December 3, 2011
Note to Self

I can do so much more when motivated by foolish reasons. I should get that under control at some point. The irony of that circular logic is almost too much. Perhaps someday though… 

December 1, 2011
Missing Children Report

“Back yo ass up man. How you tryna tell me we weren’t ten yards from the touchdown line?” This was the first sign of success that I found as I went out to observe young people in the Milneburg neighborhood. Milneburg is in the northern section of New Orleans, near Lake Pontchartrain, and it is bounded by Leon C. Simon Boulevard, Elysian Fields Avenue, Filmore Avenue, and Peoples Avenue. I had been riding my bike leisurely throughout the interior of the neighborhood, but it was not until I came to the intersection of Filmore and Music Street that I found anyone. The people playing football were a group of energetic teenagers on a field behind the old Milne Boys Home. The Milne Boys Home is a deserted, forlorn, yet impressive structure which once housed ‘delinquent’ boys and offered social service programs and athletics (Saulny)[1]. The building was damaged by flooding during Hurricane Katrina and has not been reopened yet. At one time, the giant expanse of open space surrounding Milne and the playground across the street might have been teeming with jubilant, playing children. Today, however, the sounds of the eight kids playing football and the quick succession of ‘wops’ from the bounce music in a passerby’s car were all that kept the field and playground from being engulfed in a sad silence.

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November 21, 2011
Running Log, November 20th

Ran at about 11 am. It was hot and humid (in November! Yes!). And enjoyable. I first kept thinking about Quality since I read the first half of Lila by Robert Pirsig last night and this morning. The idea of being “plains-spoken” in my personal statement to grad school was an alluring, recurring theme in the beginning of the run.

The middle of the run is, of course, a forgotten haze: the elusive core of an intricate dream from what seems like long ago.

Towards the end of the run I returned to my step writing system, Brath-code as Anjie calls it. I imagined emailing Du-Cap the Architect a fly beat in Brath-code, on top of which he built the moves for the step. Then he used his step writing method to overlay his symbolized moves on my musical polka dots. It would be like hanging candy canes on nails in anticipation of Christmas festivities. Then we’d email the whole assemblage to Anjie and she would unwrap and learn the step and videotape herself doing it so we could see how well the system worked. It was a nice dream.

At the very end, I also thought about how my brain often conducted its own mental wanderings on these runs. As if the rhythmical poundings of foot to ground, foot to ground acted as a shamanic drum—freeing the mind of its quotidian cares and giving it space to dwell on whatever it liked. Every so often the autonomous process would be intruded upon by my reflective, controlling self. At times I merely observed the process and followed its proceedings. At other times I tried to dam, steer, and manipulate the process, focusing it on topics I deemed worthy. That never worked. My time spent in running meditation felt like fertile ground that wasn’t being put to “productive” use. It was still the range of the indigenous and mysterious. Uncolonized and free. Noble and promising.

August 20, 2011
Those Who Can Focus and Those Who Cannot

“Concentration is the secret of strength in politics, in war, in trade, in short, in all the management of human affairs.”                      —-Ralph Waldo Emerson

For six weeks this past summer vacation, I worked as a tutor for twelve 7th grade children who all wanted to attend my alma mater: Brooklyn Tech. They were spending their summer learning the requisite math and reading skills necessary to pass Tech’s entrance exam, and that’s where I came in—primarily as the group’s resident math guru. The topics we went over ranged from ordinary fractions and their use in solving problems involving proportions and ratios to solving (and using) one-independent-variable, algebraic, linear equations. Of course, none of these topics seemed terribly difficult from my vantage point, but regardless of our differing stations in life, I truly believed that all 12, or at least 11, of these students were capable of learning the subjects over the course of the summer program. Unfortunately, the rate of successful mastering of the material was nowhere near as high as 11 out of 12. In my admittedly subjective reasoning, the dismal levels of gained proficiency over the weeks come from one repeating, commonly-themed scene in all its variations. The class might sit down to work on a problem set when one child thinks it’s necessary to ask for the 5th time why we must do any practice, another child seizes the opportunity to mimic the voice and mannerisms of an older Caribbean teacher who might answer the first child’s inquiry, and then much of the remaining children who were working join in on the parody. The essential problem is that many of the kids at the tutoring center suffered from a lack of focus. I share the same deficiency.

