I did like the anecdotes in it though, often academic writing can become monotonous but the eclectic snippets of various stories kept the reading lite. It is also helpful to see examples of the correct (and incorrect) ways to write. I also like how the PDF was scanned as a landscape, it made reading it on my computer much easier. When it is vertically uploaded I have to wrench my head to the side and I look like a mis-guided flamingo; one who through his unrepentant environmentalism decides to sacrifice the well-being of his neck in order to save if only one tiny tree.
Edit: Upon a brief examination of my computers PDF reading program I have found that there is an option to rotate the said PDF. It looks as if my upper-spinal damage was in vain.
Goldberg writes about the dissolving dichotomy between the ordinary and extraordinary; about how the definition is reliant upon so much more than the content-- instead finding worth in the circumstance, environment, characters, even the reader.
I agree with this and find it interesting, the concept of absolutes seems very silly to me, so to pin a passage or an event as positively ordinary, or conversely, extremely extraordinary is ill-advised to any writer. In fact, when trying to describe an occurrence the added distance between how it is normally perceived and how it is perceived in the writing can add extra poignancy and weight.
The story I read was Internal. I thought it was very smart- it took me a while but when I recalled my basic knowledge of psychology I realized that this was a dark satire of clinical and behavioral psychology.
Rauch and his intern represent the clinical aspects- this is shown by the ridiculous percentiles and avoidance of patients. Kagen, however, is a behaviorist-- a philosophy shown by the unusual detachment from possible emotional bias of any action. The form of the story, that of a scientific report, adds to the satirical nature by emulating what it is mocking.
I also liked that the story ended in futility with both interns "running out of ink" because it speaks towards the intellectual waste that occurs when a certain dogmatic way of thinking takes over one's life and common sense is disregarded. When one ignores logic and sanity, as the interns did by willingly imprisoning themselves, no progress can be made.
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My walls are pretty bland. I’ve never been to prison, but I joke to my friends that my room looks like one— it’s manilla/beige concrete bricks and tan carpet and some fleshy curtains that look like shanks of human skin. For obvious reasons I’m not there much. I was out a flea market (because, as a 22 year old white male, I am truly at home in the flea market setting) the other day and it was a real bummer- no good deals, nothing. Usually I can find an old knife or there is a Mexican guy selling quarter tacos out the back of his pick-up but today nothing. There was a pierogi vendor but he wasn’t even polish and he was selling them out of a hand cart so why bother? I’m totally fine with producers cutting costs by using questionable means of sanitation. So I’m walking around looking for anything to salvage my Wednesday afternoon when I see this real weird booth in the corner. Most of the warehouse that the flea market was in had cheap tile flooring, but this stand was over behind some heavy machinery where the ground has turned to dirt. I walk back there and I don’t see any body at this really sketchy old booth, it was covered in maroon scarves and had poorly carved walking sticks that still had sap and bark on them and I’m make a movement towards a tub of used cutlery (sometimes renegade silver forks can go for a killing on eBay) when an old woman popped up. I had no idea where she came from, she was small, like a child with really bad scoliosis or something, so maybe she was underneath the table, but I don’t know. She had a dirty green shawl that looked like it was brown until I really looked at it and fingernails that looked like tiny carotene shovels jutting out from each digit. She was the closest thing to a gypsy metro-Detroit had to offer. And she goes “what do you want”; Typical gypsy customer service.
I said, “you know, I’m just kinda looking around” and she says “well don’t waste my time, I’m on a busy schedule”.
“yeah, I can tell” I said looking around at all the people who weren’t there.
I’m looking around and I don’t see much (the used cutlery bin was a bust) except for this bright blue corner of a picture that was covered by a rag. Most of it was hidden beneath the fabric, but I saw this really bright blue color like the sky after it’s been cloudy for a few days and you’ve almost forgot what sunshine looks like.
“what’s the painting over there” I said to her and she goes “it’s not for sale”.
I’ve dealt with flea-market folk before, and I know everything is for sale. I bought my friend a date with a guys daughter once. This is just a trick they use to run the price up.
“I know it’s for sale, you brought it here, you didn’t bring it to not sell it” and she looks at me with little black marbles she has instead of eyes and said “you don’t want this painting. It’s for sale, but not to you”.
“just let me see it” I said. She could tell I wasn’t going to leave so she turned around and limped over to the painting, pulled of it’s cover, and showed it to me. It was one of those cookie cutter pictures of Jesus Christ except that it seemed so vibrant. I remember looking at those when I was like 6 years old and sitting in church praying that it would end. It was the kind of painting that was hung right behind the pastor, an overbearing presence on the crowd below. The one where he looks like he is judging you, but accepting, but then judging again. I don’t know, it’s a real strange thing. It was like one of those but really bright, the blue seemed to pop off the page. It was the perfect thing to bring some life to my room. Resurrect it.
I said to her “I’ll pay you 10 bucks for that painting” and she says “no, its not for sale, you don’t understand what this is” and I’m thinking “yeah right, it’s a painting of Jesus Christ, I know what it is” and so I say again, okay, how much do you want for it. She looks at me for like 9 seconds which doesn’t seem like that long, but if you’ve ever really had someone stare at you without talking for anything longer than 3 seconds you know how it feels. I got kind of cold and then could feel sweat starting too form above my eyebrow and she goes “you really want this painting? Fine having” and threw it at me. “But don’t try and bring it back, I don’t want it anymore.”
It was kinda strange, I had never gotten anything for free like that before, but I had my painting and I was pretty happy about that so I didn’t think much of it.
It was late when I got home so I hung the painting up above the threshold to the door of my room so I could see it when I was in bed. It was eerie; it reminded me of when I was in church. But it was bright and it cleaned up the room so I didn’t mind. The room needed some color after all, it was so drab. I hung it up, went down the bar to meet some friends, had a few drinks, got a little drunk, had a few more drinks, got pretty drunk, asked a girl for her number, got rejected, called her a bitch, got slapped, talked to my friend about how dumb girls where, then stumbled back to my room. I fell into bed and was about to go to fall into a horribly inefficient drunken slumber when I saw it. It was Jesus, framed with an exploding blue sky staring at me—The Son of God staring me down in my own room. And then he began to speak.
“Blake” he said. I was really surprised how Jesus sounded, I imagined him having a booming voice or maybe even sounding like Morgan Freeman. He didn’t sound like that, but he also didn’t sound like a regular guy. He had a very particular way of enunciating every letter in a word and finishing especially hard on the last audible consonant. “You’ve made some pretty bad decisions”. Still feeling painful slap of rejection I thought to myself that I imagined God being a bit more profound. “And now you need to repent”
“Oh my God” I said
“Yes, my son, I am here” he said. I’ve got really poor night vision so I couldn’t tell if the actual painting’s lips where moving when he talked, but the inflection he used when he said what he said made it seem like he was poking fun at my choice of words, but without confirmation from his mouth I can’t be sure.
good reading responses, include more examples from the texts and say more about "Internal"
ReplyDelete15/20