I Have a Hole in my Side

I had surgery today. My mom's dermatologist recommended it, she thought the mole/freckle that i have had all my life constituted a serious health risk. However, staring down at the bandage as i sat outside on my parents deck at 2 in the morning i could not help to bring to bear my extensive theological background on the subject.

After the Son had been hung on the cross, the sabbath was coming up, and it was the Roman custom to pull down Jews who were being crucified for the occasion, or at least help them die a little faster. So they would break their legs, giving them nothing to push up with, allowing the slow process of suffication to work a little less slowly. However, they had to check before willy nilly bone breaking, so they peirced our boy jesus in the side to see if he would perk up. He had already accused his father of forsaking him, and then come to peace with the whole thing, so he was dead . . . or was he!?!?! (sorry, that might have been insensitive).

Now, i don't pretend to be the eternal redeemer, not by a long shot, but getting stabbed in the side is no picnic, and i most assuredly did not have water pour fourth from my wound. But whenever you bring christian symbolism up before an Bachelor in the Art of English Literature, there is quite a bit of checking in that he must do.

I have been stagnant, content (something Gesu wouldn't have been too pumped up about) living day by day, unaware when things should start or stop, because i have neither started nor stopped in awhile. I used to be able to mask it because i didn't have the constant reminder that living with one's parents portends. My life is made up of nothing more than Las Vegas reruns and whatever prime time shows my parents DVR, mixed in with a deep analytical look into the upcoming NBA season, with an overzealous amount of fantasy football thrown in. I have gained a significant amount of weight on my already overwrought frame, i haven't read a book in months, and i go days without changing out of my pajamas.

How am i going to bring these points together, you ask? How will i bring disparate points rambled on about together just in time for an entry saving conclusion in just under the word count expected? I graduated people, i have put in my 10,000 hours that malcolm gladwell evangelizes.

I am not Jesus, yet i have a hole in my side. I am not Jesus, therefore i cannot save humanity. I am not Jesus, so i don't particularly want to. However, maybe i can be my own Jesus, my own cosmogonic hero, my own sacrifice. I realize i skipped the majority of the crucifixion, but i also came out the other side decidedly more fully human and less fully divine. I have to sacrifice to atone for sins, but my life must be my own sacrifice. I must sacrifice the life of static that i lead in order to atone for my own sins. And when the stone is rolled back from in front of my tomb, i need to emerge as resplendent as the real deal Jesus, and expose my side before any Thomas who dares to doubt my resurrection. 40 days would at least be a step in the right direction.

Ivan and Iron

I wrote this story at the end of my sophomore year. It is a Russian (faux)parable, written after i had studied the genre and mythology of the place for a class. I just found it again, sitting here at 2 in the morning, in the Fakoury's third floor bedroom waiting for sleep to over take me. It is quite a fun little story that i dreamed up on the second floor of the library annex during finals week, and dashed off in quite a hurry. I think that it is a very important thing to look back on now, both for its social importance in my life at the time (it was 367 days late, a wonderful little wrinkle in the SLU incomplete policy and earned me early admission into the slacker hall of fame from Joel Bahr, something that i quite valued at the time) and for the value that it espouses. I wouldn't necessarily consider it a good value, but shockingly accurate as to my current mindset, and those moments of panic when one realizes something must be done often reach deepest into the subconscious to pull out an idea. This is turning into quite the lengthy intro, so without further ado, here is "Ivan and Iron" a short story in the Russian Folk Myth style by John Warmuth.

Ivan was the young son of a blacksmith. He was an odd boy, but no one could ever figure out what was wrong with him. One day, Ivan went to his father, “Father, father,” said Ivan, “teach me how to become a blacksmith.” So the old man taught Ivan everything he knew about being a blacksmith.

After four summers, Ivan had learned all that his father had to teach, so he exclaimed, “Father, father, teach me more about becoming a blacksmith” but the father did not know anymore about being a blacksmith, so he sent his son to the blacksmith in the big city who had a reputation as being very knowledgeable, but wrote him a letter warning him of his son’s voracious need for learning.

