Question Words (The 5 Ws)

Why does acting reckless wind up in a wreck
When all you're trying to do is live your life.
Who controls your destiny, your mood, your needs, your you
When choices made are only half of "that's the way it goes."
What can a simple woman do
When the responsibilities, recreations, requirements, and roles
are too infinite and asunder to choose and to become.
Where is home as sacred rest
When it lies within the temple of your soul?
How to do and live each day
When I keep learning more that's new.

EGHeck
4.29.2018
1:24 a.m.

Stardust (A Discussion Post for SLIS 701)

Defining Information:  If information were a person what would he/she look like?  Describe physical traits, actions, and personality. (SLIS 701 Spring 2015)

As many superhero movies, television shows, and literature exist in our current universe, I am actually surprised there hasn’t been a devoted character to the embodiment of information. Now certainly, characters such as Star Trek: Next Generation’s Data, Marvel’s The Leader, and even Disney Pocahontas’s Grandmother Willow have embodied the wisdom of one endowed with great knowledge, but no well-known creation for the manifestation of information itself. I imagine this is because information is more like a fluid stream that both influences and is influenced by humanity. Is Information, then, even limited to what humans actually know? Or is Information only ever half-seen as still more is left to be discovered, unearthed, or otherwise happened upon? Here are my thoughts on if information were to be personified.

Firstly, upon reading this assignment, my science-fiction and fantasy-loving self knew this was the only option I could explore. My first step was to search out what my peers, students, and other individuals around me thought about this character, Information. Many responded in the stereotypical “librarian” personas: either the up-tight, cruel grandmotherly sort or the fierce, quiet but sexy librarian image so often objectified in modern media. (The whole “closet-freak” idea.) (Also, see this resource on deconstructing that stereotype.)

Others really thought about the vastness of information, especially focusing on its embodiment of children. Now there’s an interesting concept: children, the least informed of our world (based on experience) and yet, the first thought of many when it comes to picturing information. Some respondents talked of the energy of children, as one peer said like a “hyperactive genius child who just ate too much sugar.” I wholeheartedly believe that Information, as a character, must have the boundless energy as that small child. Others talked about the reflection of childhood, “always thinking, asking questions and dissecting everything.” Now this, too, hits a key aspect of questions, pondering, and seeking answers as a critical nature of Information. In addition, one of my peers immediately responded “Technicolor Jesus!” I feel that her answer is indeed poignant for defining our character, Information. Our culture and multitudes of cultures before us have asserted the mantra “Knowledge is Power.” This must also mean that Information is like a deity in the power of amassing that information. With this godlike thought, others were more influenced by the ethereal nature of Information: its transience, its intangibility, its flow from one form to another. Many recalled characters of video games or films that exist as holograms, such as Cortana from the Halo series and Android voice system and vague humanoid shapes formed of binary code (think Matrix Dissected).  These individuals have hit on the key idea of information as an ever-changing entity, or at least a mass that constantly evolves, grows, shifts, and reacts to the world around it. If Information were static, our pursuit of higher education and higher knowledge would certainly be moot!

After reaching my friends, colleagues, and peers, my first reaction was a mix of shock, pleasure, and humility at the thoughtful and creative responses they had. Closely following, my limited and non-formulaic survey of people’s thoughts of Information generally concurred. Even before asking around, I thought (and still think) that Information must be a shapeshifter, in the sense that the ancient Greek gods could manipulate their appearance and presence befitting the situation. Though my primitive survey forced me to think about the intangible nature of Information; how despite its prevalence and influence, information is not fastened down to anchors or etched in stone. Information also must be able to share in transactions with people, both sharing knowledge and augmenting Information with new discoveries and revelations.

Therefore, if Information was a character, it would not be male nor female. Information would be made of stardust and generally spend its time in incoherent drifts that focused in schools, libraries, places of worship, meditative gardens, and gently lingering in the spaces before your eyes. Just as any good Hero’s Journey requires, those seeking Information must travel the journey and respond to the call to want Information and need its guidance. At that time, like deities of the British pagans, the spirits of the Native Americans, or the witches of mysticism, Information could materialize to the “Pure of Heart.” Likewise, Information would have a calm tone of voice, regardless of the mouth it materialized. I cannot help but imagine Planet Earth’s Sigourney Weaver as the asexual voice of Information, feminine, yet deep enough to comfort and impart weight. I don’t imagine Information’s personality fluctuates as it must keep constant its essential being as its specifics and manifestations perpetually change. I have now forgotten the book, but I once read a character that was cursed with empathy when she was born. The curse-giver had thought empathy would be a gift that united warring kingdoms, but instead aged the child unnaturally rapidly as she experienced so much of the world’s burdens and struggles. I wish I could recall the author, but I so clearly recall the description of her eyes as larger, darker, and more hollow than a child’s should be. I imagine that same darkness and depth in the eyes of Information, perhaps from sadness, but perhaps also from the multitudes of wonders in our world.

