well my departure has finally come. I have my passport in my hands, and I'm ready to go. this is my last post for a while. my taxi is picking me up in 45 minutes.
the last of my goodbyes to people here have been said, now that is a kind of rush; I believe that the sad part of travel is over. now my heart is open to new experience. soon I will smell saltwater in the air, and have the novelty of being somewhere completely new, and I will be relatively alone, free to make new impressions on everyone around me
Anyway the next couple of days will be the physical part of travel--motion--and I cross the Pacific again, for the fifth time
am I fully prepared? of course, no. I just know that I have forgotten to pack something I will daydream about in China later. oh well, I added some more books to the pile, including my own.
um
blah, then, that's it for a while. I really have more to say, but where is it now? my mind's a sweet blank. in a few minutes a long journey begins. O___O
more later, possibly on a new page
justin
Friday, February 7, 2014
Thursday, February 6, 2014
entry siete
when I said 'one day' before getting on the plane, I meant a few hours. my passport is still not in my hands but I'm as cool as a cucumber. still not finished packing today. spent time on water street, saying goodbye to America. my heart is in seven places now. when the pressure is on, I'll be off like a gun.
much much much more later
justin
much much much more later
justin
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
entry liu
everything was processed, but I am waiting on an overnight service to get the passport in my hands. I will have it exactly one day before I board the plane-- I am crazy, in other words. but there's a streak of joy to this craziness-- to think-- a week from now everything, every little thing in my world will be different. and for once I feel totally prepared for this, having shopped around for a long time before choosing a job.
from my last long term contract in Asia, I've spent time in a long list of american cities, in the years 2010-present:
san francisco, las vegas, salt lake city, denver, st louis, champaign-urbana, chicago, milwaukee, madison, la crosse, eau claire, river falls, hudson, stillwater, duluth, minneapolis, st paul, dayton, chillicothe, charleston, richmond, norfolk, virginia beach, chapel hill, carrboro, new york city, boston --- and probably a few more that I am not thinking of right now.
I've driven up and down this continent since my return in 2010 to see more of what I had a hard time explaining to anyone, having rarely traveled far from the midwest. granted, there is still a lot of my own country I still haven't seen-- I haven't seen iconic texas or hollywood--but I am better prepared to answer questions about my own culture. I ask, how does american expression (in our music, our interests, our arts, etc) influence what we think and how we behave (in the words of woody allen, is life the mirror of art or what?). to explain america, I only need to show these expressions and give a plausible WHY. this is marilyn monroe, idolized as much for her flaws as her assets. why? because our culture wants to believe that the poor can make it. if monroe did not have demons and sad memories, she would seem less worthy of success. if she were incredibly skinny like some contemporary models and actresses, she wouldn't be as attractive. the american taste favors psyche over aphrodite; we see mortal limitations to be symbolic enhancements, after all, cupid fell for psyche who then gave birth to bliss. to the Greek, even the gods were susceptible to human intervention and this is what has given us western culture as we know it.
anyway my travels across this continent are only a small block of my experiences. wherever I go I change, and such changes are a vital part of my reality. my eau claire friends teased me last night about how much it will change me, of course it will! but this is a virtue in my opinion. adaptability is just more crucial to success than muscle or brains.
speaking of this, I chose the books I will bring: DeLillo's White Noise, the oxford 1922 edition of Ulysses (with complete translations and good notes), and darwin's origin of the species / descent of man. after this, goddard's buddhist bible (with a comprehensive section on Chinese spirituality), and a book of spanish guitar solos i've been learning on the accordion. it's like going to a desert island, dude. i'll probably change my mind the morning that i go, but i remember being in Korea without the right books. it's bogus
more later
justin
from my last long term contract in Asia, I've spent time in a long list of american cities, in the years 2010-present:
san francisco, las vegas, salt lake city, denver, st louis, champaign-urbana, chicago, milwaukee, madison, la crosse, eau claire, river falls, hudson, stillwater, duluth, minneapolis, st paul, dayton, chillicothe, charleston, richmond, norfolk, virginia beach, chapel hill, carrboro, new york city, boston --- and probably a few more that I am not thinking of right now.
