Watch the Muscles Twitch for a Brand New Switch:
Switching modes and modalities to describe a literacy event.

Shipka's Forum Prompt:

Process/Spaces Sketch

As ever, everyone must have posted by 5:00 pm on Monday, February 20th so that others can read and respond to these posts. Be considerate of others and post early and take time to respond to (or ask questions of) what others have posted! Passing (C-level) posts must be at least two good-sized paragraphs in length (approximately 250 words).

P.C. Paul's Response ·  W. Chewning's Response ·  S. Kibler's Response ·  Y. Martin's Response ·  M. deLauney's Response ·  G. Masters' Response

E. Piccirillo's Response ·  D. Wentworth's Response ·  E. Sanchez's Response ·  B. Bauhaus' Response ·  P. Hartman's Response ·  C. Wychgram's Response

S. Natvoitz's Response ·  C. Gatton's Response

The fertilization period of "Sex Beat": Malibu Night Club, 1989

Image 1:
The image is myself standing in one of the dance clubs (there were so many I can’t remember one from the other now, this might have been Malibu, Danceteria, or The Palladium, definitely not The Limelight (which was a church down on 6th Ave. near 23rd St.) of the time writing my own music lyrics on table napkins while spending Saturday night in an underground dance club in NYC observing the dancers. What was on the napkins sometimes were phrases, most times jumbled words but they captured the imagery and the Atmosphere (a song title, one word titles were all the rage then by some groups). The night club became a place for “Incubation,” and the process was a Ceremony.

It was 1989. I was in the midst of my second depression. I had recently divorced and in order to feel something, anything I became involved with the New York City Underground Music Scene. Some may have come to know the music of the time as “Post Punk,” “New Wave” fast evolving into “Alternative Music” but I was more fascinated by several sub-genres during the period such as Post-Nihilist Pop (Bauhaus, Joy Division, New Order, etc.), Depression Rock (The Smiths, Morrissey, The Cure, The Church, etc.), and The Manchester Scene (Manchester, England) with groups such as The March Violets, Virgin Prunes, The sisters of Mercy and others which no longer come to mind and the Scottish Movement. Years previous, I used to write all kinds of stuff but hadn’t written in years. My therapist suggested I turn back to writing in order to release what I felt.

         The music was obviously loud in an alternative dance club and I would go to observe the freaks. As the DJ changed the type of music so would the dancers. Bauhaus’ Bella Lugosi Is Dead, She's In Parties, or The Passion of Lovers would bring out the “pastie whites” now known as "Gothic" or "Goths." The girls dressed in sheer, gauzy flowing black outfits like Morticia Addams in their who would “sweep the floor” in time to the music as though they were ghosts of the virginal brides floating past Dracula’s casket (they called it dancing, we called it sweeping the floor because of their slow, bizarre, extended motions and timing). Scenes from the original black and white version of the film “Night of the Living Dead” flickered on the video monitors as the ominous eerie sounds echoed though the dance hall. Beginning lyrics such as “Gimme Money, Gimme Sex, Gimme Food and Cigarettes,” were practically battle cries causing the Punk Rockers to stomp onto the dance floor and begin to slam dance, and so on. Each type of music and genre would bring out a different following and a different set of dancers. Of course the dance styles were as varied as the music as was the dress. They all had one thing in common, actually two: They were young and alive. Their enthusiasm was overwhelming and intense. You couldn’t help but feel alive being around them.

         The music and the lyrics spoke to me like no other music did before. “Panic” by The Smiths summed up the whole scene in a nutshell.

         But the lyrics didn’t speak to me only. 100’s of people danced to the same music and as we listened and danced, at the same time in other clubs all over NYC and Long Island, others danced to the same music suggesting that there were 1000’s of “others” that felt the same. That’s what we were, “other.” The depression, the music, the atmosphere all fueled what I wrote. The writing was beyond somber, more like morose. Some said I wrote dark poetry and lyrics, very dark. I would amusingly suggest that it was actually “Berkshire Green” (that’s the color most steam locomotives were painted in, nine shades of black, one shade of green.)

         The most influential, most exclusive, and yes the most expensive of the clubs to enter was “The Limelight.” The Limelight was a gothic style church that probably should have been condemned, but was sold and converted into a night club. The structure itself “Set the Tone.”

         I went also to see how people would dress as it was a huge part of the scene, to see how way out people would make themselves up. Two lyric bites summed the pageantry up wonderfully. Mark E. Smith of The Fall once said, “Do you know what you look like when you go out at night?” Better known to most of them was Ministry, who asked, “Why can’t every day be Halloween?”

The process of composing "Sex Beat": The incubation period

Image 2:
This image describes the “creative” process. Writing a text such as this one is very different from an academic or journalistic process where text is “by brute force.” The process begins by taking a nap on Saturday afternoon going into evening in order to practice “conservation of energy.” In order to go out at 10:00 p.m. and be in the club by 11 or 12 midnight and stay till 4:00 a.m., I had to reverse my sleep pattern. My pet cockatiel, Tammie would also take her afternoon snooze at the same time.

         Before leaving I would shower and dress the part. After a few weeks of being at the same club every Saturday night and asking the DJ for some of the more way-out sets of music, I was accepted into the “click” by the DJ, the hostess, and the bartender. Never again did I pay the admission price and would receive VIP passes on a regular basis. The atmosphere inspired the words, sometimes fragments of ideas, sometimes a few stanzas, none of the poems or lyrics miraculously flowed across the page. The sights, sounds, smells, images, feelings were all wound up in me in words here and there but not much else. I would go home and crash for a few hours only to awake and go out to Jones Beach West End One. West End One was practically a deserted beach that was reserved for the surfers. It was deserted for good reason: the water was a good ½ mile away. I would walk the surfer’s path through the dunes almost to the end. There I could get some thinking done.

         I brought my napkins with my notes and fragments, a writing pad and a pencil so I could erase anything I didn’t like. Everything I did from 79’ to just recently, has been in pencil. This is also before my computer stage. I didn’t erase but put lines through things. When the lyrics became a real mess, I’d swing over to another page and copy what I liked and leave the rest. There would be pages of stuff edging closer to a final text or something I would eventually leave alone.