Just Because/You Love Me

Just because I'm a nerd
doesn't mean I don't enjoy cursing, or
enjoy a frivolous night of tomfoolery on the town.
Just because I'm a nerd
doesn't mean I prefer the company of books over people
(though in some moods that might be true).

Just because I'm an English teacher
doesn't mean I am continually critiquing your grammar.
I say words and speak without thinking and use "it," "thingie," and general gestures that run over into impropriety
Or use a bakcWrd verb or splell chk.
Just speak.

Just because I'm married
doesn't mean I don't want to hear I look beautiful, or
have a man be interested in me as I walk by in something cute.
Just because I'm married
doesn't mean I have children, am expecting children, or can't wait for the day to have children.
I've got a life to lead and discover and make mistakes in for myself!

Just because I'm married to the military
doesn't mean I have an American flag pasted on all my walls, or
know the proper salute for identifying ranks and the latest politics.
Just because I'm married to the military
doesn't mean I will stop seeking a dream of my own and a career that fulfills me.

Just because I'm confident on the outside
doesn't mean I can't be hurt by your words, mean glances, or other disrespect;
I'll just act as though I'm more resilient.
Just because I'm an empathetic soul who feels the world to experience it
doesn't mean I won't block you out if you continue to demean or yell or otherwise propagate the negative;
I'll labor with the decision, but, once it's made, I'll not rescind it.

Just because you see me doesn't mean you see me.


Very few see me because, only then, you love me.


514pm
7.11.2014
EGH

in response to Lord of the Flies lesson planning

Things a Teacher Does (High School Edition)

In trying to find temporary employment that might lead to full-time employment as a military spouse, I have found my skill set to be quite specific. One potential employer that I was seeking a clerical position from said this as his entry into discussion of hiring me: "Well, it looks like you should really just be a teacher."

Well, let me tell you. I decided my resume needed a different presentation if I wanted to be hired as something other than a teacher (because, let's be honest, who is going to hire a teacher in May if she's not staying past September?).

I began with a "mental dump" of my responsibilities each day at school. I tried to use "resume language," but I think this giant list does look a lot like what was going through my head at any given moment. The list (unedited) is as follows:

Spiraled and Caught

"These words are my own from my heart." -- Natasha Beddingfield


 When  did the times  change?
I see our with new eyes today.
Where do the smiles hide?
 Now the wind blows my thoughts away.

I thought I once knew everything--
 or really,  had learned SOME thing,
 Yet now I sit stunned,  silent,  in stupor
 As the scenes before my eyes  deeply sting.

I know things are good;
 Well, I think they are,  anyway.
 But somehow I'm saddened,
 More  distant than anything.

 When have my cares taken over my joys?
I lack the freedom I once had to breathe.
I feel the tightness,  the clenching  that's deep in my chest
 Which on ce used  to float and cavort out  with ease.

 I could make bold decisions  and leap for the chances
 For latr drives,  for movies,  for running,  for  dances,
 For pizza,  for fellowship,  for speaking,  for  leading.
 Now instead,  my soul is left pleading

 For renewal of vows of the inmost  degree,
 For promises and spirit,
 For some new sparked opportunities.

I feel like a shell that I'm spiraled  and caught
 That the world passes  by me with no single thought.

 That the world passes by me with

 No

 single


 thought.

Patience

Morning:
6AM, no patience for the alarms
     Despite their chirping birds, rushing waterfalls, or melodic spirals
715, no patience for the coffee perc'ing, the Eggos toasting, the puppy playing
745 the lights, the cars, the children's buses all get in my way
                         So much for my time before work starts.

Work:
An hour or so of winding through towers of teetering totter, emails and research and planning and forms
At 10 the bell rings as a death knell for Duncan
     (My death is not murder, but no less betrayal)
     As streaming from haphazard lives sally forth the aching, the tired, the lazy, the burdened,
          The naiive, the dew-eyed, the kids wearing masks.

By 18 to 11 they've used up my patience:
I've answered their questions, I've told them my stories,
I've laughed at their jokes, and they've laughed at my foibles.
I've given them each my whole very best

And now, there is none for the rest.

