Fin again..

i suppose i shall end this brief trip into oral traditions on a more pleasant note. "a world of sound and sound alone" His dark materials, seven liberal arts, nine muses, fifty discrete items, parataxis, flyting, Finnegans wake, mememoreme, Remember Me, epithets,memory theatre, repetition, Nietzsche, Lull, immortality, ineluctable modality, the grotesque, the unfrequented church, esoteric, Yates, cliche, pathetic fallacy, w.r. Ong, nine necessities, memory, imagination, soul, Kane, tradition, drums in the deep, the god in me, the god i am, Aristotle, Plato, Freud, Jung, anamnesis, recollection of the forgotten, alithiometer, gnosticism, neoplatainism, hamlet, Krishna, bagavagita, Augustine, myth, literature, simonedes, rhetoric, Shahar Azad/sherezade, collective/personal unconscious, solipsistic, grammar/grimoire, "inspired gibberish", Lolita, three taps upon the tongue, carnival-carne val- carne- flesh, names, words, power, magic, tempest...
Gossamer Von Goss, Mnemosyne

it shall not come to pass, it shall not end

A Strong Memory

here's something i wrote in my journal a few weeks ago that i've been thinking over. it's, i suppose, a grotesque memory. i suppose i could have focused my essay on something like this but it didn't occur to me til just now.

blood on white wool.

Valentines day. Today was a strange day. Headed up the west fork, I came around the first bend to an interesting sight. A truck turned on it’s side, one child in a ditch and three standing on the road. Two older men helping. They waved me by yet I pulled up ahead of the accident and started my flashers.
I grabbed my jackets. Three freezing children standing alone one buried in blankets on his stomach, "keep still." children, that’s how I thought of them. They were … young. I’m only twenty.
First sight, the image of her, the girl’s, April’s, right hand pinky dripping slightly-darker-than-cherry blood. Blood is not cherry red. It’s slightly-darker-than-cherry. My old denim and wool jacket goes over her shoulders as she cries into the phone to the police dispatcher. Second sight, slightly-darker-than-cherry blood against white wool. Will need bleach. The boy is tall and I see dark-cherry running down behind his ear. Its there on the up and right side of his black haired head. The hair is slightly ruffled and dipped in dried blood. He is silent and too still but standing. Head injury? He is out of it and silent. My red out layer goes over his shoulders. "It’s not much but it’s heat. "
The girl, April, April Blackwell- I didn’t know her name till later, is crying "I don’t knows’ into the phone for her little brother(?, yes, littlest Brandon Blackwell) heading towards hysterical. My last gray under layer goes over the younger’s shoulder- he cant be twelve, Taylor Blackwell. She’s maybe fifteen, fourteen going on fifteen I later learned, and the boy not much older, 16, Dusty McKee. T
A bloody cell phone is shoved into my face. "Here, please!"
"Hello?
You were in the accident?
No, I just showed up on the scene.
All right, can I have your name?
Joan. Joan Goss.
How do you spell Goss
G-O-S-S
thank you, and the accident is by Connor?
Yes
Go by way of the connor store? The girl gave us the address there.
Yeah or you can just go straight up the West fork, we’re just past the fourth mile marker.
Really?
Yeah just go straight up the west fork towards the fourth mile marker and you’ll see a line up of trucks with their flashers on.
Tell me what’s happening. Can you smell smoke or gas?
No, no smoke or gas and I don’t see any heat rising. The truck is on it’s side in the ditch and the little boy is laying next to it. The three children are up on the road with me.
Is there anyone else there with you.
Yeah two other men.
And the accident was on the right side of the road
Yeah right side headed south.
It’s in the road?
No, the truck is in the ditch on the right side of the road headed south.
All right and the boy?
He’s there too. He’s on his chest facing up hill in the ditch.
On his chest (sounds worried)? Was he thrown from the truck
To the girl- was he tossed out the truck\
No he just kinda slipped out and the truck landed on him. He was halfway under the truck.
The boy- it wasn’t even really on me.
To the Dispatcher- apparently he slipped out and ended up under the truck
Do you have any emergency medical experience.
No I don’t
All right we can work with that just make sure he doesn’t move and keep an eye on his breathing can you do that.
Yeah I can definitely do that.
To the boy- you breathing ok?
Yeah just cold and my arm hurts.
(yeah I can bet)
He says he’s breathing fine we’re piling stuff on him to keep him warm.
Alright we’ve got people on the way so I’m going to leave you. You think you can handle this?
Yeah, I got it.
Uncertainly I stare at the phone finally closing it and handing it back. Keeping an eye on the boy, tucking the jackets back around the kids. Watching the old fellows and waiting. The girl calls family. She had calmed down clinging to the boy. Now she’s getting scared again. The twelve yr old’s fine, Taylor, the older boy worries me. Too damn still and silent.
EMT and truck. Younger dark haired fellow. Immediately check the ones with me with a glance and then the youngest. Dunno his name, Niles? , things move Darby ambulance arrives, the kids on the backboard and into the ambulance. Brandon. His name is Brandon. Taylor demands to go with, doesn‘t want Brandon alone. He does.
A woman has showed up (Karen? No, Mindy McKee) I know her, short brown-red-silver streaked hair, (where from?) she hugs me she knows me and wishes we had met at a better time. Her son, the oldest boy (I think, yes) doesn’t remember the crash. He did a few minutes ago, concerned. He caught the shoulder and hit the brakes. They flipped a few times. No seatbelts.
Not good, shock? Head injury. EMT, what month is it?
March…
The girl, April, goes hysterical. I hug her. Let her cry on me, she‘s short below my nose, dark brown hair, pretty even with the blood on her face and in tears. Gotta be Dusty’s girlfriend (she is). Say nothing. "he thinks its March, he doesn’t remember, oh my god!!" sobs. The woman goes following the boy kissing me on the cheek twice huggin me thanking me. A cousin shows up, Angel(?), Angela(?), for April. Grandmother is headed to the hospital. April’s in shock. EMT’s want her on a back board. She struggles weakly to get to cousin. Hysterical women… glad it’s not me.
The coat re-draped, new shoulders. "Talk to her, keep talking to her."
They leave. Awkward silence. What do I do now? They keep asking if I was in the accident. I am not hurt; no, I wasn’t; no, I’m not family…
I leave. My hands are numb but I’m still calm(always calm, always calm, "about as emotional as a doorknob," flat smile, you don‘t know how right you are Rodger Brown.) Wish I could have helped more. Call mom and dad. I’m gonna be late, love you. My hands are numb all the way home.
Ah, 10:00pm that night. Called Niles, Kent Niles, first EMT on the scene, young dark haired fellow, he knows who. Wolf lane family, McKee’s… ah got it. Mindy McKee. Kid’s are gonna be fine. Dusty knot on his head, Taylor fine, April cuts and bruises, Brandon a broken pelvis but fine. Good.
Apparently, people have been thanking me or trying to. Not sure why, didn’t do much. Just stood there and hugged people, kept my head. Apparently was "good" or "did good" and "stayed calm". or something like that. Mr. McKee says "Thank you." Huh. Well, you’re welcome.