         There is only so much one can stand of the beach. From there I would travel into Long Beach to another club. This was on the canals, outdoors in the late afternoon and live Reggae bands would play. I would sit at a bench and continue to watch the “mating ritual” of the younger crowd, jotting down more words, shifting things around, adding and deleting. The music was completely different. Reggae and Sunday afternoon were made for each other. The music was more spiritual and the atmosphere moving. The cool breezes, the sea air rising from the canal, the sun slowly sinking would dissolve the cobwebs and darkness in my mind from the night before. Until...

         Evening. I was at home and I was listening to New Order’s “Everything’s Gone Green.” It was an instrumental piece of the pre-techno genre. For me, it wasn’t the synthesized drums nor the tape recorded beats or the synthesizer tracks that moved me, it was the only living instrument used by New Order. It was the hollow electric base guitar playing lead that did it. The sound drove right down to the marrow and reverberated. Unlike a solid base guitar a hollow base reverberates and has a sound like a bell, an ominous, dark, foreboding bell. The bell of Hell. Hell’s Bell. The base in this case only played one note over and over distinctly separated in time as though it was commanding the doomed souls to rise. Between that, the synthesizer track and the beat track, I could picture the dead souls dancing or what first appeared to be dancing. They were on a flat plane of reddish sand stretching into eternity. The horizon was grey and faded into black. Then it flashed in my mind, the souls weren’t dancing. They were being herded off in a line to where they belonged in Hell and were trying to prevent their feet from burning as they proceeded across the sand. Every time the one note was struck by the hollow base guitar, more souls would proceed through the gate joining the procession. This is when the words flowed across the page.

Reason/Purpose for the word choice “fertilization” in image one: A majority of the people in this space wanted to be labeled as “other” (other than human) and defined the culture as a sub-culture (less than a culture). Fertilization adds a rather clinical reference to their “mating ritual,” as though observing some new bacterial strain under a microscope which this culture would have considered a rather novel labeling.

Reason/Purpose for the word choice “incubation” in image two: For most people the word incubation conjures the image of bird or reptile eggs within a controlled laboratory environment to promote hatching. More than likely the culture would lean towards the “reptile” reference. This would have referred to a song “Reptile” by a band named “The Church” which first appeared on the album “Starfish” circa 1988. As with all generations, language was coded through symbolism to prevent others (outside of the culture) from understanding the coding.

         After creating this post I did a little investigating on June 19, 2006 to find there was a web site by the local radio station “WLIR” showing images of the 1980’s and 90’s club scene. To my surprise my favorite bartender “Hahn” is still serving. She is the dark haired punk cut woman in several of the photos.

         In any case, my illustrations SHOULD be fairly self explanatory.

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 1

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 2

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 3

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 4

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 5

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 6

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 7

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 8

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 9

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 10

Mr. Bill's Mishap: Slide 11

         Simply use the hyperlinks below each illustration to progress through the series of 11 pictures that tell a story in a straight-forward manner.

         Basically, the single event that I am illustrating from start to finish is our online chat. I only use my perspective in this series, as it is difficult to determine and illustrate the perspectives on online chat partners. A sub-event, and the end of my series, is my error in clearing the room's chat buffer which I did because my chat froze up and I thought that the action would only clear BY buffer (carry-over knowledge from IRC experience).

         The spaces in which this even took place are my home office, my computer, the chatzy chat window, and my mind. All of these spaces should be clearly represented in the illustrations.

         Just to be sure everything is clear, but without diluting the richness of the illustration-reading process by labeling each drawing, here is a basic run-down of the story: I went to my computer at about 12:55 pm and joined the class chat by clicking on the link (portal?) given to us my Shipka via email. We chatted for a little over an hour, and all was dandy. Then, my chat froze up, and I could no longer see what was being said. I clicked the "clear" button and *poof* everyone's chat buffer (which is apparently only one single buffer) was gone. I was surprised and regretful, but it did fix my frozen chat window.

"Oh Noooooo..." a response to W. Chewning's "Bill's Online Chat (il)Literacy" by P.C. Paul
...Mr. Bill. That was cute and it summed up the moment wonderfully. I especially like the choice of displaying the clock. I understand the story, but that is only because I was there (virtually). If I was to attempt to read the same series of images not knowing what actually happen that day, for me, I would be way off base. Even after having to make sense of images for fifteen weeks last semester, I can get some of it but not all of it. I have been trying to decipher "Manga" texts (Japanese comic book/novels) and most of it just doesn't make sense to me. The other problem I have in Manga is not having a solid grounding in Japanese culture/society for there is tremendous use of signs, myths, and rituals embedded in the Manga texts so I don't understand some of the more obvious meanings.

         Films like "The Prisoner" I was more successful with but I also understood that this film operates on many levels, one of them being a political/social commentary about individualism in 1966. On the other hand I must have watched it at least a dozen times a few years apart and with life experience I keep drawing new information from the film.

         The other day I got into a discussion with S. Norfolk about Anime and we somehow got to discussing "Foolie Cooly" which only has six episodes but unfolds in a similar to the way the affinity space we were in on Thursday. What I mean is that so much information comes at you all at once in a sort of hyper cyberspace sort of way that after having viewed it twice over the course of a month I couldn’t make heads or tails of it and neither could the person I was conversing with. By discussing the anime the entire plot fell out into our laps. The worst part of it something we thought was so weird and profound was ultimately obvious and right in front of our faces. Apparently all the weirdness was just to throw us off.

The links above re-present the process and space of a text I created for work. I work in a financial aid office at a two-year university and I was asked if I could think of a new way to advertise a scholarship that has been notoriously overlooked by students. At first I was very confused and frustrated as I have little artistic ability and no experience in advertising anything. I wasn’t sure how to come up with an idea that would cost little to no money while creating a text that would catch the eyes of students. I decided to ask my boss for assistance. She provided me with some further information about the scholarship and I coupled that information with my existing knowledge of student financial needs and concerns and created a flyer that could be posted in the hallway bulletin boards. I knew the bulletin boards are often very cluttered and students only briefly peruse them so I used brightly colored paper and pictures to catch the student’s eye. I also wrote in very large font “Full Scholarship Opportunity” or something to that effect. My boss and I were both very pleased with the final product and we ended up having many applicants for the scholarship.

         The second link shows the spaces in which I composed the text. Since this was a project for work, the dominant spaces that I composed in were my office, more specifically my desk and my computer. I used MS Word to compose the text and cut and pasted pictures from clip art into the document.

