who parked her teeny car
And a chubby, smaller poodle
Ventured out to bark:

"Who do you think--you can't be here
And take this very space.
It's for service vehicles
And I have your Drivers License Plate.

"I have all your information
Turn you into the Parking Dawg Phase."
She squacked and squirmed effortlessly
Without any thoughtful grace.

The big dog rolled over her eyes
And peeped, "I'll be on my way."
But the pooch rattled on, behind her BMW
And relished her controlling place.

The big dog had no Superior Ego
For chest-beating like an alpha-ape
For she knew in the back of her mind
That way back in the day....

"The Big Dog and the Little Dog
Is the Physics Law of the Land
But-in this vast Invisible Barbwire
Holds me to refrain, withstand

"To strip every single muscle,
Crush every bone out of the pooch
So I'll back my car, with no remark--
For there are consequences, social-immune.

"So I'll pulverize you to homo-soup
Through the Visions of my Almighty Mind
And take out your pooh-pooh resentment
On this venting, whimsical rhyme."

For small dogs live in pedistoled illusion
In a world of order, discriminating size
Small dogs may have their great-big barks
But Big dogs shall always have their bite.

This poem was written this morning based on a really "stupid" event. Some fat old bitter secretary woman with her BMW behind her comes up to me just this morning and starts lecturing me about "how I shouldn't park here and this is not my personal parking space." She kept rattling on, and I was like, "Okay, I'm leaving. Okay, I'm leaving. Okay, I'm leaving." One thing I fudge by in life is parking spots. I am notorious for getting parking tickets because I am very much into "efficiency," so to speak. But that lady didn't have to be a "royal bxtch," pardon my cliche terminology. Which sparked me to write the poem above--basically stating that the Law of the Land is Physics and if I were not in a Massive Society of Imaginary Rules, right now I would have either shot you with a gun or just kicked you in the stomach and you would be meat for condors... or just vultures and wolves in general. So, I left, knowing in my mind she was dead meat, even though I left with dignity and she felt that she was Queen Bxtch of Obscure Parking Spot by the Psychology Building. Amen for poetry to take this anger out!

Even though I did not show up to class on Monday (by complete accident), Dr. Spacks let me join his course. I am completely honored. I think he knows he has a mature student (who has been literarily isolated for way too long!). I am to be doing a 15 minute poetry reading (the art of presentation) this Monday. I want to do it first so I can fall off a log. It will force me to get stuff done otherwise, like compile all my old poetry from "god knows way back when."

372. Poem / Song Called "Small World"

I've been walking around
with tumors in my brain.

And I need to let them out
like flooding rain.

I can no longer hold in
And live in restrain.

And through a Small World
Inspiration is gained.

And so you have Hope in me
and gave me Faith.

And now I have all the Sparks
For me to Create.


In a small world
There is Healing.

Safe to take my mind's
Arduous journey.

In a small world
There is Healing.

Safe to take my mind's
Arduous journey.

371. Some People Need to Make a To-Do List for Survival (and I'm Still Taking Care of Visceral Items!) (Cable-Internet from Cox)

Vic's Sketch Self-System To Do List for more Visceral Survival, Version 1.

Vic's Sketch Self-System To Do List for more Visceral Survival, Version 2.

I still have a suite of paperwork laying on the ground associated with bills. Funzeeks! I suppose I am to be good and get rid of these issues before the quarter starts. Ever since my housemate Julie Ekstrom moved out (around mid May of 2008) (we ended up having the same advisor for grad school!) (oh! I miss Julie! She's up at Stanford! Gives me incentive to go up north and visit!), our billing system had become "decentralized." Julie used to have a centralized system in which she would tabulate all bills (except electric, she did NOT want to be affiliated with the operations of the bathtub-jacuzzi), and we would all pay her. Then afterwards, we established a decentralized system--which ends up working out, even though we have had sloppy accounting ever since--because the bills we are in charge of end up canceling out to some degree. Kyle is in charge of water and trash. Karl is in charge of electric. I am in charge of cable internet and phone. I am sure there are a couple of other minor financial charges to take care of, but Kyle has been very pro-active about things--like having a chimney sweeper come over to clean out the chimney--now we have fires in the livingroom! How cool! It's fun to see how all "transactions" work out such that there is a level of individuality and privacy, but each of us chips in towards creating a common good "collective" atmosphere. Degrees of freedom / degrees of constraint. Serenity prayer. Like a most routine theme of life. Especially in this world.