Fathers and Tellers

Like Chris's father, my father is also an excellent story teller. i think it might simply be a gift of theirs. i also think it might have something to do with parental instincts and a need to connect with children and to pass on something. most of my fathers stories are based around his youthful follies and mine. motor bikes and horses come to mind a lot.
people, especially, parents have a need to raise their childred to connect not only on the heart-scape, or because of biological reasons, but also on the mind-scape. people want to understand each other and through stories these connections are possible. stories say personal things that cannot be put into a few words. there is a deep personal connection.

Passing

Check mark Parker and Charlie talked about passing down and words in their presentations Parker's was concerned that if we keep passing the same things down that culture/society would stagnate but that events and changes in society helped keep the words changing thus chaos destroys stagnation. Charlie talked about the practice of passing down the Torah orally.

personally i think that no matter if we are an oral or literate culture it cannot truly stagnate. yes it can last for hundreds of years but that's just a blip on the time scale. besides, humans are far too chaotic to ever truly settle into stagnation. words always change in circumstance and humans get too bored to settle

Artists are...

Earlier in the year we discussed the idea of the artist/poet and what/who they are. eventually i came to the idea that Artists are... obsessive compulsive, anal, micromanaging, copycatting, control freak, directors with their heads in the clouds high on something. whatever it is they're on i want some. an artist has mere moments, especially in an oral culture, to present his art to the world. they must know, be creative as hell, and be in perfect control. if they slip they are soooooo screwed it isn't even funny.

oh, yeah, i forgot to add that they are glory hounds on a quest for immortality

Presenting

OK since I'm obviously terrible at getting up in front of the class and saying anything I'll try to explain what i meant.

words are powerful. they are events. they are cause and effect. a word causes a reaction internally, an understanding.
words are formulaic. requests are, usually, filled out, demands too. power of politeness in request, in words. conditioning i suppose.
names are difficult to resist. they cause things to become personal. especially full names...

i had this thought out so much better last night. and it still doesn't make much sense

Mute Poet

the mute poet fades out of existence, of memory without immortality if he cannot write his words. it destroys him in such a manner as his mind shatters and his soul withers away into void. this is the same for any artist, any person with something they love. whatever it may be, being unable to do it is destruction.

i suppose he could always take up interpretive dance

Runes are one of the more interesting writing styles i came across in my study of literature vs orality.
the Rune represents a sound but it also represents an idea. the anglo-saxon rune 'eh' stands for the sound [e] but it also represents the animal 'horse' and it's not just horse, having a horse is a sign of both wealth and warrior prowess, a pleasure and a mark of pride, a horse is friends, adventure and travel.
so runes are extended metaphors... interesting.

Traditions

forgot the blurb about our chapter on Traditions.

The chapter on Traditions in Kane explains that the moment in which mythological tradition is most active is the moment when its orders of knowledge are most focused. That moment is the actual telling of a story. The traditional act of storytelling involves different aspects that make a story more powerful. These include the voice of the narrator, its polyphonic form and the effects that nature, people and the surroundings have on a story, consistency and the replication of the essential patterns of mythology, and finally, improvisation. The main instrument in any story is the voice, which brings the listener away from their current state of reality to the unseen worlds of tribal memory. For our oral presentation, we have each selected various short stories that derived from oral cultures where the tradition of storytelling created a bond between humanity and our relationship with the earth and the world we live.

Blind poets

yes we hear about the verbose and articulate blind poet, but what about the fellow with a lisp? what about those wordy geniuses who can't speak or can't speak well? what about those who have so much to say but are to shy to do so? well maybe you got over stage fright back then because there was no writing but still... writing and literature helps/ed those brilliant people with speaking impediments even though it does nothing for those great blind speakers.