I've driven up and down this continent since my return in 2010 to see more of what I had a hard time explaining to anyone, having rarely traveled far from the midwest. granted, there is still a lot of my own country I still haven't seen-- I haven't seen iconic texas or hollywood--but I am better prepared to answer questions about my own culture. I ask, how does american expression (in our music, our interests, our arts, etc) influence what we think and how we behave (in the words of woody allen, is life the mirror of art or what?). to explain america, I only need to show these expressions and give a plausible WHY. this is marilyn monroe, idolized as much for her flaws as her assets. why? because our culture wants to believe that the poor can make it. if monroe did not have demons and sad memories, she would seem less worthy of success. if she were incredibly skinny like some contemporary models and actresses, she wouldn't be as attractive. the american taste favors psyche over aphrodite; we see mortal limitations to be symbolic enhancements, after all, cupid fell for psyche who then gave birth to bliss. to the Greek, even the gods were susceptible to human intervention and this is what has given us western culture as we know it.
anyway my travels across this continent are only a small block of my experiences. wherever I go I change, and such changes are a vital part of my reality. my eau claire friends teased me last night about how much it will change me, of course it will! but this is a virtue in my opinion. adaptability is just more crucial to success than muscle or brains.
speaking of this, I chose the books I will bring: DeLillo's White Noise, the oxford 1922 edition of Ulysses (with complete translations and good notes), and darwin's origin of the species / descent of man. after this, goddard's buddhist bible (with a comprehensive section on Chinese spirituality), and a book of spanish guitar solos i've been learning on the accordion. it's like going to a desert island, dude. i'll probably change my mind the morning that i go, but i remember being in Korea without the right books. it's bogus
more later
justin
Monday, February 3, 2014
entry oh
'Oh' as in the Korean number 5, but I might be using it incorrectly here. Different languages have different ways of counting and representing sequences or numbers. What might be relevant to us as English speakers in a given language means something else to speakers of said language.
Case in point: a long while ago I was in a Wisconsin bar with a Taiwanese ex. I loved how she was able to read tattoos to me, because Chinese tattoos are popular in America for some reason. She read the Chinese number '5' written on the calf of some guy's leg. She laughed at this, while I was a bit more confused-- perhaps there's some numerical relevance to this number for him, something he feels the need to drape in Chinese. A number can be a very symbolic thing. There's power in this symbolism. However maybe the way he wrote 5 or tried to represent this symbolism was lost completely in Chinese. If I saw a foreigner with a tattoo of the number 5 I would be confused--in my mind, numerical tattoos suggest imprisonment.
The title of this blog-- the 8 O blog-- is symbolic of the following.
First, the emoticon it creates: I'm a very patient, calm dude, but in my writing I persistently try to push myself to express more than I can with speech. 8O looks like somebody screaming to me.
Second, Vonnegut's assertion is that infinity is just nothing with a twist. Infinity is not the number eight and nothingness is not the letter 'O'. But these characters mimic the symbols of infinity and nothingness.
Third, my last name, Otto, is the number 'eight' in Italian (like Fellini's Otto e Mezzo).
Fourth, eight notebooks made up my novel, which I hope to promote and eventually publish via this blog.
Fifth, the title suggests the 1980s decade, those of us who came of age in Y2K, and this is the generation I come from and understand best.
Anyway I could probably think of more. I would have stopped at four but four is synonymous with 'death' in Chinese. My interest in numbers (and Chinese astrology) has nothing to do with believing in fortune telling or numerology or anything like that. I just look for symbolism in creative work of all kinds, and this symbolism is just another kind of language, as in communication with others and understanding of ourselves.
Still waiting for my passport. In Eau Claire now, with my younger brother, getting my world in order. It has been a few days of goodbyes now, and I hate saying goodbye. I just never know what to say to anyone. I was hugged by someone who never hugs anyone. People have been doing me favors, buying me things I need for the trip. How do I express my gratitude without feeling sad?
more later
justin
δΊ” 5
Case in point: a long while ago I was in a Wisconsin bar with a Taiwanese ex. I loved how she was able to read tattoos to me, because Chinese tattoos are popular in America for some reason. She read the Chinese number '5' written on the calf of some guy's leg. She laughed at this, while I was a bit more confused-- perhaps there's some numerical relevance to this number for him, something he feels the need to drape in Chinese. A number can be a very symbolic thing. There's power in this symbolism. However maybe the way he wrote 5 or tried to represent this symbolism was lost completely in Chinese. If I saw a foreigner with a tattoo of the number 5 I would be confused--in my mind, numerical tattoos suggest imprisonment.