         (Feel free to laugh at my pictures. As I said, I have little artistic ability!)

"?...?...!...!...????...!...!..." a response to S. Kibler's "Artistic illiteracy" by P.C. Paul
...I particularly like the dialogs and monologs in this pictography. There's not much to take for granted. I might add that computer mice were never meant to be used as drawing tools. Mr. Bill must have used a digital tablet and a stencil that's why the lines are so crisp.

         I'm curious if you used a graphic on the advertisement. One of the graphic artists used a dominatrix last year for Bartleby with the slogan "Submit to Bartleby." That was seen on campus for a whole two days before it ultimately vanished into the black hole for student postings. It's a complete mystery as to what happened to them. I find the colored paper works particularly well, but when I used such techniques I checked the bulletin boards to see what was the dominant color being used in these spaces and then used something that would create a really awful contrast next to them. The reason I did this is because I found for some reason, organizations were favoring certain colors. The board would be crowded with different event postings all in the same color vying for the viewer’s attention. The only way to get attention was to use a color that contrasted against the other advertisements.

The first drawing is of what my literary event was. I had recently gotten a puppy and this being a fairly new process for me I didn't know a thing about how to communicate with the puppy. Of course when the puppy first came in our family, he decided he can go to the bathroom whereever he felt like, so I started to train him the first day. I think the communication between a human and animal is unique because one doesn't know if the message being received or understood. The first drawing shows me holding a cookie and trying to entice the puppy to sit; if he sits he gets the cookie. The second image was of me trying to tell (command) the puppy to lay down. Although most of my training was trying to make sure he used his space as the bathroom, but unfortunately my artistic abilities are very bad and I wasn't able to draw that, so I settled to draw something that happened later in the day, after hours (on and off) of training.

         The second drawing is of my space of where the event happened. The first part is of the family room, with the television and the sofa. That is the place where the family is together, bonding. I felt this room is significant because the puppy has become a part of our family, and that is where he will be bonding with the rest of us. The second drawing is the bedroom where the puppy sleeps, with one of the member's of the family. This space is secretive and personal yet a comfortable space where many of my literary events happen. So having part of this specific event happen in the bedroom is significant because this event is personal and comfortable like the space.

"Animal to Human Communication" a response to A. Sheikh's "Human to Animals" by P.C. Paul
I am of the opinion that animals communicate through the oldest forms of communication, that of body language and reading emotions. I think we once had these methods but lost them as we developed language. In other words, animals are very in-tune with emotions and read the emotions of others. My experience is with birds, specifically parrots, and I find we communicate just fine if I force myself to listen. I find the parrots have the basic emotions we all have and there really only a few for them: happy, sad, lonely, bored, angry, fear, surprise, maybe a few more but I can’t think. As I said the key is to stop and listen to what is being said. They certainly communicate and their emotional needs are very simple. On the other hand, they cannot and will not wait (The proper word is not coming to me). The want/need is now. Children are the same and waiting is a learned/trained behavior. The parrot tells me when she wants affection, when she wants me engaged, when she wants personal time, etc. I have noticed parrots are huge egos, meaning that every message is "I want... something," and if given the chance they are constantly negotiating for the position as the alpha when I give in to everything.

A response to P.C. Paul's "Animal to Human Communication" by A. Sheikh
Just like your parrot, I think cats communicate the same way (well that cat I have encountered and got to know which is my aunt’s). Every message I feel she signals is I want something, I don’t feel dogs are like that though, in the few weeks I had my puppy. I do think the way the communication works is very unique since the language is not the same (they don’t communicate the same that we do) to a certain extent.

A response to A. Sheikh's post by P.C. Paul
I agree with cats. "Sam" (Samuel) communicated the same way through signs and body language. Sam for the most part was independent, but did desire some social interaction. While I was studying Engineering sometimes he would come into the room, jump up on my study desk and as I was writing, step right over my hand and plop himself right on top of my writing pad, notebook, and textbook. Obviously one has to say "How could that be comfortable?" Of course it was not. The message was obvious, at least to me, "stop what you're doing and give me some attention."

         That is not to say dogs don't also communicate, they do. Dogs on the other hand, I think can read our emotions and adopt their behavior to that message. We once performed an ongoing experiment with my friend's German Sheppard. I was under the impression that it was not the human language of her name being called but the sound of the name she responded to. Her name was "Sue" so instead of calling her "Sue" we called her by a sound which had no meaning in English but projected the same sound and of course we loaded the sound with the same emotion. We would call her with the sound "Eeeeeu" something audibly similar to "Sue." She (Sue) would wag her tail and come running.

Drawing freestyle on paper in my own surroundings is the best stress relieving tool that I have right now. I decided to use me actually drawing my picture because that is a literate process for me at its best. This weekend I did a picture for a wedding and once the finished product was completed I didn’t like it. The second shows a picture result, but I never really feel that they are ever good enough. Everyone always praises me on my work but I rarely like the result. One of my favorite musical artists is Jill Scott, said it best when in singing she actually just sings and the whole other world takes over. She doesn't here anyone or even see anyone but she feels complete. When the show or concert is over she has to ask her friends "Did I do good, or how was it?" That comment is me in a nutshell with my process as well. I was so nervous yesterday giving that picture to the married couple and now I have to wait a whole week after their honeymoon to find out how they liked it.

         I don't like using the computer for artwork because it is so detailed. You have to redo and revise to get it right or even acceptable. In freestyle it is not like that and you are not able feel so much like you are in a box. I when I am in my world of drawing I don't want to feel boxed in and closed. In my own world I want to be me.

"My Own Not So Little World" a response to Y. Martin's "My Own world" by P.C. Paul
You said that you like to draw and that it is your best mode of communicating. Do you think in terms of visualization? I know that I do and that 70% of the population are visual learners. I know for a fact that I do not think in terms of words, sentences, paragraphs, and text. I "see" things in my mind and I can rotate about the image to see different snapshots of the same image or images sort of like a movie reel. This means I not only think visually but also spatially. I was at one point training to be a mathematician but gave up because I could no longer "think" as fast as my peers. I could think in terms of symbols (visual) and take those symbols and convert them to their corresponding images (visual/spatial). Mathematics as a language I could visualize steps in my head and could skip steps while writing them down if I wanted to. That’s what makes learners crazy because it’s like reading a paragraph with sentences missing. So of course the untrained mind says how did you get from this to this?

