I just heard that North Korea has been performing underground nuclear tests and that most of the world is not all that happy about it. Perhaps I should watch the news more, but I doubt it. Anyways, Obama's miffed, South Korea's a little perturbed, and I'm sure other countries care to some degree, they're just not mentioned on the MSN homepage hotmail sends me to when I logout.
Still, at the school, the nuclear tests haven't been raising as much concern as the swine flu epidemic. Evidently a few foreigners have brought a resurgence of the dreaded disease into the city not a few massive blocks from where I teach, and since foreigners do nothing but fornicate and languish in each others' sordid, endemic, parasitic hovels or the equally infested hangout hotbeds of diseases frequented in our spare time, we've become greater pariahs of late. So until further notice we're being subjected to daily temperature checks, have been issued filtered face masks, and it's been recommended to us that when we're not at school we confine ourselves to our apartments. The jokes on them though, I've pretty much been doing that anyway.
It not all bad, however; I've been working on a new story idea and this little hysteria has played directly into inspirational material for the plot. The working title is "Immunity". I'll let you ponder the rest for now. At least until I get a little further along and post it on my writing blog:
http://fosterink.blogspot.com/ (I'm trying to work more [shameless] plugs in.)
Stuff in the classroom seems to progressing relatively well; by that I mean I'm still working and haven't been fired yet. I've been teaching poetry to third graders for a few classes now... as though poetry isn't hard enough to get in one's native language. Still, I feel like I'm making headway. The word for the day was Metaphor. Since we've already covered imagery, simile, personification, alliteration and rhyme scheme, I figured it was time. One of their worksheets had a list of words that the two kids had to create metaphors for. The first was "star".
"So, I can write, 'sparkling flower'?"
I'd never heard of a sparkling flower so I thought about it for a second. It was a second that ignited a whole conceit! If a star is a sparkling flower, then space can be the garden in which it grows, the milky way the water nourishing it and the other plan(e)ts in the garden's midst. The possibilities were endless. I got excited and tried to share this with the blank faces looking back at me and finally decided that, yes, a sparkling flower would do fine. My writing on the matter is far from over.
From the mouth of babes...
- Foster
Monday, 25 May 2009
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
The Cube Game
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cube_(game)
I must admit, I was a little prepared, not having participated in this exact game per se, but having participated in others like it, and did so with a decided agenda of creating an interesting picture, but which nonetheless led to an interesting introspective interpretation given the games parameters.
Here's the picture:
It's a desert. It's a dry, barren landscape, cracked from years without sufficient moisture, just the occasional deluge of the too-short rainy season, leaving naught but the hardest lives left to endure.
In the middle of this desert is a giant block of ice. It's shaped like a cube, but is melting in the midday sun. Leaning against the southern face of the directionally aligned cube of ice is a ladder, leading to its summit, a mere 12 feet (cubed).
There is a horse, a Palomino, drinking from the melting rivulets pouring down the eastern face.
When the storm comes, a savage sandstorm tearing in from the west, the horse is already mostly sheltered, only needing to take a few cautionary steps back, towards the north, for the cube of ice suffers the brunt of the stinging sands, marring its surface with pits and scars from the windblown erosion.
However, the storm must have blown in a seed from afar, for shortly thereafter, in the filthy hollowed pool formed by the wind and sun in the top of the cube, a seed sprouts a rose. The rose grows by sending it's roots down through the ice, causing great cracks and fissures throughout the matter that sustains it.
In the end the cube doesn't quite resemble the majesty and awe of a pure block of steaming ice in the middle of a desert as it did with the initial image; it is cracked, breaking, shrinking, and falling away, but the rose grows, and the horse drinks.
- Foster
I must admit, I was a little prepared, not having participated in this exact game per se, but having participated in others like it, and did so with a decided agenda of creating an interesting picture, but which nonetheless led to an interesting introspective interpretation given the games parameters.
Here's the picture:
It's a desert. It's a dry, barren landscape, cracked from years without sufficient moisture, just the occasional deluge of the too-short rainy season, leaving naught but the hardest lives left to endure.
In the middle of this desert is a giant block of ice. It's shaped like a cube, but is melting in the midday sun. Leaning against the southern face of the directionally aligned cube of ice is a ladder, leading to its summit, a mere 12 feet (cubed).
There is a horse, a Palomino, drinking from the melting rivulets pouring down the eastern face.
When the storm comes, a savage sandstorm tearing in from the west, the horse is already mostly sheltered, only needing to take a few cautionary steps back, towards the north, for the cube of ice suffers the brunt of the stinging sands, marring its surface with pits and scars from the windblown erosion.
However, the storm must have blown in a seed from afar, for shortly thereafter, in the filthy hollowed pool formed by the wind and sun in the top of the cube, a seed sprouts a rose. The rose grows by sending it's roots down through the ice, causing great cracks and fissures throughout the matter that sustains it.