Afternoon:
Twelve O'clock--Is it lunch? Can someone please handover the frozen dish I will munch?
Not quite enough time to finish the laugh, not enough to ingest while tasting some flavor.
The comments I choose must be carefully chosen as each spoken word only comes twice in a week
(There is too many'a showcase to describe of
To pause

For a second

To regain some peace.) And it's
Back
To the faces of unawares children
Not seeing the truths or experiences in life that I wish I had patience--
Or the luxury of patience--
To watch them grow into.
Instead it's more doldrum; the jokes have lost color.
The smile is now fake; the questions grow old.
Curiosity, once a praised beauty, is now only a hindrance that stops the

Evening:
4 or 5 or 630 or something, I pull in the driveway awaiting another adventure!

No adventure; we are too old for that.
Our new every morning is wrung out to dry by the time our home encompasses me.
The chipper puppy love brings a smile for a moment.
Cuddles are the only answer.

To restore peace to have patience:
Rest in the arms of the lover.
Dine on the savory indulgences of the day.
Leave behind the lost humanity of the day; it is gone with the questions in the wind.

Seek peace, seek peace, seek peace.

1004PM
11/13/13 egheck

Life on the Screen

Do you remember when I first loved you?
Do you think of the first time spoken?


There were crowds around me that day:
   crowds ambling on their way to business
   crowds nosing into the daily happenstance
   crowds peeping in to see our faces (mine in real time, yours, a mere picture on a screen)

I told you then. I TOLD you then:


"Of course I love you."




And now...it's all too true.

"Of course I love you," when you snore instead of smile.
"Of course I love you," when you point and prod after a long, hard day.
"Of course I do," when questions becomes accusing.
"Of course," as water drips from my ever-leaking eyes.

Damn allergic eyes.

The sand surrounds us and swallows us whole.
The noise external obliterates the sweetness of whispers.
The traffic blocks the easy walks.
The rage and pressures eviscerate the calm and comfort.
The town of desperation swallows us whole.



I'm sinking now,


          I'm sinking now,





  (I'm sinking now)

into a discomfort lined with razors (the pointed edges, not the flat).
The pinpricks that surround me leave me no wiggle, wriggle, giggle room--
I see a cool and comfy spot!




--Oh wait.



It's just reflections from
the daggers
from the daggers of the razor blades of
broken hopes of
shattered dreams of
pieces of your face in a screen.

"Don't believe what you see on T.V."

Almost.

"Don't believe what you don't see in reality."

The Cardboard-Crate Life

The boxes have a pile again.
This time, there's plenty of furniture wrap, bubble wrap, newspaper, and label paper.
This time, I know what to expect.
I know what needs protecting.

I expect the goodbyes to be "I'll see you soon"s.
I expect the moving day will be filled with helping hands and end in a sweaty mess.
I expect tensions will be high as I try to organize each detail
                                            as I try to direct the flow of delicate possessions
                                            as I try to both hold onto the fond memories of this house and grieve for the life I now leave behind.
I expect some excitement and fear as I drive away with a car filled dangerously full.
I expect to have a new iPod playlist to distract me from the work.
I expect these things for that day.

As I look forward, I look back.
What happened last time? What happens this time?

I expect that I will know no one in this new town of new buildings and streets.
I expect that the "I'll see you soon"s will turn into mere imprints on the wind.
I expect that I will only know where the good food is once I am preparing to leave.
I expect the excitement will be dulled as there are no girlfriends to share it with when I get old.
I expect I'll learn a new way to drive with the "worst drivers ever."
I expect that another 15 pounds is waiting for me on the couch.
I expect I will just want to stay cuddled up in my new home on the furniture I know,
with the stuff I know, with the only person I know,
safe in the few things I know
Until I am too sad to try to get out.
Too lazy to build up new hobbies.
Too quiet to make any new friends.
Too "content" (or discontent) to mess up my routine.



I can't let this happen again; I have no patience for the doldrums.
I can't survive in a cardboard-crate life.
I need the touch of grass, the breath of breezes, and the laughter of water.
I need to reconnect with humanity and Earth.
I need a place to settle in that's more than just a house--a home.

The Agony of Analysis

For the entirety of the following essay, the following nomenclature is adopted throughout:

·   “the Writer” is the one who analyzes; the reader of the original text;

·   “the Author” is the one who has written the original text;

and

·   “the Scholars” or “the Critics” are the ones that have written previous analysis which the Writer uses to find information.

The Agony of the Analysis

"I celebrate & sing myself"

“I celebrate & sing myself”

(a poem inspired by Walt Whitman)

I sing myself in words that fill my life

                Words that share myself with yours

                              that share my heart with yours

                              that share my eyes with your imaginings

But I am ever blind, then see—

                again, again I learn again

                stories

                (and dreams)

                of who I am again.