         I still "think" the same way, so writing is actually extremely painful because it takes many revisions to get the competed thought process out in exactly the way I can see an idea in my mind. Even with all that work it never really comes out the way it is in my mind. What I would like is to be able to "jack" into a computer and be able to dump all my thoughts into a computer and then modify as necessary. I think this will eventually happen, but not in my lifetime.

         I started this assignment by making the flash-gear images of where I worked on this assignment. Specifically I wanted to show that I though about it (kind of sketching it out in my head) while I was at work and in bed, but I actually started working on it sitting on my couch. The couch appears first because that is also where the text that I am talking about in this assignment (the text message) was created. As you’ll see I had a bit of an issue with flash-gear however, so I switched to a PowerPoint representation for displaying the actual text creation process (attached).

         Places where I worked on this (also happen to be places where I sometimes write text messages, but for this example only the sofa refers to the series of images about the text message):

This PowerPoint presentation [unfortunately this file was not rescued from Blackboard before everything was removed for the next semester so it is forever lost] first shows a series of illustration of receiving and then sending text messages. I used to hate text messaging, but now I prefer it to actually talking on the phone because it is simple and usually faster/more efficient than talking on the phone. This particular example happened this past weekend when I received a text from a friend asking why I wasn’t at Katsucon (an Anime convention in DC). The end of the presentation show the places where I worked on this assignment, and the very last slide shows where the “text creation” took place. I chose to depict the places where I worked on these text(s) as someone else would see them and without me in them because I don’t like trying to draw myself and because it wouldn’t really be a clear depiction of the space if it was how I saw it from within the space.

"Flash-gear + a laptop w/a touch pad = grrr : ( -> " a response to M. deLauney's "Flash-gear + a laptop w/a touch pad = grrr : (" by P.C. Paul
I agree, Flash-gear is being finicky right now. Did you forget to post your PowerPoint? Anime convention in DC. The bug of anime has been awoken in me once again from my first experience with it in 93' in a shared collective space as a social event. My first introduction to anime was actually Gigantor and Speed Racer when it first aired when I was a kid.

        My interest in anime now is an expanded awareness of the social discourse being conducted in the anime through semiotics. In the mean time I am studying Japanese symbolism in the real life culture and how the communication changes within the fantasy world of anime with Western influence. It's very difficult because I need to understand Japanese culture first which also means working back through mythology, rituals and other ancient symbolism and how Western culture is modifying the discourse.

A response to P.C. Paul's post by M. deLauney
No, the PowerPoint is there at the top as an attachment. At least it was when I looked at the message...

This picture shows the process I engaged in while playing a game of chess last Friday. It is divided into six parts, which are meant to be viewed left-to-right, starting with the upper row. I approached the table where Matthew was already seated, a chess board and clock laid out in front of him. After taking my seat, I began setting the pieces on their proper starting squares (I am clutching a knight in the picture). Then I picked up the clock and set it so that Matthew and I each had three minutes to complete all our moves. Up to this point, Matthew and I had not spoken except perhaps to exchange terse greetings. Once the game started, Matthew started "trash-talking" and displaying aggression by banging his side of the clock after each move. I would have added a speech bubble with some of his comments but decided they were too vulgar. (It is all in good fun.) I remained silent, slowly building my advantage on the board. The fifth picture shows a knight "fork," a double attack on Matthew's king and queen; this was a devastating move which forced Matthew to resign. The last picture shows my happiness at winning.

This picture shows the space where this game of chess occurred: the SGA area on the third level of the Commons. It is a big, open space littered with furniture and idle people. (I think it was G.B. Shaw who said, "Chess is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever.") The room is well-lit and sunlight pours through the many windows. It has a yellow "feel" to it, perhaps owing to the abundance of light-toned wood, so that is why I painted it yellow. The rows of drawers along the right are storage spaces for all of UMBC's student organizations. The table where the stick-figure is seated is where my chess game with Matthew occurred.

A response to G. Masters' "A Game of Chess" by P.C. Paul
Thanks for indicating how to read the image (Left to right, top to bottom) even though it is in the form we are accustomed to reading in Western culture. Was Matthew applying psychological techniques in order to disturb your analytical processes?

         I am familiar with the SGA space and it is large: large enough where several groups may gather and yet not disturb each other. Yet this also creates a space like a railway station where people come and go through the space making it difficult to concentrate especially if it becomes active as far as the flow of people.

         Greg said, quoting G.B. Shaw who said, "Chess is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever." Oooooh, them is fightin’ words! Put up yer dukes! Hahaha. I wonder if G. B. actually played the game or did a friend explain the game and then he/she drew this conclusion or if G. B. did play but was frustrated by the inability to play well or a level he/she wished to attain. G. B. probably never understood the strategy in the game. You might disagree with me on this but I think spatial thinkers/communicators gravitate towards chess.

         I also agree with the sense of “yellowness” with that room. It has a “sunny” disposition. Light and vibrant, maybe too vibrant, but then again if one is using the space as a “think tank,” such an area may promote thought in the sense it promotes “awaken-ness,” where a duller room would promote “sleepiness.”

         DJ and T.R. were historical man-friends from back in the way back when we would never introduce them to our mothers, but hey buddy, buy me a drink. There was no posing of the "Will you be my valentine," but T.R. had suggested upon a double date for the evening of the 14th.

         Upon the date of February 11th, Kate and I still had hot water and electricity and so we went to the mall to celebrate. I asked her if she thought we had to get them cards and we agreed that for the amounts of money they would be spending to slip us into a disgruntled VDay comatose deserved at least a slight greeting... so we went to the Hallmark Gold Crown store in Annapolis Mall, where we spent three, yes, three hours picking out cards. How do you pick out a card for the guy who follows you into the copy room at work to get markers you never see him use? How do you get a card for the guy you made out with in the same copy room that one time because you wondered what it would be like to make out with a DJ? And what about this question: How do you pick out a card for the guy with the sunken in chest (TR) who has been in love with you since you were 16 yrs old/18yrs old that one summer? It's not easy.

         In correlation with the last blackboard post, I wanted to give an example of just how hard it is to pick out a ready-made-card. Even if the place you're picking it out in is a refuge for every f'in card ever made. They have valentines day cards for the garbage man and your tranny lover... not both at the same time though... sorry Sarah N.