In the end the cube doesn't quite resemble the majesty and awe of a pure block of steaming ice in the middle of a desert as it did with the initial image; it is cracked, breaking, shrinking, and falling away, but the rose grows, and the horse drinks.
- Foster
Saturday, 9 May 2009
Virtual Memory Lane
In nursing my aching back, the result of some bad squats and stubborn practices I should have known better than to adhere to (work through it!), I took a rest day. It was Saturday, so no harm done, but over the past few hours, amidst some light cleaning, some movie watching, television catching up, and writing, I began, and continued, to look through old blogs, letters, emails, posts, writings and whatnot spanning a good ten years or more.
Many of you are remembered often regardless, but it's really amazing to go through moments in time, reading captured thoughts and conversations, contextualized and compartmentalized, that have been such an amusing, amazing, insightful, influential, or otherwise important part of my life past, present and future. Often it's specific advice or notice to a particular time, place or event, but as those are and/or were the events that have shaped who I am, they prove nonetheless as applicable today, even if only to serve the memory they help create. I have some of your engagement/wedding musings, your condolences, your frustrations (concerning me, concerning you, concerning others), your announcements, your encouragements, your correspondences, reactions, news, updates, and other forms of communique tucked away in emails, blog posts, cut-and-pasted tidbits, and of course, recorded in my own recollections, both fictitious and factual, in voices composed or comprised of amalgamations, combinations, permutations, or (un)reasonable facsimiles.
Some made me smile. Some made me think. I'm glad I have them all though, as I'm glad I have all y'all, especially as needed, when needed, and I hope at least at times you can say the same of me.
It's funny how there is little here for me to relate to my past, but I still find ways back. I'm undecided as to the merits or faults that lie in that journey, despite my frequent travels, and I'm sure that those of you who know me best could offer your insight on the subject, but that's another note. This one is a thank you note.
So thanks.
- Foster
Many of you are remembered often regardless, but it's really amazing to go through moments in time, reading captured thoughts and conversations, contextualized and compartmentalized, that have been such an amusing, amazing, insightful, influential, or otherwise important part of my life past, present and future. Often it's specific advice or notice to a particular time, place or event, but as those are and/or were the events that have shaped who I am, they prove nonetheless as applicable today, even if only to serve the memory they help create. I have some of your engagement/wedding musings, your condolences, your frustrations (concerning me, concerning you, concerning others), your announcements, your encouragements, your correspondences, reactions, news, updates, and other forms of communique tucked away in emails, blog posts, cut-and-pasted tidbits, and of course, recorded in my own recollections, both fictitious and factual, in voices composed or comprised of amalgamations, combinations, permutations, or (un)reasonable facsimiles.
Some made me smile. Some made me think. I'm glad I have them all though, as I'm glad I have all y'all, especially as needed, when needed, and I hope at least at times you can say the same of me.
It's funny how there is little here for me to relate to my past, but I still find ways back. I'm undecided as to the merits or faults that lie in that journey, despite my frequent travels, and I'm sure that those of you who know me best could offer your insight on the subject, but that's another note. This one is a thank you note.
So thanks.
- Foster
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Thoughts on smiling:
I was the welcome recipient of a stranger's magnificent smile this afternoon. I was walking (rather quickly as I tend to do) out of the subway station on my way to work when I chanced to look up, make eye contact with a smiling young woman, and continue on my way. During the five-minute walk to work I was musing on the effect a simple smile can have on a person. I started watching my mind wander through the days when I used to smile more, to the rationale behind the smiles I feel I've lost, and what I can offer in their stead with such as I have to give.
This led to a momentary recapitulation, with some brief instantaneous apparitions of meandering rabbit trails, of different interpretations and motivations behind smiles, and their potential meanings and readings in the mind, but I tried my best to deter the worst of those and keep focused on the higher, purer, pleasure of the experience.
Eventually my thoughts turned down a familiar path, and then a took a few more twists and turns which I won't detail here, lest my intentions get bogged down in the quagmire of recollections as opposed to the soaring revelations I intend, at any rate, I took the turn towards the mountain-path of love and thoroughly enjoyed the stroll.
So, to get back on track, a smile is just a smile, but it's still a choice, or the consequence of one, and as such there is a certain measure of control over such a simple action. The same is true, or could be true, of all manifestations of love, from the inarticulate to the incalculable expressions that pass between people circumnavigating existence (were existence round). Letters of love have spanned time, stories of love have crossed cultures, actions motivated by love have united enemies, and one in particular has abolished all rebuttals against what love can do.
I rely a lot on words. My final thought spawned from that smile was that love needs more than words; it still needs words, but it needs the smiles too, and all the greater things, but I should start by smiling more.