The title of this blog-- the 8 O blog-- is symbolic of the following.
First, the emoticon it creates: I'm a very patient, calm dude, but in my writing I persistently try to push myself to express more than I can with speech. 8O looks like somebody screaming to me.
Second, Vonnegut's assertion is that infinity is just nothing with a twist. Infinity is not the number eight and nothingness is not the letter 'O'. But these characters mimic the symbols of infinity and nothingness.
Third, my last name, Otto, is the number 'eight' in Italian (like Fellini's Otto e Mezzo).
Fourth, eight notebooks made up my novel, which I hope to promote and eventually publish via this blog.
Fifth, the title suggests the 1980s decade, those of us who came of age in Y2K, and this is the generation I come from and understand best.
Anyway I could probably think of more. I would have stopped at four but four is synonymous with 'death' in Chinese. My interest in numbers (and Chinese astrology) has nothing to do with believing in fortune telling or numerology or anything like that. I just look for symbolism in creative work of all kinds, and this symbolism is just another kind of language, as in communication with others and understanding of ourselves.
Still waiting for my passport. In Eau Claire now, with my younger brother, getting my world in order. It has been a few days of goodbyes now, and I hate saying goodbye. I just never know what to say to anyone. I was hugged by someone who never hugs anyone. People have been doing me favors, buying me things I need for the trip. How do I express my gratitude without feeling sad?
more later
justin
Saturday, February 1, 2014
entry IV
so it took some more documentation... but ahead of schedule, the visa people said it was enough. I feel so vulnerable without my passport, and I noticed today that I've been carrying around my old one... I needed to refer to it a few days back, to prove I had previously entered China (one sweltering summer night in 2010 drinking beers with a Norwegian oil rigger from my plane). I still carry it, even though it has holes in its cover and I do not look 19 years old anymore.
My passport is pretty sparse until about 2008-- then I filled pages and pages with visas, entry stamps, staples and stickers. It's a record of a very itinerant few years, where I crossed both of my country's ocean borders, and fundamentally changed as a person. I have always been more flight than fight, in the sense that I would rather keep space than resort to miserable hassles. But when I was younger, I think, I would just take all this inwardly and go mute. In my years of travel I learned that moody behavior like this isn't necessary-- a great expression of self is using disappointment to direct one's attention to new and amazing things.
Travel for the purpose of defense, I think, is called exile (Joyce); although exile is a nasty sounding word sometimes, just like I always used to cringe when I heard expatriate ("ex-patriot"). Exile really just means turning your back and walking. It can be forced or voluntary. I am turning my back, voluntarily, on no one as I prepare to go to China. I turn my back only on my climate, because life overseas has made me a different man and I need different things now. I do not need to be aware of everyone's expectations wherever I go. I do not need to understand everything I see, everything I hear. There's a thrill for me in walking down streets with bright lights in words I can't understand, and it's hard to explain this feeling. For me language has so many uses and abuses and connotations that when I do not understand it, I kind of feel more at ease.
Ahh, well... I could go on and on here. I care about language a lot, of course I do, that is what I study and teach. However my interest in language takes a skewed artistic dimension. I love murmurs, glossolalia, onomatopoeia, animal noises, free verse poetry... stuff that focuses more on expression than form. My tolerance for ambiguity is unconditional and this is my curse and my blessing. It is a curse because I can get comfortable with not knowing to the point that I neglect to learn.
Talking to Alex today (and I feel comfortable mentioning his name because he's the only person I mentioned directly in my book, and the only character based completely on himself) we talked about the point where you just begin to understand what you're hearing. At this point your fresh anonymity is lost. He lived in China and he's able to speak Chinese now. After my two years in Korea my Korean was decent but I was never great ... but like him I reached a point where I was just able to understand people around me. Suddenly the comfort of being a total outsider was lost, but it had a perk to it too, like I was spying on everyone in public simply for being able to listen to them.