After searching and searching, Kate and I decided to go for the one thing we knew how to read best, humor. She picked out a giant card picturing two elderly people on the front, in big gold letters it said :"Stand By Me" and when you opened it the song started to play in a 1940's jukebox sort of way that made you want to slow dance. The card I picked out was from the Mahogany section, which Kate said I wasn't allowed to buy from.....? I told her to shut the hell up and I picked out a card that said something like "your beats and slow jams are the rhythm's my heart moves to." It might as well have been in the Valentine's Day Cards for DJ's section.

         So we gave the cards to our man friends, we got a good laugh, a good wine buzz and well I don't know exactly what happened to Kate after that...

(THERE ARE TWO PARTS TO THIS MAP. THE FIRST IS ATTACHED HERE AND THE SECOND IS ATTACHED IN THE FOLLOWING REPLY. THANK YOU...elp)

"Way kewl..." a response to E. Piccirillo's "Do We Have to Get Them Cards?" by P.C. Paul
...I went back into the images a second time trying to somehow forget the text I read. This is really Kewl because it reads like a manga text. I don't get it right away, but if I view the pictographs for a few moments the meaning washes over me. If the image was thrown at me without text I probably would come up with a similar story. I don't think "Valentine's Day" would have entered into it, but I think I would have read it as, "You want to what? Hahahaha! I practically think of you as a "brother." Come on, Let go get drunk, mate! ("Mate" in the Australian usage of the word, meaning "buddy.")

This first animation shows the process of how I write a song. Please watch it before reading any further. It starts with just me. An arrow pointing to my broken heart represents an event that has inspired me to think of a song. I start to think about a song and lyrics for the melody. I pick up my guitar and start to play the music. The point where I actually complete the song and perform it is when the guitar amp is drawn and when I start to sing. The reason why I kept the broken heart and thoughts on the music up was to show that even though those events have passed, they are brought up every time I think of the song that I sing/play (does that make sense?)

As for the locations, I have two. The first being my own bedroom. I sit in my chair and just try out chords and different melodies on the guitar. If I am not in my room then I am over my friend's house in his tool shed, where we have our band stuff stored (drums, amps, etc). If you can't make out what is drawn then here is what is shown: a screwdriver, saw, drum set, amp, me, guitar.

"This Note's For You" a response to D. Wentworth 's "Notes on Music" by P.C. Paul
Daniel said, “The reason why I kept the broken heart and thoughts on the music up was to show that even though those events have passed, they are brought up every time I think of the song that I sing/play (does that make sense?)”

         Yes it makes perfect sense. It’s the difference between a good musician and a great musician. Music is creative and is created from the senses, sound and lyrics. Most times it is ambiguous enough like poetry to create a space such that so long as one has a “heartbeat” i.e. you’re alive and not dead, everyone can find a portion of themselves in the space the artist creates because no matter how personal or individual, we are all connected through the human condition. If you remember there was that time period in music that the producers were deathly afraid to allow artists such as Jewel, Sinead O’Connor, Allanis Morrisette, Tori Amos, and others to write such personal stuff because they (producers) assumed the stuff was so personal that no one could possibly connect with it. What happen is the emotions of these artists not only projected through the musical instruments and the lyrics, they (producers) missed the point that the voice projects the emotion felt in the monolog or dialog. This is why when one is being trained to sing a good teacher will tell you “don’t bother going into the music business, you’ll never make it.” On the other hand, on let’s say a real sad song, as singers we were instructed to focus on something really sad that we personally experienced regardless if it was not the same imagery as the song because the voice, even though singing different words would convey that sad emotion even though the imagery in your mind was totally unrelated. You can’t get that projection of the emotion in the voice if the mind is disconnected from the emotion. We all know this intuitively. We go to a concert with big hopes of hearing an artist live and the show is disappointing because the performers are just there like robots. As examples, “New Order, Depeshe Mode and others” were like bodies on a stage with no soul (a shell without a ghost). Yet with somebody like James Brown, he performed night after night heart and soul. He would literally pour himself into the performance.

This second drawing portrays the places where such events occurred.

Drawings explanation
In the first drawing, the first picture portrays my teacher telling me and my classmates in second grade in elementary school to read a certain short story. The second picture portrays me reading the short story while in the third picture portrays me watching my favorite TV show in 7th grade of middle school, which gave me some ideas to create my first short story. Finally, the 4th picture portrays me writing my first short story, and the last picture, the 5th picture, portrays me at UMBC where I decided to major in English, so I would someday become a professional writer.

         In the second drawing, the first picture portrays where everything began, at my elementary school in second grade. The second picture portrays the first home where I read my first short story and decided that it would be great to write one myself. The third picture portrays my second home where I began to watch TV and created my first short story. Finally, the last picture is of UMBC where I am majoring in English, so I can write short stories professionally.

Explanation as to why I made these drawings.
I decided to make these drawings because they represent the stages in my life that took me to become the person who I am today, a short story apprentice writer. Furthermore, short story writing has already been part of my life for a long time now, and I would be a completely different person if this, short story writing, was not part of my life. I am who I am because of the life that I sketched for everybody to see.

"The best way to destroy one's imagination and creativity is to..." a response to E. Sanchez 's "The Process of My Short Story Writing Career" by P.C. Paul
...go to college. This is in effect what Frank Zappa had to say about college. Note he did not say it about grammar school or high school and he explained quite literally how they were different. Zappa felt that school was important to a point. Zappa also felt that if you wanted to be a factory “cookie cutter” person, (Doctor, Lawyer, Accountant, Engineer, Teacher, etc, not just professionals, college was and is necessary.) But if you were a creative type, creative writer, artist, musician, college would destroy any sense of creativity you entered with. Some of our later readings deals specifically with this in that the over-stress and over importance as toting the writing process as the only means of demonstrating higher order intellect is an ideology and also a hindrance to those who cannot think in terms of language and words (verbal/linguistic intelligence). This leaves out a great deal of different learning/thinking styles (intelligence) such as musical/rhythmic, naturalist, interpersonal, intrapersonal, logical/mathematical, visual/spatial, bodily/kinesthetic. Traditional writing/reading instruction ignores all of these “others” and thinks of verbal/linguistic intelligence as the only pathway for communication.