As I look forward to this upcoming semester and all that is necessary to do well in my classes, ace the GREs, test out of psych stats, and craft great grad school applications, I see that the rate limiting step is not gaining knowledge, getting smarter, or anything so profound (or vague). Paralleling my experience with my summer kids, I see that there is no such thing as smart people, only those who can focus and those who cannot… Therefore, the crux of the matter is simply adding focus to my work efforts. If I’m successful in that step, then I will be able to finish everything without unbearable pressures and anxiety, with a consistent good night’s sleep, and with better papers/projects/tests etc. I’m aware that attempting to minimize or even eliminate the wasting of time is hard, and only serves to shift the hard work from the academic work itself to the mental gymnastics done to complete it. However, that’s the way it should be. This series of posts will track how well I am doing in my efforts to achieve maximum focus over the course of each day, week, and month because as school assignments are doled out and handed in, I’ll probably only miss a post if I haven’t been able to focus and have wasted time. So far I’ve started off poorly, but at least I’ve started. Follow me.

April 13, 2010
No Art for Art’s Sake

“[T]here is no such thing as ‘art for art’s sake.’ […] For if the artist created only for himself and not for others, he would lock himself up somewhere and paint or write or play just for himself. But he does not do that. On the contrary, he invites us over, even insists that we come to hear him or to see his work; in a word, he expresses a need for our evaluation and/or appreciation […]” 

                                                                                                                                              —- Maulana Karenga[i]. (Creator of Kwanzaa)

                Recently, I released a new step of mine by video to a group of close friends and individuals who share a love of the hobby. Like babies who stuff their faces before ever learning the biological reason for eating, I shared my work with others solely because I felt an urge to do so: My tummy must have rumbled. However, after putting my creation out to the world I got nothing in return. Hours and hours went by without a single comment, positive or negative. I witnessed at least a dozen individuals simply bypass all I had done and go on with their lives as if the step never existed. As the petals fell off one by one, “they like it, they like it not,” I found it harder and harder to keep the waves of my mind calm with the troubles stirring underneath.

                I was jumping at every phone call, running at the sound of every email notification, and muttering invectives at the letdown of every one of these false alarms of a response. Clearly, the baby bottle must have been empty since I was not getting what I needed. I needed more than just to know that I spoke into the forest; I needed someone to hear! I needed to know that I made a sound, whether it was in step, in music, in writing, in whatever. In some form, I needed to know that I sent out a wave of thought that resonated with others, that coursed through another person’s being and rang true till they had no choice but to affirm that “yes, that was good.” I needed some validation of my own personal taste—after all, if I was sharing my work with others then I definitely liked it, at least somewhat.

                At first, the reality of this longing for appreciation (or a reason to be appreciated) was deeply discommoding, like a bad aftertaste when forced to take some medicine you don’t want. The truth of the matter was a blow to my pride because I was certain that I did not engage in my hobbies for such people-dependent reasons or just to stroke my ego. I thought of my pastimes as a deep tissue massage for the soul, going far below the surface and making me feel good from the inside out simply because I enjoyed the activity, regardless of others. This seeming discordance between why I shared and why I created in the first place was the worst masseuse, rubbing me in all the wrong ways.

                Getting up from the table of these thoughts, I sauntered through the World Wide Web, waiting for a response from someone about my step. I saw pictures from some amateur photographer friends of mine that were breathtaking. I watched videos of dancers I knew that showcased mind-blowing choreography. I heard performances of spoken word from old schoolmates that had me riveted to my chair as they provided chilling verse after verse. Repeatedly, great works of art made me, the viewer, feel awesome. I enjoyed being privy to things that struck me as high quality, and I enjoyed it even more when these experiences came through someone I knew.  Moreover, the work of others inspired me to incorporate such great qualities into whatever I did. Far from discordant, the desire to create and the drive to share were actually complementary parts of an exchange system that provided participants with pleasure.

                There can be no gainsaying the fact that part of me simply wants some accolades from others, even if such accolades have been conferred before. But above and beyond that, I want to partake in this economy of pleasure as a supplier. I am always watching, and listening, and reading the works of others and experiencing the satisfaction that comes with witnessing a job well done. Every now and again it feels good to be able to and to actually give this same joy to others. So I will watch and listen to the market for some sign of equilibrium between what I’m supplying and what the public is demanding, or at the very least for some message of how to improve my product. The only thing that still bothers me is the silence.


[i]Karenga, Maulana. “Black Art: Mute Matter Given Force and Function.”

April 1, 2010
Def Comedy Vitalis

If there’s one veritable fact of life, it’s that life has a sense of humor. A kind of disgusting, all-permeating, inopportune irony that’s just waiting to be noticed. For instance, the whole “when it rains, it pours” thing and if you really want to say something then it’s probably a bad time to say it thing and vice versa. Funny enough, the physical laws that we’re immersed in and surrounded by seem to have metaphysical counterparts because it’s awfully hard to stop moving in one fateful direction and reverse once you’re traveling quickly. I guess life has jokes huh… I’m feeling so far from esemplastic and it sucks to have to put humpty dumpty back together again.

