Noam Chomsky (2011) from "Is the World Too Big to Fail?"
21 April 2011
power
"As long as the general population is passive, apathetic, diverted to consumerism or hatred of the vulnerable, then the powerful can do as they please, and those who survive will be left to contemplate the outcome."
08 April 2011
04 January 2011
26 December 2010
straight from my tape deck to your internet
Here it is: the first song I've produced in at least three years, maybe longer. It's called "Home?" and it's by yours truly, The Sky Is A Television Signal. (The brief glitch heard at the opening is soundcloud's doing, not mine; it is not heard in the mp3, which you can download below.)
Home? by TSTVS
Home? by TSTVS
Home? by TSTVS
Home? by TSTVS
23 December 2010
stay tuned
Off to work now, but once home I hope to put the finishing touches on the first new piece of music of produced in four, hell, maybe five years. I've been working on it over the last twenty-four hours -- and it's a banger.
xx
xx
21 December 2010
light and time
So now that the first semester is in the books, I’ll briefly rehash some of the family-related drama that occurred over the past few months.
In mid-September I received the following letter from my incarcerated sister. Shortly after she wrote it, she was transferred to Madison Women’s Prison in southeast Indiana, just miles from the Kentucky border.
I never responded to her letter. I never visited her. My decision not to write her was not a refusal to do so, but a time issue. I was bogged down in school studies, and if I were to writer her, I wanted the letter to be a dedicated and emotional effort, not a quickly scribbled note of clichés and well wishes. In reflection, I feel incredibly bad about not responding, and I feel even worse as I post the above images. Posting them is the first time I’ve viewed her words since I received them in September.
Several weeks later, just three days prior to Thanksgiving, I received a phone call from mother – a phone call of which I wasn’t prepared. “Your sister is back in town, and I wanted to let you know that she’ll be here for Thanksgiving, and if you don’t feel like coming, I’ll understand, but I’d really like to have you here, son.” My response was shock: I hadn’t anticipated seeing her so soon; I’d been led to believe that she wouldn’t be released until sometime early 2011. Prior to the phone call, I was looking forward to a Thanksgiving afternoon without the drama and heartache that usually accompanied sister’s visits. Mother could hear the apprehensiveness in my voice. Her words began to quiver and shake. She started crying. “I’d really like you and ___ to be here because… I don’t know how much time I have.” I can’t express how those last eight words struck me. I thought mother’s health had finally stabilized, but maybe not.
____ and I made it for Thanksgiving and it was, refreshingly, uneventful. Sister and I didn’t talk much, but we exchanged hugs and shared a view laughs. The woman I saw actually resembled the sister I recall from so long ago. She could engage in conversation. Her memory was sharp. It was miraculous. Mother, on the other hand, looked unwell. She told me she’s in constant, severe pain, and although recent liver function tests have “normalized,” she’s still sick. I sometimes wonder how much time she has left, especially when she routinely hints at death’s closeness. I don’t know. Perhaps she’s struggling to come to terms with her mortality. I don’t know. I wish more was known. For example, does she have cirrhosis? No liver biopsy has ever been performed, yet apparently one doctor told her she did have it when no diagnosis can be made without it. I know better care can be sought, and I’ve encouraged her to seek it, but, in my opinion, the reason she hasn’t explored options in Indianapolis is because the care she’s received in hometown has been “good enough.” I don’t know. My theory is that she may have heart failure because the symptoms that aren’t consistent with liver disease are suggestive of HF. I’ve recommended she follow it up, but she’s so frustrated with everything that it’s not a high priority. It’s frustrating for her and me. And sad. Things were (once again) anxious last week when some abnormal spots were discovered during a routine mammogram. Thankfully the biopsy was negative.
About one week prior to the mammogram scare, my mother was broken again when she discovered that sister has hepatitis C, and there’s a good chance her four-year-old son has it too. Hep C eventually leads to severe liver impairment and increases one’s odds of getting liver cancer. It’s impossible to know when and how sister became infected, but we do know prior to her prison sentence she was using needles, which is a major risk factor for hep C because it is a blood-borne pathogen. Of course, mother must take proper precautions to avoid any potential exposure because a diagnosis would represent a swift death due to her already impaired liver (there is no vaccine for hep C). If her son does indeed have it, I don't even want to think of the health challenges he'll face.