         Also remember many of the great writers were well-educated and were quite familiar with the rules of writing and grammar, but they chose to position themselves outside the space and look in, then ask “Why are we doing it this way,” only to hear the answer because we did it that way in the past. Many times I don’t see these writers as breaking the tradition to be rebellious or radical but break out into different directions because the traditional doesn’t allow the author to express themselves in a way they feel is the best way to convey the message.

Well? So? Can you guess? :-) Iiit's songwriting! Woohoo! Ok, um, anyway... so I chose to explain/depict the process of songwriting as a text because it not only requires actually writing stuff down, but also incorporates the use of an instrument, which can be an entirely separate text in itself. We’ll save that one for another day.

         The first picture shows me listening to a good song on the radio and then becoming inspired to write a song of my own. I then find and pick up my song notebook and grab my guitar. I sit down and situate myself in a comfortable position. I think up some lyrics and strum away on my guitar to capture the perfect melody. The first time around, it didn't go as planned. I wasn't happy with my initial creative genius so I tried strumming a bit more. Then I finally stumbled upon a sweet melody and was overjoyed to have done so. With a good tune in my head and some words to go along with, I pulled out my lucky pen and wrote a song.

         I simplified this process a bit because I usually play for at least an hour or so before I come up with a tune I’m satisfied with. Although, for this assignment, that description would've taken up a good 201.6 flash-gear pages or so. But, nonetheless, you get the gist.

         My decisions when, where, why to write songs usually occurs sporadically. On this particular day, I was inspired by a cool tune I heard on the radio. it must've been around noon-ish and I was sitting in my room at the time, which leads us to the second depiction...

         The second picture shows me sitting on the edge of my bed, in my room, with the radio blasting (note: must be blasting or is ineffective). You may be thinking, "No, Brittany, you are a liar and a fool! You’re not in your room at all! You’re on a tropical island sitting on a random mattress, accompanied by an even more random desk with a cool little blue radio on top of it! Duh!" alas, I wish this were true. Actually, my room has a mural of the Pacific Ocean/beach on one wall. This actually has A LOT to do with my songwriting. If you haven't been able to tell from past posts, I’m sorta kinda a beach person. Ok, well, I’m obsessed. Whenever I’m near the ocean, I feel calm and it helps me to collect my thoughts. Therefore, I spend a lot of time in my room writing songs, because I don't live on a beach so the mural is the next best thing. it may sound funny. But it works. Seriously. I highly recommend it.

"Processing Images" a response to B. Bauhaus ' "It's a Process" by P.C. Paul
I agree, lyrics are one text, vocals is another text (like dance), music is a third text. I had friends who were musicians, some could write and read music, some could not [these people would convert audio to kinesthetic - audio to hands on, Paul McCarthy was one of these and didn’t learn how to read or write music well into his late forties when he did a collaboration with another famous artist and the famous artist was surprised to learn Paul could not read or write (compose) music sheets.], yet the musicians could not write lyrics or sing. I can’t play an instrument. That may be because I never found the right instrument some musicians suggested. I don’t know and can’t say if that was right or wrong. They argued because I could draw, paint, and had mechanical hands on aptitude (meaning kinesthetic intelligence) that I should be able/capable of playing an instrument. I got sucked into singing in 3rd grade and continued well through high school.

         It is inspiring to note how an artist is inspired by another artist’s work. I would never call it plagiarism or stealing because we see novelists do it all the time. Several stories or novels generate thoughts in someone’s mind building an entirely new novel (James Joyce, “Ulysses”, the Holy Bible and so on.)

         In your room? Oh okay in your mind you were on a tropical island. I would have to say you must be quite independently wealthy in order to have a palm tree and an ocean in your room.

         I agree most of these or any types of text just happen to just flow out perfectly from the imagination. It has been very rare for me. In ENGL 303 I once wrote a paragraph from my thoughts to paper in one fell swoop and turned it in with the entire first draft. Professor Shivnan dragged me out onto the carpet and said “Here is an example of a text which one would think is redundant because of the use of “I” but because of the way it is quickly passing through an accounting of time and space, “a history,” it actually builds a rhythm of language that carries us through certain imagery where the reader becomes involved with the rhythm of language and the passing though from space to space, the mind does not concentrate and ignores the redundancy.” Then I was asked if I did that intentionally? The answer was no, I didn’t do it intentionally nor did I beat the language into place, it came in one flow and I would consider it a “gimme,” a lucky gift given to me in the moment. Writing rarely occurs that way.

         In my mind, it is really a “forced” process. Sort of like exerting “Newtonian Physics” upon the world at large because human beings like things orderly and linear. Then you get someone like Henry Poincare, a mathematics graduate student, and a poor one at that who in the late 19th century, early 20th century claims that nature and the universe does not follow linearity but that human beings impose linearity on nature so we can understand it. Poincare then claims actually nature and the universe are in constant states of chaos held together by what he terms “Strange Attractors,” something that things cling to in a sense forming a loose association, creating a whole new type of mathematics known as Non-linear Dynamical Systems. At the time, it was all theory and his notebooks were filled with mistakes (his professors considered him a “sloppy mathematician, so many of his proofs were garbage because he couldn’t possibly draw some of the conclusions he did because of mid-step errors), but even with all the errors, he was on to something. In the nineteen eighties when computers finally became large and powerful enough some of his theories could finally be tested. One result was images of fractals (put it into a search engine). The weird part was Poincare could spatially and visually see these complex images coming from wholly simplistic functions.

A response to B. Bauhaus ' "It's a Process" by W. Chewning
I might have to get one of those murals. I lived at the beach (OC) for seven years, and I do miss it (especially when I hear Jimmy Buffet). CONTEXT makes such a big difference in the way we communicate, it might partly be because our surroundings change how we feel and think at the time. Even though my life at the beach was kind of hectic during the summers, I still had no trouble relaxing or sleeping when the day was done. It's as though the edges of the land around you make everything else seem so small...if that makes sense. I've tried listening to ocean sounds to relax, but it's just not the same. Yeah...I miss the beach.

         Oh...very nice drawings, too! The time and effort you put into this work really shows.