Somedays I am the scholar, with unquenching thirst for knowledge and numbers

                (blind to feelings or practicality)

Somedays I am the homemaker, with aromas (paprika and pinesol)

                pervasive along with ordered chaos

Yet other days I am the sloth, with chocolate, popcorn, and tactile-glee

                (blind by shutting out the daily pressures on myself)

But most of all, on most of days

                I’m merely just the rolling tide of

                emotion, feeling, empathy, misery

                that I embrace with emerald pools for eyes.

                I share myself with you and take your share of you

                because only in our life together

                (with God & nature and water & things)

                does life mean anything in song

                               

Elizabeth Gay

1.11.2012

910am

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning" edit

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning"
editted 4 Feb 2012 

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning"

"At Three O'Clock in the Morning"




She lay awake in her bed because she couldn't sleep. It was one of those restless nights that are filled with the inescapable dread that another minute has to creep by before you can sleep. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.


But the moment of sweet ecstasy, as you slip soundlessly into the silos and slaughterhouses of slumber, NEVER comes. 

Vulnerable (First Draft)

Vulnerable


You are the voice in the distance
That wakens me, in the darkness, to smile.
Away from the speed, away from the cars, away from the lights that
Blind and distract and expose and illuminate!
The deep recesses of holes and longing.

Rethinking Genre

     When I was a kid, we didn't have padding under our jungle gyms. We had rocks.
     We didn't have safety belts on our swing sets. The whole goal was to get as high as you could, then launch yourself into the stratosphere.
     We rode our bikes without helmets. Without shoes. Sometimes without clothes.

Coffee, America's Unofficial Unity

Coffee, America's Unofficial Unity
      GREENVILLE, SC--She wakes to the sound of the OWL City ringtone on her phone. Rolling over, she glances at the screen blaring ten o'clock and realizes just how much work she has to do. And before another moment passes, Haley Harned is in the kitchen scooping out the first aromatic grounds of the day.
      Caffeine's allure wasn't why she started drinking coffee. But now, she is obsessive. She is dependent. Haley is addicted.

Flame Cocoon (unedited)

Flame Cocoon


"Consume me from the inside out"
And burn my flesh away.
Purify the blanket shell
And make the truthfull hearness stay.
Rid the plague that now does loom
From mighty mount to darkened dune.

“Then he told them many things in parables” [1] (with audio file)

“Listen then to what the parable of the sower means:”

I know a seed is just one man or another. But can the seed also be just one part or another of me?

“A farmer went out to sow his seed.”

My roommate is a brain.

Response to Poetic "Simplicity"

My roommate is a brain.
While the lights outside are dimming-
While my thoughts are fervent swimming-
While I, I sit alone.

No sound she makes, but lumps & gushes.
As lights would rise: be lightened!
  I struggle holding onto thoughts:
      spinning, thinning, multiplying,
      feasting, expanding, spreading,
      tensing, fighting, making...

    Too many to write.
    Too many to hold.
    Too many to think.

But at least there is the brain that is my roommate.

EG
Oct 20, 2010
1:15pm

English goes NOM

English goes NOM

A human death is tragedy
But in a book - a novelty.
With names of men just mere creations
That rule a farm or grow the nations

Or travel to islands near & afar
In spaceships, through tunnels, or rides in a car;
Snaking and sliding further & further in - -
With victory, with sadness, with triumph, with sin.

I can see it all from the comfort of my chair-
With a lamp, with a light, with a drink, with a pear.
Consume me, O Book that can bring me to living
The lives I haven't been given.

Take me to the worlds unseen
By my little self, so simple, green.
You give companions I wish to hold
Through love upwelling & secrets (un)told

I see the truth, yet question the points
That be in my life & heaven anoints.
I live through the words that dance there before me
Where language consumes: the land of possibility.

Elizabeth Gay
1005am
9.3.10

*express the loss of control under the influence of poetic/literary words

Finding One? Or Settling with the Multitudes?

She plays the game. She buys the ruse.
He's just a man; jardly worth her time.
But he's got the words, the art, the articulation
That will send her sweet tintillation.

She speaks back with coyish flutters and false gaspings.
All along she slides closer and closer
With voices that say no
And lips that say go...

"Nervous and shy for the moment we will come alive"
She knows these are the rules
That draw him into her
That bind her (under fur)

So it's the call and the illusion that she does love;
And give her precious breaths,
With passion pulling him with her hips
Deep kisses, warm skin, light-fingertips

And ecstasy she can find in the arms of a man
The look to the strong, heavy chest
Enveloping her from above
Descending upon her body like a dove

To rise to the greatest of pleasures, screaming in the dark
Soft moans and grips from within
Bring her a joy uncaptured on her own
Yet is she still alone?

*Lyrics songs from:
"Six Feet Under the Stars" All Time Low
"Secret Valentine" We The Kings