When Ivan got to the big city, he was shocked to see all of the buildings, but he quelled his wonder and sought out the blacksmith. When he found the smith, he gave him the letter his father had written, and said, “Sir, sir, teach me how to become a blacksmith.”

After three summers, the blacksmith had taught Ivan all he knew about crafting iron. Ivan exclaimed, “Sir, sir, teach me more about becoming a blacksmith” but the smith had nothing more to teach, so he sent him the Tsar’s personal smithy, but with a letter warning him of Ivan’s voracious need for learning.

When Ivan got to the castle, he was shocked to see all of the splendor, but he quelled his wonder and sought out the Master Smithy. When he found the Master Smithy, he gave him the letter that the smithy had written, and said, “Master, Master, teach me how to become a blacksmith.”

The Master Smithy was a wise and clever man, and could see that Ivan would soon gobble up all of the knowledge he could give, but taught him anyway, worried what would happen when he exhausted his teaching. In two summers, Ivan had learned all the Master Smithy had to teach, and said, “Master, master, teach me more about becoming a blacksmith.”

The Master Smithy had a problem though. No man would need to know this much about being a blacksmith. Ivan had never showed any desire to actually go into business as a blacksmith, but only sought the knowledge and ability to work.

He said, “Ivan, I worry for you. Over these last two years, you have become like a son to me, at the shop everyday before I arrive and not leaving until after I have left. You show great love for learning the art of being a blacksmith, but do not want to seem to go out on your own.”

Ivan replied, “Master, master, I desire to know more about becoming a blacksmith.” The Master Smithy realized that it was no use, and could not help the boy, for Ivan had become his equal. He said, “Ivan, no one knows more than I the ways of metal, there is no where for me to send you. I am an old man, and have learned much in my life that has nothing to do with becoming a blacksmith, go out and learn about life.”

Ivan thought about the buildings in the city, and the splendor in the castle. He thought of all the things he had wondered about while becoming a smithy. But he did not know what to do, because he desired to learn more about the ways of iron.

While out wandering the forest, wondering what to do, a swan came out of the great lake and asked Ivan if he wanted to learn more about the ways of iron. “Of course” said Ivan, greatly pleased with the swan’s sudden appearance. The swan told him of the wonderful things of the world that Ivan could see, and the wonderful work he could do now that he was peerless in his ability to work iron, but Ivan did not care. “Swan, swan, I desire to know more about becoming a blacksmith.

The swan dropped a large stone on Ivan’s head, making him forget everything he had learned in the last nine years, and brought Ivan back to his father’s house.

Ivan’s father was overjoyed to see him, but when he went to Ivan, his son said to him, “Father, father, teach me how to become a Blacksmith.”

Cause and Effect

When i am spiraling downwards and into the thinly veiled depression that sometimes greets my life, it seems as though i always bring someone down with me. Not in a way that i grab them and pull them down, but i bring a mental hostage with me, my mental persona of that person tethered to my flailings against the impossibility that is my down strokes, and it is always a girl, and i am always convinced that i am in love.

OR

When i fall for a girl and she does not share my same feeling, it tips the wavelength in a downward path. My frequency is higher than most peoples, the ups higher and the downs lower, and when i get spurned, or, not even spurned but not greeted with immediate and mostly unsolicited love in return, i fall apart. It is always paired with something else, mostly academic, but sometimes economic, and then the two spiral off of each other, the double helix that makes my life possible now just a double chute, accelerating my descent.

it should be AND

Kevin Sweeney 812 322 8090

The First Paragraph of the Most Unusual of all Research Papers

"Is it wise?" i could hear Stevie Smith asking me as i lay in my bath tub smoking the days last cigarette,
I loved the way her blue eyes shone when i told a joke, or the way her neck snapped up when i would tease her, just loud enough to guarantee she would overhear, but soft enough she thought she was catching me. I imagined that i would love to wake up to her smile, or with just a strand of her golden hair splayed across my face, her form moving ever so slightly with breath as i coaxed myself back to sleep. I wondered how i would feel when she hurt me for the first time, when we fought even though we never thought we would. I knew i could forgive her, but there would have been unease as i contemplated the possibility she might not forgive me. That never happened, though, because i had waited too long, and now we were about to graduate.