A response to W. Chewning's post by B. Bauhaus
Bill, I know EXACTLY what you mean about 'the edges of the land around you making everything seem so small. That's exactly how I feel when I’m there and the calming effect it has on me is almost surreal. I miss it every day :-(

These sketches detail the process I went through when I wrote a short travel essay on the toilets in Ocean City. A buddy of mine needed material for a travel journal he was compiling for his masters in publishing. The first link has a bunch of stick figure Phil’s drinking, smoking, sleeping, thinking about food, voicing concerns, complaining, and staring at nothing, which is almost what I ended with. It was important for me to be very, very drunk when writing that piece for my bud. It helped me focus on what I was doing and not listen to the self-editor in my head. The arrows indicate the order of events as I remember them. They may or may not be accurate. Note there are no stick figures with pens, pencils, computers, or typewriters. There is a picture of a finished paper in the lower right-hand corner. How did that happen? I don't know.

         The second link is a floor plan of my apartment. Most of the activity depicted in the picture was localized in the living and kitchen areas. I included the bed because I sleep there.

         This literacy event pops out in my mind. I don't remember writing the paper, I only remember cleaning it up in the morning before I sent it out. My friend chopped it up even more when he received it--he got rid of some of my best lines. I guess I don't blame him.

"Driving us to drink…" a response to P. Hartman's "Process of Helping Out a Friend" by P.C. Paul
Hahahaha. The way the text for the visual image was written, I thought your objective was to drive us to drink in order to understand it. Maybe you should have put as the subject header, “Drink Heavily Before Viewing.” American arguments are written in a linear path, but not all cultures write in this form. We force ourselves to write this way so the reader doesn’t have to work for the meaning.

Process Explanation:
I hate personal narratives. I don't get off on dramatizing my life and posting it on Livejournal. So when assigned one of those inane personal narrative essay topics ("5 Double Spaced Pages On An Important Relationship In Your Life"), I deliberate over it for two weeks until the Sunday before it's due. The most important relationship in my life should be with my mother, shouldn't it?

         The weekend that I'm supposed to do the assignment, I have to go to my cousin Owen's second birthday party. I'm not sure exactly why I have to go - I usually avoid family events like that, and what benefit does a toddler really get from having friends and relatives over? My mother had to work, I think, and *someone* has to put in the requisite appearance at family functions, or it looks bad. So the whole time I'm there, I'm trying to think of what I'm going to write for this stupid English paper, and how the hell I'm going to finish it by tomorrow afternoon.

         The party was obviously a chance for the mothers of all the babies to meet and coo over each other's pint-sized child support checks. Carol, my aunt and Owen's mother, looks and acts much like a rapidly aging high school cheerleader - the kind of people who make high school unpleasant for my kind of people in those teen movies. Carol already has Owen's sister, infant #3, in her arms, and I'm beginning to sense that sticky, oppressive odor of spoiled baby food. The house is packed with Carol's perpetually pregnant friends and a few other female relatives.

         I'm afraid of women. Large groups of women make me extremely uncomfortable. I'm trying to think of an excuse to leave (I have to run home and work on my English paper? No... that's even worse) when they close in on me, insisting that I hold their babies. "You'll loooooove babies once you have one of your own!" I try to decline as politely as possible, but I soon have a wriggling red screaming thing thrust into my arms. I can't drop it - they break, don't they? Fragile, sticky sweet with baby powder, heavy and awkward... even Owen's older sister, at all of five years old, looks more natural cradling her baby doll than I do holding something alive. "Look at me, mommy. I have a baby too!" Jealous of all the attention the babies are getting, Owen smashes his fists into his birthday cake while his grandmother laughs. I have to leave. I have a paper to write, and it's stupid, and I don't want to do it, and it's all so incredibly frustrating and touchy-feely and feminine to write a personal narrative. In my mind, I'm equating the essay about my mother with these women, and I can't concentrate at all. I'm going to have to read this damned essay out loud in class. I can't write this.

         I wonder why my mother had me, since she constantly reminds me that I stripped her of any freedom she ever had. How guilty can a baby be? There was something adult in the way Owen and his sister vied with each other for attention, and I wonder if I am guilty of the same thing. My father brings my mother a peace offering of flowers after another argument (when will they get a divorce?), but she dumps the water down the sink. She's crying. Why? Doesn’t she hate him? I don't know what she thinks. I don't know what I think about her, or what I'm supposed to write about. Are these people "family?" In that we share genes? I share a third of my genes with the flowers that my father brought home, that my mother threw away. What percentile makes me someone's child? I prefer science. I can write about science, I can write scientific papers that are still readable for laymen, and I'm proud of that, so why can't I write this crap for a 200-level English course? Am I stupid?

         I go home and put my headphones on and write a nice essay about my mother and gardening, or something like that. It's actually rather relaxing. And if it's all lies, who will know?

Space Explanation:
My writing "space" isn't a physical space - it's the "space" inside headphones (er, not that my head is full of space, or at least I hope not) and on the Internet. I think we're all pretty familiar with the internet as a place to avoid doing schoolwork. I guess I did most of the physical act of writing in my room, which is sort of a nest of electrical cables. So maybe if my space has a theme, it's "connection"?

"Headphone Reality" a response to C. Wychgram's "A Text I Hated With All My Heart" by P.C. Paul
I know exactly where that space is. We called it "Headphone Reality." It's a space, inner space somewhere between the left ear and the right ear infinitely expanding. Quite a nice place actually because I can "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM EVERYBODY ELSE IN IT!" Hahahaha. I would just like to take a guess that people do not energize you and that they drain you; therefore, you need that quiet space and order to regroup and energize yourself once again.

         I am also a Scientist and feel (oooops did I say, "feel"? Why that's a four letter word! Oooo that's bad!), I meant I think (ah that's much better, that's five letters, haha) how is it that as science writers we both wrote something that was touchy-feely and personal within "this" space, his bulletin board being an affinity space? I'm fully aware that I am not anonymous as I would be as if I were on an Internet Bulletin Board where I know it is very unlikely that someone would be able to associate the username with the living breathing person, yet I chose to write a very personal text about myself when I don't view myself as a personable person. I actually made a choice to "share" something personal because I was provided "the space" to compose anything I chose within a set of parameters which were not many. The parameters were very specific yet at the same time quite open and I guess I am in essence, as a scientist experimenting with these new boundaries. I think of it this way. In writing courses, the space had clearly defined walls. It could be a very large space say like a convention center, but there were definite well defined visible walls. After taking Science Writing and Visual Literacy with Dr. Carpenter (a new space) it was like being allowed out into a field in the outdoors, providing a breath of fresh air and some freedom but noting as I romped there was barb wire fencing indicating the boundaries. Then I get to Shipka. The space appears like an infinite, endless plain, wide open for possibilities, but there are definite boundaries. In this case, the boundaries are glass. Just like a bird flying into windows, I think its open space and endless but it's not. I'm carefully walking around the space and checking for boundaries with my hand every once in a while.

