Humanyms

I guess the daily discipline of writing is covered by other of my blogs. And since I’m still writing, I suppose I don’t need to blog today anywhere. (But. But. The Internet. It isn’t full yet. Must. Write. More.)

Excuse me, cat is trying to get into bag and abscond with scones.

I’m largely – I believe the scientific term is – zonked. I know I checked for mail and unlocked the door after that so had my keys at home. Under an hour ago even. Can I find where? The desk is a prime suspect. Not that that narrows the search much. (I need a clapper for those things.)

Last night I decided I would go without muscle relaxant and had no pain medicine left. (Rather takes the w off off wow, that does.)

I liked having the external focus of symposium. Now, I’m just off game. I managed to cut my hand while opening a can. (Not badly of course, but whatever I said about being totally unfazed by the sight of blood, I here retract.)

This caught my eye. But I didn’t buy it. But it amused me ever so much to contemplate buying it. Sort of like the thought of shaving my head. Such a simultaneously radical and inconsequential superficial change. (Like the paradox in that.)

This caught my eye too. I like the absurdity.

Surrealachasm makes sense today.

The weekend conference on re: reading the postmodern was a Canadian Literature Symposium at Ottawa U, for those who don’t know that. Robert Stacey (pictured wrapping up the talks) chaired the events with almost 40 speakers giving papers and 3 public readings with some of the best poets locally and nationally.

I went in with only a vague sketch of what postmodern is. It is a contested term with a lot of people standing under the banner like any broad term that’s been bandied about for years, in this case, for about 30-50 years depending on what you count.

There are common characteristics that keep being referenced. From what I gathered:

1. It’s a way of thinking and communicating more than a time period. As Christian Bok put it, some of the best Victorian writing that’s ever been written is being written today in Canada. That was tongue poked in cheek but true ’nuff. This is not the Victorian era. It’s not the postmodern era either in a way. Postmodern is a continuation of modern literature, or is a radical departure from it, depending on who you ask.
2. Postmodern (pomo) deals with margins, with that which is left out of mainstream, the data that doesn’t fit. It is resistance to the polished close, the one story and the “click” of closure.
3. Pomo is a reaction to mainstream and to common history. It takes common history and tried to subvert it with new angles and new mashups. For being a reaction it is dependant on there being a common narrative to react to.
4. Although it speaks of dealing with marginalized people, this largely ends up meaning women and immigrants, although there was a homogenous prevailingly white anglo crowd. Sort of like Canadian politics, what gets called left and right are pretty close to middle.
5. Pomo is about ironic telling, uses humor and absurdist twists and may not show its hand on which is playing it straight and which is satire.
6. Pomo is about personal narrative to describe a local area or a nation thru the lens of one person’s direct experience in minutae.
7. In pomo text is a toy like lego. It takes text and recontextualizes the components to mess with it and see what new understandings arise.
8. Pomo aims to make the reader or listener draw one’s own conclusions rather than tell a moral story. It wants to step back from the idea of authority in telling a “truth” and let there be many truths.
9. It aims to break up linear storytelling and shake up the relationship of information hierarchically given to a receptive passive audience rather like the 4th wall in theatre.
10. It aims to make visible how any perception is a construction and how any judgement is a construction and not reality itself. It aims to destabilize this idea of a pat history that can be labelled and known. Or as Herb Wylie put it, “There is more than one way to skin a past.”

Now that I’ve grokked the broad brushstrokes I can get into more detail. Amanda and rob already gave some synopsis of the weekend events.

12 years ago in February I walked home from work near the Kanata library and decided since it was a miserable day I needed books. I had arrived with a half backpack of paper and books and these whatnots that I used to always carry. I overindulged and borrowed 2 full bags.

It was snowy and slippery but I thought I was fine. I walked from the area marked with the green school towards the yellow box of home. It was a walk I did every day.

Embedding the google map doesn’t by default show the 3 points of reference but the larger map is here.

On the way, about halfway, I started to think maybe I should use some bus tickets because this was too heavy. Nah. It was like cement blocks in the back of a truck. The weight would give me traction. Besides, waiting was cold and it would be faster to just walk.

By the time I got to the grocery store I felt I didn’t want to go back out on a day like this. I would just add on some groceries now. I’d come this far and home was only another few blocks. I could go in, get warmed up, carry my books around in a shopping cart for a while to get a rest and then be efficient and get groceries while I was out anyway.

I got 8 liters of milk and canned goods.

Shopping bags were pretty wide. I got so far as across the parking lot, across the street and across another parking lot before I thought, this is madness. It’s slippery. My fingers are instantly numb from the weight.