March 4, 2010
Clouds in the Sky

It seems like the days float by, quick as the clouds in the sky,
and the year just rolled in, but it’s gone with the wind.
Cross winds, to-and-fro winds blow me each and every way
Switching paths every day, swiftest track to nowhere; sailing without delay
So feel the boat sway and feel the boat rock
Watch the time go by and hear the clock tick-tock.
Now extra food is running out; I have enough to go straight there
but the siren’s song is soothing, it’s music to my ears.
Quick de-tour and I’m heading to the island, 
where I’m loving everything I’m finding:
beauty blinding, voice divine and wholly satis-fying
Someone pinch me. I think I’m flying…

But then I’m crashing. Because I’m not there.

So much time wasted in a week and my character feels weak,
so I’m running to the boat even as we speak.
Gotta travel faster than before; there’s not much food left in store
yet as I hop inside, there’s no wind for my ride.
Now I’m rowing out to sea, with no help the eye can see.
And somewhere in the middle I realize my fate—
That I lingered too long, and that I left too late.
As I lay me down to die, and I lay me down to cry
I find myself asking…wondering why, exactly why?
But all I get is stomach growling,
face turned and scowling, 
and distant sirens howling.
Ironically, now the wind is gone and the year seems far away.
The clouds are somewhere hiding, and I’ll never see the end of day.

February 28, 2010
Every Day Thoughts

Every day you come through the green door that leads to the fiber glass room known as my life.
You check in at nine and leave at one, or three, or five-thirty, or whenever.
Everyday like clockwork you enter and subsequently exit my consciousness as if it were a dysfunctional ant trap: There’s always a procession of people like you visiting, but no one ever stays…

Every day you wrap me up in your being, telling me stories and sharing your experiences in those enjoyable moments of distraction.
Every day I try not to get too attached because I know that eventually you’ll walk out that green door for good. You’ll wave a final goodbye and come to my room no more.

Every day I help you learn math, but the truth is that I just want to learn about your life, your smile, and your laugh. I want to show you why the limits of our life sequences should converge to the same point as our ages approach infinity. I want to show you why the differences between our h’s and k’s should be small while we have large radii so the circles of our lives overlap forever…
Everyday my evenings are slightly remorseful as I watch the gap between our lives’ paths increase like the tangent line traveling away from the curve.

Every day I wonder why the good things never last, and why must they all come to an end?
Every day as the hours fly past, darting away like planes so fast, I realize that this phenomenon doesn’t stop with you.

Why is it that great friendships and experiences are like electrons; by the time you realize they’re here, they’re gone. Why can’t the physics of our lives just work out for once? Can’t we just slide into and onto each other like the bose-einstein condensates at their critical mass? Flow with each other like cyclists at a critical mass; no friction with one another so we move in tandem—a perpetual motion machine. Can I be that tight with the things and people who warm my heart?

Every day I wonder if we can just get it together, or better yet, just get together? And no I’m not just talking about you, or him, or her. And no I’m also not just talking about those superficial late night hook ups and one night stands. I’m talking about fully changing the relationship between oneself and the individuals or things we love: Defining the rule that links the elements in my Set A to the elements in their Set B by the everlasting symbol known as C. I want to know that no matter how far I move along the axis called time that (t, f(t)) will always be a constant distance away…

Every day
Actually, forget that.
Someone once said that we should be the change we want to see in the world; therefore, let’s start a new day. We’ll turn over a new leaf in your notebook, and you’ll do one last problem for me before you walk out that green door. I want you to add your name and number to that paper, and then take your best approximation at summing up the amount of moments we’ll share from now ‘til forever. I apologize for avoiding the question and wasting our time, but here’s putting it bluntly—will you integrate your life with mine?

January 21, 2010
Pardon the Intermission

School has set about ravaging my free time, so pardon me as I attempt to handle this burdensome schoolwork. I’ll be back once I’ve completed my class assignments. *sigh* however long that may take…

January 10, 2010
Dethroning the Romantic Relationship

“Jay-Z: All I need in this life of sin is me and my girlfriend

Beyonce: Down to ride till the very end, it’s me and my boyfriend” – ‘03 Bonnie and Clyde

“Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh” –Genesis 2:24 King James Version

It is no great secret that the romantic relationship, especially between a man and woman, holds the top position in the relationship hierarchy of Americans*. More time is spent searching for romantic partners, more effort is spent on cultivating the amorous bond, and more money is spent on celebrating the romantic union than on any other type of association. Americans generally celebrate the formation of a romance through anniversaries, the rites of passage of a romance through engagement parties and wedding ceremonies, and the mere existence of a romance through Valentine’s Day. Naturally, the sundry and omnipresent celebrations of romances dwarf the limited and scarce celebrations of non-romantic bonds. This imbalance of festivities stems from the fact that neither platonic friendships, nor kinships—or any other bonds for that matter—are put on so high a pedestal and declared as necessary for a happy life as the romantic relationship.