         I also hate the touchy-feely stuff, give me "things" to analyze. I hate analyzing people and most people hate being analyzed, or said more succinctly, Books are my only friends that don't mind me reading into them." It could be that because we are so hemmed in by genres, styles, voice, etc. that when we are permitted an "empty space" to fill without guidance, stepping into "that space" for us is like exploration of "other." I got it! It's so Obbbbbvious! The artist is not only instructed to do it in art school, but every good artist does one. It's the turning of the critical eye upon the analyst. It's a self portrait. The analyst becomes the object. "If a number of mirrors are set up into a circle such that every mirror can see every other mirror but there is nothing within the circle of mirrors, what does the empty mirror see?"

A response to C. Wychgram's "A Text I Hated With All My Heart" by W. Chewning
Wow... extremely nice visual representation. I find these posts particularly difficult to respond to without stating the obvious or adding unrelated personal details, but I had to let you know that your work on this is really very impressive.

         Saturday was my boyfriend’s birthday, and for those who don’t know I am dead flat broke, so I had to get crafty! I decided to fill his bathroom with balloons, I mean floor to ceiling balloons too. (I wanted to do his room but the door opens in… it would have been pretty anticlimactic when all he got was a door that was hard to push open.) When he went up to his job for awhile on Saturday I got up and got 75 balloons from Target (I have always wanted to have a room filled with balloons, like in the movies)…. And then settled in on the floor of the hallway outside his bathroom to listen/watch Empire Records and got those babies blown up....

         No, for those of you that might ever want to do this too, be warned, it takes forever and a day…oh, and your mouth will taste like a plastic factory. I blew up balloons for hours, literally, making sure that each was one was the size of mutant watermelon. When they were all done I started filling the bathroom, which is actually trickier than it sounds. Between the static electricity and the balloons bouncing off each other it was hard to keep them in the bathroom, but I couldn’t close the door or I couldn’t get back out. Needless to say I looked like a crazy woman throwing balloons with one hand and batting them out of the air with the other!

         An hour later, when the bathroom was finnnnnnalllllly filled up, and I was sweating bullets and still tasting rubbery plastic, I taped a sign to the closed door that said, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I don’t know if you know this… but I love you! How much do I love you? This much….” And then there was arrow pointing down indicating he should open the door.

         I must say the best part was when they all fell out and kept smacking him in the face, he looked like deer in the headlights, only with a really exaggerated Home Alone type face on. I suggest that everyone try it sometime… they get to feel special, and you get to spend under five dollars for a gift! Just another thrifty tip from me to you folks!!!

         Also, my dominant space for this was, sadly, the floor of the hallway. It was pretty uncomfortable, but what are you gonna do, other than that I was in the bathroom for a few minutes, but mostly I either sat and blew up balloons or stood at the door tossing them in.

A response to A. Natvoitz 's "Birthday on a Budget..." by M. Delauney

         I got this great mental image of you battling the balloons, then doing a side kick of victory when you got them all in! I like the picture of the process too.

Explanation for 1st Drawing:
This is my February Planner for work. I can't spatially place dates and deadlines in my head very well, so I have to organize it on a calendar in writing as well as color coded. Now I can't quite remember if at one point in time, I could remember all the important dates and deadline by just the use of my memory, but my memory has gone to shit--complete overload dysfunction--which brings me to my drawing-- I'm 100% dependent on calendars. They bring a lot of meaning to my life as well as others: co-workers, my boss, my friends (who want me to remember their birthdays), family, and to some extent, bill collectors who want their money on time. If I don't get my deadlines in on time at work, such as monthly taxes, utility bills, and recording bank reconciliations, then the companies that I monitor and do the general ledger or the "books" for would be in major debt with fines from the Comptroller of Maryland and IRS. Especially in the world of taxes, deadlines are VERY IMPORTANT.

         Anyhow, my calendar isn't only a space to organize my life, but also at times in a sense, a stress reliever. At the right of the calendar in my drawing, there are some scribbles that I have made within the month of February. Sometimes, I don't even realize that I do this. When I'm procrastinating on a big project or stressing out before even beginning a long task, I zone out for a minute and doodle different shapes on my planner. Some of the shapes I can make out but others I have no clue what I had in mind when I was drawing the shape on my planner. Also, I like to connect myself to the outside of work. Being stuck in an office all day can at times be a drag, especially, when there is barely even a window to look at. For instance, Valentine’s Day was marked on my calendar with the arbitrary heart symbol. After the day of Valentine’s Day, I wrote a smiley face indicating that my holiday was a good one. I have never really been a fan of the commercial holiday, but I figured that instead of thinking of the holiday as specifically a couples holiday, it can be viewed as the one time (if you haven’t taken the opportunity beforehand), to tell loved ones that in fact, they are loved-and that you’re just too busy getting by in the world to tell them so all the time-but you do in fact think of them always, yada, yada, yada-you know all the gushy stuff. Back to my drawing-to get out of the work world sometimes I write down dates outside of work to leave my work space for awhile. Sometimes, I’ll jot down weekend plans just to get away and place my mind elsewhere. I suppose this also becomes a stress reliever because it gives me a break from busy work.

Explanation of 2nd Drawing:
This is my desk space at work. I’m trying to make my planner for February, but it is hard to complete when the phone is ringing off the hook and the printer won’t stop printing endless amount of reports and other documents. I’m clicking my fingers trying to concentrate on all the things I must do in the month of February. I turn on the radio for an outside sound besides the clicking of letters on the computer and other office sounds that become monotonous after a short time. I do all the color coding and list of things on the computer, but my planner doesn’t really come alive until my pencil meets the paper. Only then does it come alive with the abstract doodles, arrows, and other scribbles that mark the page. It officially has my mark upon the page, giving it some life-some personality. Otherwise, I think my calendar would be pretty boring to look at but then again, maybe it still is!