- Foster
This led to a momentary recapitulation, with some brief instantaneous apparitions of meandering rabbit trails, of different interpretations and motivations behind smiles, and their potential meanings and readings in the mind, but I tried my best to deter the worst of those and keep focused on the higher, purer, pleasure of the experience.
Eventually my thoughts turned down a familiar path, and then a took a few more twists and turns which I won't detail here, lest my intentions get bogged down in the quagmire of recollections as opposed to the soaring revelations I intend, at any rate, I took the turn towards the mountain-path of love and thoroughly enjoyed the stroll.
So, to get back on track, a smile is just a smile, but it's still a choice, or the consequence of one, and as such there is a certain measure of control over such a simple action. The same is true, or could be true, of all manifestations of love, from the inarticulate to the incalculable expressions that pass between people circumnavigating existence (were existence round). Letters of love have spanned time, stories of love have crossed cultures, actions motivated by love have united enemies, and one in particular has abolished all rebuttals against what love can do.
I rely a lot on words. My final thought spawned from that smile was that love needs more than words; it still needs words, but it needs the smiles too, and all the greater things, but I should start by smiling more.
- Foster
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
An introspective look at [the love life of] a "City Boy"
When you live too long alone, with no real sense of place, you begin to manufacture love in different ways. It’s the cities who have kept me sane in my solitude. This goes out to those I’ve known, I’ll leave the naming up to you.
You’re the first I claimed to love, who I never really knew. Still I thought you beautiful, and longed to know you with intimacy. I never learned your secrets. I always lived too far away. Still when I think of home, I always speak your name.
My greatest love remains the one so many claimed to love. You had everything and offered more than I ever could partake. Still there lurks a darkness, a secret shame or two, and while the mask you wear is magnificent, it propels you beyond my reach. Still, I tried to learn your avenues, I wandered in your streets, but in my attempt to love you, you’re the one who proved untrue. That doesn't mean I won't find me lost in you again. You remain my deepest, truest love, for the memories and dreams that have idealized you in me.
Beautiful beyond my means, I had to see you to believe. The beach, the streets, the glam and guts: you boast much for one so young. Many have succumbed to your siren call, not to say I wouldn’t too had I more to offer you. I saw you with a chaperone and guide, still I dared to dream that one day I could find myself wrapped inside your embrace.
I dated some in Africa, guarding fresh wounds from the former two. I was warned of Joburg before we met, and risked little in her care. Livingston had some allure, but only for missing those I knew. Lusaka, Kasama, Moroguro, Kigoma, were all stops along the way. Bujumbura was our destination, but disappointed in her way. Leaving her we met Kigali, Kampala and Entebbe. My traipsing through Africa left me indebted more to love the little things I missed.
Still in returning to, and visiting, these former loves of mine, I was, in turn, compelled to leave again. Now I’m the furthest away I’ve ever been. I’m a stranger with you who has been my constant company. I’m far from home, and though I still don’t know where that could be, I feel foreign when I’m with you. Soul for some proves flesh for me, and I'm looking deeper still. Not sure what more I have to find but, as always, time will tell.
- Foster
You’re the first I claimed to love, who I never really knew. Still I thought you beautiful, and longed to know you with intimacy. I never learned your secrets. I always lived too far away. Still when I think of home, I always speak your name.
My greatest love remains the one so many claimed to love. You had everything and offered more than I ever could partake. Still there lurks a darkness, a secret shame or two, and while the mask you wear is magnificent, it propels you beyond my reach. Still, I tried to learn your avenues, I wandered in your streets, but in my attempt to love you, you’re the one who proved untrue. That doesn't mean I won't find me lost in you again. You remain my deepest, truest love, for the memories and dreams that have idealized you in me.
Beautiful beyond my means, I had to see you to believe. The beach, the streets, the glam and guts: you boast much for one so young. Many have succumbed to your siren call, not to say I wouldn’t too had I more to offer you. I saw you with a chaperone and guide, still I dared to dream that one day I could find myself wrapped inside your embrace.
I dated some in Africa, guarding fresh wounds from the former two. I was warned of Joburg before we met, and risked little in her care. Livingston had some allure, but only for missing those I knew. Lusaka, Kasama, Moroguro, Kigoma, were all stops along the way. Bujumbura was our destination, but disappointed in her way. Leaving her we met Kigali, Kampala and Entebbe. My traipsing through Africa left me indebted more to love the little things I missed.
Still in returning to, and visiting, these former loves of mine, I was, in turn, compelled to leave again. Now I’m the furthest away I’ve ever been. I’m a stranger with you who has been my constant company. I’m far from home, and though I still don’t know where that could be, I feel foreign when I’m with you. Soul for some proves flesh for me, and I'm looking deeper still. Not sure what more I have to find but, as always, time will tell.