I remember when mother called to inform me of sister’s infection. Struggling to come to terms with everything, she cried, “Time keeps getting shorter.” I’ll remember those words for the rest of my life because it was the first, frank, vocal acknowledgement of her own mortality.
I have come to acknowledge that for me, childhood was cruel in its deception. When I think about how as a child I perceived my family and life in general, I get lost. I know who the child was – who I was – but my mother, father and sister, their reflections have become distorted. Age thirteen is the water mark: parents divorced. I’m aware that I’ve mentioned their separation numerous times throughout this blog, and I’m also aware that some may perceive my recollection of that event as a crutch, or an excuse to employ in protecting myself, or excusing myself from whatever. And maybe that interpretation is at least somewhat true, but it’s undeniable that their divorce was the first crack in the glass façade of my reality – a reality that no one could protect me from, a reality of which no one could cushion the blow.
It’s not all doom and gloom, however. The decision to return to school and my recent nursing-program accomplishments (final grades for the semester: A’s and B’s) have been immensely positive and motivating for me. It’s strange: in some ways I feel as though my progression, my evolution is separating me from mother, father, and sister. Different planes of existence all pulling in opposite directions. I’m pushing forward. I’m attempting to build something. Something that, at this point, I cannot even fully comprehend.
Regardless of the light and darkness that occupies much of my life today, one thing is certain: I never thought things would be like this.
xx
In mid-September I received the following letter from my incarcerated sister. Shortly after she wrote it, she was transferred to Madison Women’s Prison in southeast Indiana, just miles from the Kentucky border.
I never responded to her letter. I never visited her. My decision not to write her was not a refusal to do so, but a time issue. I was bogged down in school studies, and if I were to writer her, I wanted the letter to be a dedicated and emotional effort, not a quickly scribbled note of clichés and well wishes. In reflection, I feel incredibly bad about not responding, and I feel even worse as I post the above images. Posting them is the first time I’ve viewed her words since I received them in September.
Several weeks later, just three days prior to Thanksgiving, I received a phone call from mother – a phone call of which I wasn’t prepared. “Your sister is back in town, and I wanted to let you know that she’ll be here for Thanksgiving, and if you don’t feel like coming, I’ll understand, but I’d really like to have you here, son.” My response was shock: I hadn’t anticipated seeing her so soon; I’d been led to believe that she wouldn’t be released until sometime early 2011. Prior to the phone call, I was looking forward to a Thanksgiving afternoon without the drama and heartache that usually accompanied sister’s visits. Mother could hear the apprehensiveness in my voice. Her words began to quiver and shake. She started crying. “I’d really like you and ___ to be here because… I don’t know how much time I have.” I can’t express how those last eight words struck me. I thought mother’s health had finally stabilized, but maybe not.
____ and I made it for Thanksgiving and it was, refreshingly, uneventful. Sister and I didn’t talk much, but we exchanged hugs and shared a view laughs. The woman I saw actually resembled the sister I recall from so long ago. She could engage in conversation. Her memory was sharp. It was miraculous. Mother, on the other hand, looked unwell. She told me she’s in constant, severe pain, and although recent liver function tests have “normalized,” she’s still sick. I sometimes wonder how much time she has left, especially when she routinely hints at death’s closeness. I don’t know. Perhaps she’s struggling to come to terms with her mortality. I don’t know. I wish more was known. For example, does she have cirrhosis? No liver biopsy has ever been performed, yet apparently one doctor told her she did have it when no diagnosis can be made without it. I know better care can be sought, and I’ve encouraged her to seek it, but, in my opinion, the reason she hasn’t explored options in Indianapolis is because the care she’s received in hometown has been “good enough.” I don’t know. My theory is that she may have heart failure because the symptoms that aren’t consistent with liver disease are suggestive of HF. I’ve recommended she follow it up, but she’s so frustrated with everything that it’s not a high priority. It’s frustrating for her and me. And sad. Things were (once again) anxious last week when some abnormal spots were discovered during a routine mammogram. Thankfully the biopsy was negative.
About one week prior to the mammogram scare, my mother was broken again when she discovered that sister has hepatitis C, and there’s a good chance her four-year-old son has it too. Hep C eventually leads to severe liver impairment and increases one’s odds of getting liver cancer. It’s impossible to know when and how sister became infected, but we do know prior to her prison sentence she was using needles, which is a major risk factor for hep C because it is a blood-borne pathogen. Of course, mother must take proper precautions to avoid any potential exposure because a diagnosis would represent a swift death due to her already impaired liver (there is no vaccine for hep C). If her son does indeed have it, I don't even want to think of the health challenges he'll face.
