Simulations Abound! (or) Buying Park Place.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon in a park.

To get an idea of the experience, imagine yourself in a vibrant pasture of green that could never exist naturally in the wild (unless the hierarchy of the food-chain becomes upset to the extent that lawnmowers and landscapers began roaming the earth in tandem), dotted sparsely with trees and basking under a gentle blue sky. I had my guitar, and I was playing and singing for Preeta. It was relaxing and wonderful, and we had the place almost completely to ourselves.

However, it got me thinking.

The idea that such a place could never exist without the intrusion of man was a thought that stuck with me. The park itself was built to look like a vale in heaven, and largely succeeded in its quest. When you walk out into the rolling green of its expansive space you feel like you're coming home, whether or not you've ever been there. Like nature is accepting you back into its gentle arms. But, it's a complete illusion. There is nothing 'natural' about the place whatsoever; every piece is manicured and manufactured, planned and placed with the utmost care. If they could kick out the ants on the ground to make it more perfect, I imagine they would. It is not nature, it is a simulation of nature built for easy and ready consumption. Welcome to Nature Construct #243A, please keep off the grass, and have a nice day.

Baudrillard may be silly at times, but I think he knew his shit. We tread through a desert of the real, making maps that are reality and refering to the last vestiges of actual reality as we would a map.

To drive my point home, at one point I looked around to find that a woman was standing in the middle of the park taking pictures of Preeta and I. She was a young woman, and I think she may have been a college student from her style of dress and presentation of self. That photo of us sitting in the park will likely be displayed and recontextualized to mean whatever she wishes it to mean. Whatever was true or real about that day to us will be lost entirely in the display that the young woman will make of it. She will simulate the meaning as Preeta and I knew it according to her own perceptions or desires. Preeta and I have become a single floating signifier, captured by the digitality of modern technology. "Young love." Or maybe, "Trespassers."

Hell, "Beauty and the Beast." Who knows? I just hope she captured my good side.

;-) peace

up to date

Since there may be an influx of people coming to this blog again soon (I'd sort of let it trail off into nothing in favor of using the myspace blog), let me catch everyone up.

This was a blog that existed through a very tumultuous time in my life. For a good portion of the existance of this account I wasn't a terribly happy person. Prior to and since the posts you find here, I've been known to be a pretty cheerful guy. For that single year, though, I found my self bogged down with a lot of stuff that kept me moderately moody (to say the least). :-) It actually began as a class assignment and turned into a way for me to vent about things and publish really awful poetry.

So, if you bother to read through any of this, please excuse the oftentimes silly and self-serving content. I don't like the idea of changing or deleting any of the posts merely because new readers may be arriving, and so they will remain the same. However, I felt that a disclaimer might very well be necessary. Such is what you've just read.

peace.

myspace profile...

I've got a myspace profile that has some blog postings on it too. If it's to your taste, check them out.

www.myspace.com/thebricoleur

Peace,
jesse

Check this out.....

These are kind of neat.....

https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/demo/index.jsp

thesmokinggub

This one I wrote a little while ago... makes me think of the bush administration....

thesmokinggub

The gub postures. Unafraid in silhouette, regal white eyebrows and prominent proboscis; bent loopy grey smoke trailing. Smolder stick shouldered in stubby finger sandwich, lift to thin lips and smooched twice. Dispassionately. Hip holstered. Pupils slide and heart flumps. Moustache twitches tight eyes. Irises to busy horizon. Rule #37: Flag the sky. Always flag the sky.

reflections on the spiral staircase

I Am
segmented
in body,
clunky and bulbous
with delicate
wings
translucent and webbed.
An insignificant
thief,
stowed away
hoping to pilfer
what can be hustled
from your cheek.

My single gift
This…
a bitter kiss.

Or, am I

Signaling,
reflecting
as favorite
bedroom mirrors might,
the unknown larceny
hoping to save…
prevent?...
life’s persistent and
Necessary itch.
(or maybe just
the little brittle bits)

Can you tell....

Can you tell I've been a little stressed?

I'm exhausted from school. My energy is at rock bottom, and I just hope I can finish this semester without saying or doing anything too stupid. In the next month, I've got to finish 3 finals, and each is for a grade that will largely determine the course of my entire graduate career. If I do well, I can choose a certain culminating experience (one that will help me get into better doctoral programs), and if I fuck it up I'm forced to choose another (one that won't help shit). Doing my best to organize my time effectively enough to ace these final projects, but it's not easy. I've had to take this entire week off from my normal workload just to get started on two of the finals. The third I finished most of over my easter break. I used the entire week to finish it, and still couldn't quite do it. Plus, it meant I got no break, which means I've been working straight through since the beginning of the semester (weekends included.... I've taken exactly 3 days off since day one).

So anyway, this is just to say I don't mean to bitch so much. I don't like to think of myself as an unhappy person in general, I'm just under a lot of pressure.

Ok, that's all.