- Foster
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Thoughts on a thought:
I reached an epiphany in casual, quippy, conversation the other day. In wishing a friend well, by way of "Have a great day!" or something to that effect. The response came back that my friend would have a good day, but not so much so as to make the other days jealous.
I found that comment to contain a kernel of pathos, almost as though my friend were wanting mediocrity, which I doubt was the case; I'm sure my friend sought only stability, or perhaps didn't want to profess to too much expectation given any particular one day, or perhaps was simply exercising the ample wit that is my friend's to wield. In any case, my response was, "Every day should be jealous of tomorrow."
I've taken a day now to think about that, and to allow others to as well, and the more I think about it, the more I believe it to be true.
What about bad days? What about the unforeseen circumstances that can send the greatest of days into a downward spiral? What about the manipulations and intrusions of those in our lives who can't see today in the light of yesterday because yesterday they had a job, they had a friend, they had a lover, they had a husband or a wife, they had a son or daughter and today what they had is lost, or worse, and their myriad compound yesterdays will forever be better than the future they cannot see?
Good question. I'm sure I'll be working through that myself on such days. I'm sure it can be done though, as there are many ways to incite jealousy in history. My next worst day may put my last worst day to shame, raising the standard of worse days to come, making all subsequent days better by comparison, but what of that day? How will it be better than its antecedent days? It will only be better if I live better through it, and even then perhaps only in hindsight or through a perspective better then mine will be at the time, but the challenge remains.
Yesterday was beautiful, warm and sunny here in Korea. Today it's cooler, rainy and my first class has an absent kid making it a one-on-one English lesson for two hours.
However, today I'm working through an epiphany that yesterday spawned, trying to figure out how to make all my todays jealous of their tomorrows, be it through joy, heartache, gain or loss; there's a way to make it happen, to make every day better than the last: live it better.
We learn from all our yesterdays how to live today; we bring more to life with each tomorrow.
On that note, have a great day: make yesterday jealous and tomorrow better.
- Foster
I found that comment to contain a kernel of pathos, almost as though my friend were wanting mediocrity, which I doubt was the case; I'm sure my friend sought only stability, or perhaps didn't want to profess to too much expectation given any particular one day, or perhaps was simply exercising the ample wit that is my friend's to wield. In any case, my response was, "Every day should be jealous of tomorrow."
I've taken a day now to think about that, and to allow others to as well, and the more I think about it, the more I believe it to be true.
What about bad days? What about the unforeseen circumstances that can send the greatest of days into a downward spiral? What about the manipulations and intrusions of those in our lives who can't see today in the light of yesterday because yesterday they had a job, they had a friend, they had a lover, they had a husband or a wife, they had a son or daughter and today what they had is lost, or worse, and their myriad compound yesterdays will forever be better than the future they cannot see?
Good question. I'm sure I'll be working through that myself on such days. I'm sure it can be done though, as there are many ways to incite jealousy in history. My next worst day may put my last worst day to shame, raising the standard of worse days to come, making all subsequent days better by comparison, but what of that day? How will it be better than its antecedent days? It will only be better if I live better through it, and even then perhaps only in hindsight or through a perspective better then mine will be at the time, but the challenge remains.
Yesterday was beautiful, warm and sunny here in Korea. Today it's cooler, rainy and my first class has an absent kid making it a one-on-one English lesson for two hours.
However, today I'm working through an epiphany that yesterday spawned, trying to figure out how to make all my todays jealous of their tomorrows, be it through joy, heartache, gain or loss; there's a way to make it happen, to make every day better than the last: live it better.
We learn from all our yesterdays how to live today; we bring more to life with each tomorrow.
On that note, have a great day: make yesterday jealous and tomorrow better.
- Foster
Sunday, 12 April 2009
I haven't forgotten!
I'm trying to post some links here of some of my Facebook Photo Albums so that those without the social networking site can see that I've been trying to keep some information coming, if not verbally, at least visually...
Spring in Seoul:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=240266&id=874015105&l=92eb6cfc58
A walk from Oksu to Itaewon
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=234799&id=874015105&l=f9aebcb8f6
Around the Block:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=228310&id=874015105&l=7fc79d9c37
Hopefully this works... if someone can let me know either way, I'd appreciate the feedback.
(I think you have to copy and paste the links into your web browser... again, any problems let me know.)
Spring in Seoul:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=240266&id=874015105&l=92eb6cfc58
A walk from Oksu to Itaewon
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=234799&id=874015105&l=f9aebcb8f6
Around the Block:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=228310&id=874015105&l=7fc79d9c37
Hopefully this works... if someone can let me know either way, I'd appreciate the feedback.
(I think you have to copy and paste the links into your web browser... again, any problems let me know.)
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