I could get a cab. But that’s crazy. Wait how long for a cab to go a few blocks? It was only a couple blocks but with that wonky non-grid, blocks are hard to count. (Now it looks about 8 blocks.)

I was doing baby steps and setting the bags down every few. But I was hellbent I would do this because I had started.

About 3 blocks later a senior asked if I’d permit him to help carry some of that. I let him. That still left each of us with 4 or 5 bags.

But I made it home. Victorious.

And the next morning I could not move.

I could not get out of bed for days. I had slipped a disc. For the next few weeks I was in the realm of spectacular pain, a regimen of body-mind awareness connection. And a lot of restless staring at the ceiling and sleeping with pillows propped all around me to make sure I wouldn’t unconsciously roll in the night.

But being stubborn, I went back to work before I could walk other than stiff shuffle steps. Because I was stubborn fool.

Which brings me to the first sensation of when I fell. I knew instantly I wasn’t going to hop up from that the next minute or next few days.

Sharp overwhelming pain? That which my body can respond to directly without involving the mind, pain that pulls the wind out of me and makes my eyes tear, that I can handle. I can watch pretty much as an outsider.

So Day 1, last Wednesday, was a curiosity. Impressive sensations but I knew it will pass. I could step into and out of my body mentally. It wasn’t so bad as when I hurt my back before.

When that recedes and I get body awareness of how turning my mind to a body area can interact to make spasm, wind-blowing, fascinating. I could lift my legs and felt like a toddler standing up for the first time. Whole new world of body of what I can and can’t do and brought up short at any leaning forward to such a small degree that I didn’t know I wasn’t still standing straight. It gives a clarity of mind.

Day 3, compensating muscles so blow to the back makes those muscles in the front try to take the strain off. What a lovely cooperative system.

I can infer which back muscles got a whomp by the isolated ab muscles that felt like they have been doing situps all night. Throat muscle cramps, those were less endearing. That’s a hard sensation to not screen out.

But I can walk, which is a catch-22 since I could get hard looks from people as I attempt to sit when clearly I could walk and am young therefore sitting is “making a fuss”? Pain shame kicking in. Story of explanation getting old.

Day 4, clear improvements, sore less of the time, can move more freely with feeling impressed that I can squat. It hurts but I can. Something falls on the floor is high comedy. As in get down there to get that? ooh, can’t laugh that hard. It hurts. Still lots of novelty in working out solutions of tools to reach down to lift things I can’t bend for.

Tenderness of back of head is pretty much gone and I can see the general picture of body’s slow wave response thru soft tissues. That’s still in the realm of learning. A more diffuse wave of muscles ache.

Day 5, I could appear to walk normally but my base of spine would catch. The muscle compensation was spreading out so my hips muscles and obliques. Interesting to see exactly where the line of obliques is. The abs are still overworked and these aches are starting to fall into regular drudgery of normal. Still not sleeping thru nights well. That’s catching up.

Day 6, Why hello lower back. Still with us are we? Can I take muscle relaxant for 3 days in a row? Out of Tylenol 3. Extra strength doesn’t seem to have any sort of effect, even placebo. Generalized diffuse ache still has some focal points. The whole engaging challenge of pathfinding thru dense undergrowth to find ways I can move is changing to grumpiness at just getting more scratched dotted lines at this point. Still haven’t gone to doctor or massage therapist.

I am getting into that damnable position of I look fine therefore I am judged to be fine and need to get back to normal and not favor my back and hide any wince. Um, but that isn’t going to happen. Especially when I sneeze. Holy crapoli. (Must not sneeze under circumstances!)

My body apparently does bounce when it falls but it doesn’t bounce back, if it ever did. It’s still going to take a while longer.

Quote: “If you don’t understand yourself you don’t understand anybody else.” – Nikki Giovanni

Hub - Can you see the sun dog from where you are?
Me - No, I’m in the bathroom. I can see ant-eaters in sweaters.
Hub - Were you asleep?
Me - No, I’m on the internet with maybe marsupials.

(When you don’t know where to start, random is good as any. Honestly.)

Wild. People think that
they can take a leek anywhere
and see what happens?

If mushrooms are a fairy ring
are hostas a devil ring?

What was nailed,
stays nailed.

One more day of the post-modern symposium. I’ll save something substantive to say for when it’s wrapped. It’s a lot of good in there.

I’m late to depart this morning, but I have muscle relaxants in me, so it’s all good. (No thanks to that sneeze when my back just out-of-whacked itself). (Sheesh, if it’s not one body part, it’s another.)

Quote: “The man who is forever disturbed about the condition of humanity either has no problems of his own or has refused to face them.” – Henry Miller