Here is some basic information about Cox Communications: 22 S. Fairview Ave. Goleta, CA 93117 805-683-6651.

Here are some Sketch Tabulations for the last 6-or-so months:

May 15-June 15, 2008: 72.99

June 15-July 15, 2008: 72.99

July 15-August 15, 2008: 72.99

August 15-September 15, 2008: 72.99

September 15-October 15, 2008: 72.99

October 15-November 15, 2008: 72.99

November 15-December 15, 2008: 72.99

72.99 / 5 people = 14.60

72.99 / 4 people = 18.25

**I think the accounting is simple and stable enough in my part!*

I know I have been horrible in terms of contributing to the Common Good in terms of Household Chores. I need to "mentally frame my mind" in order to get into good habits. The things that I can contribute in terms of collective cleaning--even though my housemates Kyle and Karl are stellar house-maintainers--they go above and beyond expectations--(1) I can take out trash (2) I can help clean up the bathroom (3) I can help maintain the kitchen cleanliness (4) I can vacuum every once in a while. I just don't want to be involved too much in kitchen and carpet affairs simply because (1) I am not a heavy kitchen user "I have an extreme love affair with the microwave, but that's about it." "Though I have a tendency to nibble off of old food on the verge of becoming stale in the refrigerator. Consider me to be the household mouse." (2) I don't own dogs--but oh! Mini Miss Einstein, Onyx Megafauna, and occasional visitors Bentley the Ambassador Dog and Jacumba I adore--they are my family and stress relievers!

370. The Prism and the Mirror Box (Stokastika Photography Shoot)

It's funny how a bunch of little ideas just lay around unfinished, undone, all over the place. I just have one long trail of unfinished ideas, to which I am slowly accumulating, organizing, and cleaning up. Such was the case when I attempted to transport a 'mirror box' and 'prism' to the car upon return to Santa Barbara in December 31, 2008. I picked up the mirror box, remembering how I made it during the time I was visiting Tariel, and then I realized I performed a photoshoot with the mirror box, but never finished it! I never placed it on line! And so it goes.

The mirror box and prism are fundamental metaphors in perception of a common system--for example stakeholder perceptions of a common set of resources, or a common landscape, a common environment. The mirror box represents multiple different perceptions of the same system, but the prism not only reflects, but has transluscence. Transparency. The goal is to find common grounds--extract the common stuff that represents all of our core needs for existence.

This is what it says on my Stokastika Portfolio:
"I came back to Santa Barbara the day before New Years, only to realize I needed to move the mirror box and the prism to the car. I made the mirror box and purchased the prism in downtown Santa Barbara (back in May of 2008). I was inspired that my friend Tariel had a prism, so I was determined to have my own!"

369. Industrial Ecology of Graduate School Part 2--Lifestyles of the Intellectually Wealthy, Physically Impoverished, and Culturally Underepresented!

Variation 1:

"Graduate School: Lifestyles of the Intellectually Wealthy, Physically Impoverished, and Culturally Under-represented." (There is no Hollywood Grad Student Flick. Why? Why not! It's about time!) And so this on-going photoessay goes to show the desperate measures a particular graduate student takes in order to survive--physically, mentally, academically--and simultaneously attempts to capture the holistic essence of the rebellious graduate student culture--one of the most psychologically "at risk" groups in America! Well, duh. Our profession is to ask the question "What's the point?" every single day. Of course, we are AT RISK! And secondly, it's great to be "at risk" because it just serves as another excuse to a typical unproductive day of research. Images vary from vices--food, caffeine (etc), sleep, exercise, trash, beer, to office/field tendencies of graduate students, like writing on your hands, playing Outcrop Jenga by stacking paper on top of your desk, buying surfboards with student loans, etc.

Variation 2:

"Graduate School: Lifestyles of the Intellectually Wealthy, Physically Impoverished, and Culturally Under-represented." (There is no Hollywood Grad Student Flick. Why? Why not! It's about time!) And so this on-going photoessay goes to show the desperate measures a particular graduate student takes in order to survive--physically, mentally, academically--and simultaneously attempts to capture the holistic essence of the rebellious graduate student culture--one of the most psychologically "at risk" groups in America! Well, duh. Our profession is to ask the question "What's the point?" every single day. Of course we have a little empty black box in our mind's hearts! Of course! We are AT RISK! And secondly, it's great to be "at risk" because it just serves as another excuse to a typical unproductive day of research. Images vary from vices--food, caffeine (etc), sleep, exercise, trash, beer, to office/field tendencies of graduate students, like writing on your hands, stacking paper on top of your desk that is of relative scale to Mount Whitney. Grad Party Collection Coming Soon!