I'm really rambling today.
I could write for hours but I won't, since I put my book down I'm missing the experience of writing every day but everything I say is public now. Ahh
some more later
justin
My passport is pretty sparse until about 2008-- then I filled pages and pages with visas, entry stamps, staples and stickers. It's a record of a very itinerant few years, where I crossed both of my country's ocean borders, and fundamentally changed as a person. I have always been more flight than fight, in the sense that I would rather keep space than resort to miserable hassles. But when I was younger, I think, I would just take all this inwardly and go mute. In my years of travel I learned that moody behavior like this isn't necessary-- a great expression of self is using disappointment to direct one's attention to new and amazing things.
Travel for the purpose of defense, I think, is called exile (Joyce); although exile is a nasty sounding word sometimes, just like I always used to cringe when I heard expatriate ("ex-patriot"). Exile really just means turning your back and walking. It can be forced or voluntary. I am turning my back, voluntarily, on no one as I prepare to go to China. I turn my back only on my climate, because life overseas has made me a different man and I need different things now. I do not need to be aware of everyone's expectations wherever I go. I do not need to understand everything I see, everything I hear. There's a thrill for me in walking down streets with bright lights in words I can't understand, and it's hard to explain this feeling. For me language has so many uses and abuses and connotations that when I do not understand it, I kind of feel more at ease.
Ahh, well... I could go on and on here. I care about language a lot, of course I do, that is what I study and teach. However my interest in language takes a skewed artistic dimension. I love murmurs, glossolalia, onomatopoeia, animal noises, free verse poetry... stuff that focuses more on expression than form. My tolerance for ambiguity is unconditional and this is my curse and my blessing. It is a curse because I can get comfortable with not knowing to the point that I neglect to learn.
Talking to Alex today (and I feel comfortable mentioning his name because he's the only person I mentioned directly in my book, and the only character based completely on himself) we talked about the point where you just begin to understand what you're hearing. At this point your fresh anonymity is lost. He lived in China and he's able to speak Chinese now. After my two years in Korea my Korean was decent but I was never great ... but like him I reached a point where I was just able to understand people around me. Suddenly the comfort of being a total outsider was lost, but it had a perk to it too, like I was spying on everyone in public simply for being able to listen to them.
I'm really rambling today.
I could write for hours but I won't, since I put my book down I'm missing the experience of writing every day but everything I say is public now. Ahh
some more later
justin
Thursday, January 30, 2014
entry trois
hold it
before I say too much much more I need to set a few rules. I was surprised that so many people were actually reading this right away-- that's a good thing, though because
rule one: this blog is public. who is my audience? everyone! This is me. This is not a diary of my deepest darkest thoughts. I am omitting some details and content, assuming that anyone with any authority over me is reading it. This is a DINNER TABLE BLOG meaning, would I say these things at dinner with my extended family in Virginia?
rule two: this blog is humanitarian. my perspective is openly humanist in any ethical discussion and rooted in principles of Kingian nonviolence.
rule three: I am not going to talk about religion on anything more than descriptive terms
rule four: likewise, I have very little to say about politics at home or abroad and nothing to say on more than simply descriptive terms
rule five: of course I mention travel, but this is not a travel blog. this blog is to establish a public presence to reach out to people I have connected to around the world. furthermore, this blog is to establish my public work as an artist
rule six: This blog is about me. I will not mention others, unless absolutely necessary, and I will not mention anyone by name (or any other clearly recognizable mark) irresponsibly.
rule seven: I will not write libel, rumors, or gossip. I refuse to deliberately misrepresent or defame anyone or any anonymous party.
rule eight: I will respond to any questions directly and shortly after I see them
I also have one rule (but only one rule) for you:
respect the spirit of this blog,
I hope to make some friends here. be patient with me as I work the details out. still not able to edit these entries but edit schmedit
mmml
justin
before I say too much much more I need to set a few rules. I was surprised that so many people were actually reading this right away-- that's a good thing, though because
rule one: this blog is public. who is my audience? everyone! This is me. This is not a diary of my deepest darkest thoughts. I am omitting some details and content, assuming that anyone with any authority over me is reading it. This is a DINNER TABLE BLOG meaning, would I say these things at dinner with my extended family in Virginia?