As the band Boys Like Girls says, “I used to be love drunk, but now I’m hung over,” and in the midst of friends who still obsessively crave the elixir of love as if they would dehydrate without it, I wonder why we place such a premium on romantic relationships. Why are the scales so unequally weighted in favor of romantic relationships as opposed to everything else? Aside from religious justifications, the heightened importance of romances may be partly due to the perception of all other relationships as temporary in nature or in actuality. For instance, a friendship with someone may start and end, making it temporary in actuality. Contrarily, a family bond will never truly end because one will always be biologically related to their kin, but if a person has no contact with his/her family then such relationships will be temporary in nature since there is little difference between a relationship with no contact between parties and a relationship which has formally ended. So with regard to the instability of platonic bonds and despite the testimony of reality through divorce rates, Americans still look towards romances, and especially marriages, as the one relationship that will be permanent: till death do the lovers part.

The extreme importance of romantic relationships can therefore be understood as a violent reaction to the socially instituted transience and depredation of associations such as friendships and kinships. Friendships, for example, are like trees: they often take lots of time to grow to maturity and are often rooted in one occupational, recreational, or physical place. For many Americans, society, with its forced social uprooting when younger and propensity for major life changes when older, is not facilitative of strong friendships. When younger than twenty-two, most people in cities (and therefore most people in America) will switch schools three or four times and each time see their life’s path diverge from many of their friends’ lives. When no longer in frequent physical proximity to one another due to a school change, children’s friendships usually wither like a plant deprived of sunlight. Moreover, for many of these individuals’ platonic relationships, adulthood will not offer respite from socially mediated disfigurement. Adults will move away from family and friends to areas where they can find jobs, live with their spouses, and feel comfortable raising young children. Indeed, America has a long standing tradition of people heading west to find wealth with nothing but their mate and children and immigrants leaving their entire social networks behind to come to “the land of the free” with no one  aside from their husband or wife. Through all these changes, platonic bonds are strangled and the romantic bond is seen as the most durable—the bond most worthy of attention.

However, while the romantic relationship increases in primacy so too do its affiliated negative qualities, namely possessiveness and jealousy.  A good example of this is the prevalent thought among my friends about romantic relationships: they are only considered serious when both partners have sole possession of the other partner’s amatory actions and, ideally, desires. Additionally, people are often highly jealous and wary of individuals whom their partner seems to be sexually attracted to. This heightened level of possessiveness is a main difference between the emphasized romantic relationship and downplayed non-romantic relationships. For instance, there is no arbitrary limit on the number of great friends one can have that is analogous to the restriction of having one romantic partner. Nor do family members seem jealous of “family friends” who practically have the same relationship status as themselves and are treated like kin. In general, platonic relationships are extendable to the masses. Conversely, romantic relationships, in their attempts to permanently lasso one, have presently lost the ability to love many.

Despite the current reclusive state of romances, we do not have to be myrmidons of the American tradition, thoughtlessly and solely seeking permanence in amative relationships. We can make a conscious effort and choice to forever hold on to our friends and family while at the same time letting go of forced spousal dependency. Life becomes easier when one can be secure in a wide reaching and strong social network. And indeed, even parenting life becomes better since child rearing is easier in a community of lifelong friends where more people can share the burden. Therefore let us deliver the sockdolager to possessiveness and jealousy, removing romantic relations from its rarified seat of permanency and placing it on the widened couch of longevity along with our kinships and friendships. As the ascendant consciousness and intelligence of the human brain is achieved through the multiplicity, diversity, and durability of connections within it, so too is a congenial and beatific life achieved through the multiplicity, diversity, and durability of all connections therein—including romantic connections. When there is reason to believe that more than just our mate will remain in our life, then there will be no reason to romantically love only our mate. Instead, in the same way that multiple friends are appreciated and valued, without jealousy between people over mutual friends, multiple romantic partners will be appreciated and valued rather than abhorred and vilified. And our lives will be richer for it.  We will go from emulating “Bonnie and Clyde” to seeking near and extended kin, and we will go from husband and wife to “lovers and friends,” secure in the stability of not one but all of our treasured relationships.

“Ain’t no place I’d rather be/Chillin’ with homies and family…” –Thugz Mansion by Tupac Shakur

“Tell me again… that we’ll be lovers and friends…” –Lovers & Friends by Usher


*Note- This paper’s comparisons are restricted to relationships between relatively independent adults as opposed to dependent-caregiver relationships such as those between an elderly parent and adult child or a dependent child and adult parent.

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