I remember when mother called to inform me of sister’s infection. Struggling to come to terms with everything, she cried, “Time keeps getting shorter.” I’ll remember those words for the rest of my life because it was the first, frank, vocal acknowledgement of her own mortality.
I have come to acknowledge that for me, childhood was cruel in its deception. When I think about how as a child I perceived my family and life in general, I get lost. I know who the child was – who I was – but my mother, father and sister, their reflections have become distorted. Age thirteen is the water mark: parents divorced. I’m aware that I’ve mentioned their separation numerous times throughout this blog, and I’m also aware that some may perceive my recollection of that event as a crutch, or an excuse to employ in protecting myself, or excusing myself from whatever. And maybe that interpretation is at least somewhat true, but it’s undeniable that their divorce was the first crack in the glass façade of my reality – a reality that no one could protect me from, a reality of which no one could cushion the blow.
It’s not all doom and gloom, however. The decision to return to school and my recent nursing-program accomplishments (final grades for the semester: A’s and B’s) have been immensely positive and motivating for me. It’s strange: in some ways I feel as though my progression, my evolution is separating me from mother, father, and sister. Different planes of existence all pulling in opposite directions. I’m pushing forward. I’m attempting to build something. Something that, at this point, I cannot even fully comprehend.
Regardless of the light and darkness that occupies much of my life today, one thing is certain: I never thought things would be like this.
xx
18 December 2010
15 December 2010
all smiles
It's official: first semester of nursing school is over and I passed (with plenty of points to spare)!
xx
11 December 2010
hmmmmmmmm
First: Listen to this video. It's "Theme for Great Cities" by Simple Minds.
OK, now open your ears to the following song. This one is Radiohead (full disclosure: I'm a Radiohead fanboy) and it's called "Where I End and You Begin" (full disclosure: this is a top 7, maybe top 5 fav of mine). As you listen, anything strike you when compared to "Theme for Great Cities"?
So, intentional? Unintentional? Whatever the case, that Simple Minds song is pretty dope.
xx
(More 2010 muscial favs coming up! Just gotta survive Finals week next week and it'll be 3 1/2 weeks of holiday va-cay. One final grade already in: I landed a final 94% for my clinical course, which consisted of two, five-hour days every week for the past ten weeks at a local long-term care facility. Feeling pretty good about that, but next week is sure to be a nail biter: Pharm final Monday at 10AM [feeling pretty confident about that one] and the dreaded Med-Surg final Wednesday [not so confident -- the final regular exam of the semester this week crushed me with a failing 72%]; anything less than a mediocre performance will be a cause for concern, but I'm playing the optimist, so we'll see. Plus, much drama -- mostly of the family variety -- has occurred during the past several weeks. I'll share some of it here when I can find the time. Considering all the extracurricular shit that's accumulated on my shoulders during this semester, I'm shocked I remain afloat.)
OK, now open your ears to the following song. This one is Radiohead (full disclosure: I'm a Radiohead fanboy) and it's called "Where I End and You Begin" (full disclosure: this is a top 7, maybe top 5 fav of mine). As you listen, anything strike you when compared to "Theme for Great Cities"?
So, intentional? Unintentional? Whatever the case, that Simple Minds song is pretty dope.
xx
(More 2010 muscial favs coming up! Just gotta survive Finals week next week and it'll be 3 1/2 weeks of holiday va-cay. One final grade already in: I landed a final 94% for my clinical course, which consisted of two, five-hour days every week for the past ten weeks at a local long-term care facility. Feeling pretty good about that, but next week is sure to be a nail biter: Pharm final Monday at 10AM [feeling pretty confident about that one] and the dreaded Med-Surg final Wednesday [not so confident -- the final regular exam of the semester this week crushed me with a failing 72%]; anything less than a mediocre performance will be a cause for concern, but I'm playing the optimist, so we'll see. Plus, much drama -- mostly of the family variety -- has occurred during the past several weeks. I'll share some of it here when I can find the time. Considering all the extracurricular shit that's accumulated on my shoulders during this semester, I'm shocked I remain afloat.)