To-Do Redux

To do lists worked for me last semester, so as i hit the grind, trying to pass all of my classes and graduate from college forever, i thought i would post it public and edit it live as a kind of public accountability even though no one but me reads this.

1. Get Math Take Home test- Done

2. Get Poetry Paper Topics- Check

3. Watch Jeopardy and Take a shower- Bingo

4. Library for 5 papers

a. Poetry Short paper on Hugh's use of metaphors-got it

b. Tragic Visionary Short paper on Christina Rossetti- yessir

c. Poetry Final outline

d. Tragic Visionary Long paper Hardy

e. Tragic Visionary Long paper Conrad/ Read Conrad

5. Find Pinning date

6. Computer Science Proj. help from Sam

7. Find Joel

8. Math Take home test, help from Brandon

9. Sigma Challenge Week

Get Riley's input- done

Get it to Sigmas- done

Contact Seniors for dinner on thursday-done

10. Look at final projects

Philosophy-done

Poetry

Senior Seminar

Break Options:

1. Dishes

2. Clean out drawer

3. Sort Clothes

4. Brewers game/Fantasy Baseball (working break)

5. Facebook (working break)

ok, laid it all out there, now to just got "to-do" it (i make myself laugh)

To-Do Re-Do

I feel like it must be done. Last semester i got some good mileage out of To-Do lists and since i have stuff piling up at my feet, it should be good to get them all down.

1. Jeopardy for the first time in two weeks. Ah, would a show by any other name be as sweet?
1A. Empty and refill dishwasher
2. Food for thought, make pasta that i can eat and have some left over when i get back from the --
3. Library:
A. Computer Science Proj
B. Get outlines worked out for both Tragic Visionary papers
C. Print off all e-reserve stuff for Poetry
D. Finish Senior Seminar Paper. I am Vertical and all of that Plath
F. MathLab
4. SigEp Bball 6, 740 and if we win
5. Sigma Class 915
6. Pound a 5 hour energy
7. See 3.

Full

I am full with something. I have a complete and compelling desire to just politely tell my professor that i have had enough, and leave the class. I followed the company line that an English Major has limitless opportunities, every field needs people with communication skills, the ability to read and understand, the ability to write and be understood. The creativeness will be a boon to any office, the knowledge of the great thinkers/writers will be always at the English Major's fingertips, and every boss needs that in his stable.

But this is my senior seminar. This is the class i share with only other english majors, and there is not a soul here with a job prospect. Most just knew they were headed for grad school, the other few thinking they must chill and wait for scraps. These students have read some of the most compelling thoughts on happiness, the meaning of life and the nature of death. These people written some beautiful works on these subjects themselves. But in the end, it is time for us, those not headed down the rabbit hole of graduate school, to admit we were wrong.

And now i am supposed walk into the BSC tomorrow, and HOPE, that i, too, can get plugged into the machine. The world will chuckle and turn a blind eye to the WASTE i made of my four year college career, and they will give me a job slightly worse then those who took their four years as career training, instead of the life training i received at the feet of the lake poets, yeats, chretien, clark, conrad, hammett. But those with the power to hire do not have to turn a blind eye, they may look down with pitty, and turn the job over to a student of marketing, someone who studied what they would have to teach me, because what i was taught is now worthless.

And it is. What i learned does not translate into the working world the ways the English Department said it would. And while we are american, who gives a flying FUCK what porphyria's lover could imbue in its reader, or even what the hell imbue means. And when i refused to teach, it should have became apparent that there was no point in majoring in this, if i was thinking about my financial future. But i wasn't, and while i feel the need to defend that decision, i no longer know if i can.

I am full of it all, and i don't know what to do to find release.