Variation 3:

"Graduate School: Lifestyles of the Intellectually Wealthy and Physically Impoverished." And so this on-going photoessay goes to show the desperate measures a particular graduate student takes in order to survive--physically, mentally, academically--and simultaneously attempts to capture the holistic essence of the rebellious graduate student culture--one of the most psychologically "at risk" groups in America! Well, duh, that's expected. Our profession is to ask the question "What's the point?" every single day. Of course we have a little empty well black box of emotionally driven intellect in our heads! Of course! We are AT RISK! And secondly, it's great to be "at risk" because it just serves as another excuse to an unproductive day of research (like I made a cartoon, caught a softball and got an out for the city team, drove my friend home in the rain, but didn't get any research done.' Hmmm. Images vary from vices--food, sleep, exercise, trash, beer, to the tendencies of graduate students, like writing on your hands, stacking paper on top of your desk that is of relative scale to Mount Whitney, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." I'm sure I'll have a "grad party" collection soon enough!

Variation 4:

"Graduate School: Lifestyles of the Intellectually Wealthy and Physically Impoverished." And so this on-going photoessay goes to show the desperate measures that a particular graduate student takes in order to survive--physically, mentally, academically--and simultaneously attempts to capture the holistic essence of the rebellious graduate student culture--one of the most psychologically "at risk" groups in America! Well, duh, our profession is to ask the question "What's the point?" every single day. Of course! We are AT RISK! And secondly, it's great to be "at risk" because it just serves as another excuse to an unproductive day of research (like I made a cartoon, caught a softball and got an out for the city team, drove my friend home in the rain, but didn't get any research done.' Hmmm. Images vary from vices--food, sleep, exercise, trash, beer, to the tendencies of graduate students, like writing on your hands, stacking paper on top of your desk that is of relative scale to Mount Whitney, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."

Cleaning My Mind's Room, Version 3.0 (Okay! Calm Down!)

I, Victoria, just blew a bunch of neurological fuses. I am emotionally overwhelmed--ready to cry--just like how I was during my first year at UC Davis. My hippocampus has been overloaded--especially after exposing myself to several ideas and people and conferences that had all been buried in my head... and now? They are all in my mind, lively and animated... after a long quarter of being in great dormancy.

I had a series of "thoughtful ideas" pounce out of my head--all in random order in space and time--of course, because I exposed myself in random order. That is what a "mess" is.

I was thinking about my photography. I tended to "kick the camera" towards the direction of non-linear systems, spirals, branching networks, blurry subjects. Nothing predictable. I avoid all systems that have a high degree of predictable properties to them. The only way I can live today is through seeing the world in a state of Uncertainty--a degree of order and a degree of chaos. Predictability will lead to my doom.

I was at home and came to realize that my father indiscriminantly threw away nearly all my "boxes" for stash and storage. I told my mother that if he hadn't done that, I would be getting $50 back for my softball glove. I just recently made the purchase. My mom was like, "Ouch." My dad and I communicate precisely when it comes to research. When it comes to meeting times, when it comes to making plans (I'll be back January something), when it comes to throwing away boxes in the garage, life becomes highly... imprecise... but my dad and I don't care. I told him, "Don't you realize, I had to meditate for a LONG, LONG, LONG time in order to get into your world and your mentality? I had to sit down with myself and ask "What is really a problem?" And do I want to be defined by petty problems, like image, like little annoying things my relatives do? Or do I want to be defined by universal problems--disregard the pettiness of my own life? That required a good, long, hard look at my mind. My father understood what I was saying because there are other family members who define themselves by little petty problems--blown up to issues of Magnanimous Proportions!

My mother always gave me a hard time about my room, but I like how it looks. It is VERY organized. But supposedly unaesthetic. My sister's friend Justin and my mother both agreed that my room looked like a "warehouse," but a VERY organized one! My room used to be a room. Then an office. And now a Production Company. Something like Question Reality Media. The University itself is NOW a Production Company. Possibly the LARGEST production company I know of. Even cooler than anything in Hollywood. Who knows what is behind any of these doors--this matrix of the collective brain?