22 November 2010
2010 music, part two
Weekend
Sports
OK, I just discovered this one, so I haven’t had much time to reflect on it, but I’m already mesmerized. The album is Sports and it’s by a San Fran band named Weekend. The first listen struck me as few albums do, which is why it’s already become a fav of 2010. It’s hard not to fall in love with an album that opens with the devastating “Coma Summer” (never mind the title -- this is a dark, winter day’s soundtrack). I love the wallowing guitar that phases in, out and over Shaun Durkan’s lyrics. It’s hypnotizing stuff. “Monday Morning” glumly shimmers like an undiscovered gem from Joy Division. And "Veil" will break your heart. Its lyrics are cloaked in reverb; a rattling bass forces circulation; and at the 3:45 mark the guitar bursts through. Just as "Veil" begins to burn, its ashes fade in a wash of hazy sound.
13 November 2010
2010 music, part one
Twenty-ten has been a great year for indie music. Over the next few posts I’ll be sharing some of my favorites. I’ll start with an unknown – well, unknown to me – band from Manchester, England.Working For A Nuclear Free City
Jojo Burger Tempest
This album—No, strike that, this band has been one of my better discoveries in recent memory, and I’m shocked they remain relatively unknown. In many ways, Jojo Burger Tempest is what Radiohead would’ve sounded like if Kid A hadn’t been conceived. Working For A Nuclear Free City, like Radiohead, have the gift of carving a unique niche into practically every song they record. Just listen to “Alphaville" (below), or “Float Bridges,” or “Low.” WFANFC's songs are structured and produced for maximum effect, and their musical excursions never seem forced or contrived.
Jojo, the band's second album, is an ambitious 89-minute experience (the second disc features just one track, a 33-minute collage entitled "The Jojo Burger Tempest") relayed through a shifting, aural prism of myriad musical influences. There are hints of The Olvia Tremor Control, Blur, Broken Social Scene, The Beta Band, M83, UNKLE, Animal Collective, The Folk Implosion, Tortoise and just about any other band that “gets” songwriting. And that’s the thing about songwriting: a lot of bands are good at it, but only a few “get it,” and Working For A Nuclear Free City “gets it.” Despite the transatlantic influences, Jojo is a very English-sounding record, which might explain their relative anonymity here in the States.
If you dig Jojo, you gotta check out their previous release, Businessmen and Ghosts. (Definitely check out the band's SXSW Lounge Act session from 2008 for a taste of Businessmen.) And keep an eye on WFANFC – watching them age should be quite a treat.
xx
xx
31 October 2010
29 October 2010
why, hello there
Much time has passed since my last stop here. I’ll attempt to summarize some of what’s happened to me over the past several weeks, but I’ll only scrape the tip of everything because I’ve been incredibly occupied with work and school.
Late last month I began the clinical portion of the nursing program. Every Tuesday and Thursday I spend approximately five hours at a local long-term care facility doing assessments and assisting the CNAs. Last Tuesday I administered my first injection (insulin); I’ll be doing more of this and also passing meds in the coming weeks. I’d never spent much time in a nursing home until this clinical – in fact, the only previous time I spent in such a facility was early in elementary school when I and my classmates field tripp’d it to a local nursing home – and what I have seen and done has impacted me profoundly. It’s a sad place, but also, paradoxically, it’s a facilitator of immense inspiration. My experiences have solidified my desire to become a registered nurse. Every day spent at the facility is a reminder of my mortality; it further stresses the basic, human pursuit to use our brief time on this planet to do good and care for those who cannot care for themselves. It truly is difficult to find the words to express the rewarding sense of fulfillment I have experienced recently.
The school work, aside from being immense in volume, has been difficult. But this is what I expected. The first few weeks were especially difficult because everything – the workload, the expectations, the unknown – hit me, shocked me, and it took some time to find my footing, but over the past 2-3 weeks my exam performance has greatly increased, and I feel as though I’m hitting my stride with, well, pretty much everything. It’s clicking now; it wasn’t before. Exam performance is obviously important, but it’s really important when at least one exam hits you literally every week. And the amount of material covered in each exam is massive (I had two exams this week – one Monday, which covered fluid and electrolyte imbalances, acid-base balance and the integumentary system and the other Wednesday, a pharm exam that comprised nine chapters).
The phrase sink or swim has never been more appropriate than in nursing school. And thus far, this fish his holding his place in the school. (Bad pun, I know.)
xx
26 September 2010
12 September 2010
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