rule two: this blog is humanitarian. my perspective is openly humanist in any ethical discussion and rooted in principles of Kingian nonviolence.
rule three: I am not going to talk about religion on anything more than descriptive terms
rule four: likewise, I have very little to say about politics at home or abroad and nothing to say on more than simply descriptive terms
rule five: of course I mention travel, but this is not a travel blog. this blog is to establish a public presence to reach out to people I have connected to around the world. furthermore, this blog is to establish my public work as an artist
rule six: This blog is about me. I will not mention others, unless absolutely necessary, and I will not mention anyone by name (or any other clearly recognizable mark) irresponsibly.
rule seven: I will not write libel, rumors, or gossip. I refuse to deliberately misrepresent or defame anyone or any anonymous party.
rule eight: I will respond to any questions directly and shortly after I see them
I also have one rule (but only one rule) for you:
respect the spirit of this blog,
I hope to make some friends here. be patient with me as I work the details out. still not able to edit these entries but edit schmedit
mmml
justin
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
entry zwei
Got a call from the consulate today and I need to get a lot of papers pieced together to make it on time. It's stressful, and the cold here doesn't help. While everyone else is going back to work and school I'm completely committed to starting a new life overseas. I didn't remember this process when I went to Korea in 2008, but looking back it was a similar frantic feeling. I was in the warmth of Missouri in summertime, however, and this made it much easier: to find peace of mind all I had to do was walk along the nice fences of Town and Country, where I could hear fountains and watch horses.
The year of the horse is what makes all of this daunting, by the way, because that is why it is hard to get things done right now. I completely understand and accept this, but it shows the challenge that awaits. I'm experienced now and more determined than ever, but it is a rough thing.
I have more to say about everything, so much more. So much in fact that just today-- I finished-- my novel. My second one, in fact, which took way less time and was written completely by hand, unlike the yearlong snooze job I finished back in 2008 (my year, the year of the rat). This one only took about seven months and I regret not keeping track of the date I started. Like so much that I write I picked it up and then put it down one day last summer, the end of june and the beginning of july. Man I was inspired those days. I had returned from a coast to coast road trip--San Francisco to Virginia Beach-- and I sat outside in the warmth (ahhh warm Wisconsin summers) working on my thesis, when I got on this long personal rant. Sure enough I picked up the legal pad later and added more, flirting with the idea of making it a novel.
Before long I carried it everywhere and spent every free moment writing each of the 99 chapters slowly, waiting patiently for the right words. But here I am seven months later, 400 handwritten pages (I estimate 150,000 words) and all of it looks good and makes sense. Now the long boring part--typing it begins. At least this will mark the first time I've read it completely through. I have a long reading list this year but I get to start with the man I know best.
much much more later
justin
The year of the horse is what makes all of this daunting, by the way, because that is why it is hard to get things done right now. I completely understand and accept this, but it shows the challenge that awaits. I'm experienced now and more determined than ever, but it is a rough thing.
I have more to say about everything, so much more. So much in fact that just today-- I finished-- my novel. My second one, in fact, which took way less time and was written completely by hand, unlike the yearlong snooze job I finished back in 2008 (my year, the year of the rat). This one only took about seven months and I regret not keeping track of the date I started. Like so much that I write I picked it up and then put it down one day last summer, the end of june and the beginning of july. Man I was inspired those days. I had returned from a coast to coast road trip--San Francisco to Virginia Beach-- and I sat outside in the warmth (ahhh warm Wisconsin summers) working on my thesis, when I got on this long personal rant. Sure enough I picked up the legal pad later and added more, flirting with the idea of making it a novel.
Before long I carried it everywhere and spent every free moment writing each of the 99 chapters slowly, waiting patiently for the right words. But here I am seven months later, 400 handwritten pages (I estimate 150,000 words) and all of it looks good and makes sense. Now the long boring part--typing it begins. At least this will mark the first time I've read it completely through. I have a long reading list this year but I get to start with the man I know best.
much much more later
justin
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