Post-Undergrad

As a recent university graduate, the phrase “real world” has been inescapable when conversing about post-university. The term, though a non-descriptive cliché, still articulates the space or void after university that causes (even forces) many to look forward, into the future, and wonder, who will I be? Now, though I am aware that the question “what will I be?” is more often verbalized amongst the many conversations between graduates, family and friends, I want to particularly make note of the internalized “I”, which I find more valuable when framed with the pronoun “who” in place of “what.” Thus, “who will I be” is the first focal point of this vision as I present myself and my thoughts for the future.

Yet, this vision becomes distracted quickly. As I sit to think of the future, who that I may or want to be, I begin with the material details that would construct the thing I will become. So my mind naturally trails from the thought of “who” to the thought of “what I will be”—it is easier to communicate “what I will be” with more descriptive and material details.

Thus, I begin with the details in light of “what I will be.” I want to be a professor, a professor of English. My focus will in the arena of Modern Literature (the first half of the 20^th century) with a secondary focus in post-structural theory. My future profession may come as a surprise to some of you as you pick out the latent irony in the questions originally posed and the general subject matter of this blog post with the academic material I want to dedicate my life to. I am a contradiction that both believes in a “natural” and an “origin,” yet studies the very thoughts that recognize the inability to know, feel, think, experience any sense of a natural and/or original thing, if not destroy the concepts altogether. And when post-structuralism is articulated in full (which cannot happen) it kills the very notion of knowing anything, being anything and doing anything. Nature and the natural as well as an original ideal do not exist naturally and originally. Yet, at my core, I cannot whole-heartedly believe in the nihilistic direction post-structuralism can present. Simply, I am a hypocrite. I am a child.

And so, this contradiction and future self is part of the weight that I have felt since graduating on May 7^th. I have a vision of myself in the future (the life of a professor), but the path to reach this goal may take 20 to 30 year to reach, to accomplish, to be. And this path will be full of ambiguities, contradictions, absences, and tensions. And what if these hinder my goal?

Doubts, circumstances, imperfections and nights of disbelief ahead reveals an incompleteness in the word “path,” which I have used to conceptualize my future self and the path I must take to reach him. The path is something I can walk down and act upon, but what the term does give credence to is the mind. In other words, the word path articulates physical opportunities and/or in-opportunities. And so, the word path does not fully appreciate the influence of doubt and the struggle within the mind. Questions such as, do I have the stuff to achieve this goal, am I smart enough, and am I articulate enough? becomes pressing questions that influence action before action even takes place.

And at this moment it becomes so clear, so real in my mind that to reach this goal, I (myself) will be the only one to blame if I fail. If I fail, it is because my mind was first defeated or handicapped, not my actions. This is the “real world,” a place where no graduate can blame anyone other than him or herself. (Though this may only be an illusion.) It is up to me now to first control my mind, and then work hard and walk out the path that will achieve my professional but also, personal desires.

(An aside, some of you may be surprised of my embrace of a particular puritan-american value that still prevails in the thoughts of many Americans and in the language of our (or lack thereof) social reforms or social legislation. I am well aware of the social and external influences that do indeed affect the lives of all people, if not control the “human experience” all together. However, the moment of graduating, in relation to me, is when you realize that you alone are the beginning and end of yourself. Again, this may be an illusion or allusion, but something (I would argue) worth thinking and feeling.)

Thus, the real world, though an illusion or allusion, articulates the moment when human faces the world with his or her dreams. In the sublime moment, when awe and terror both invade the graduate’s mind, as he or her both imagines success and failure, is the moment where he or she faces him or herself. This is what becomes terrifying and depressing as well as fantastic. The moment a graduate realizes: it is up to me at this very moment to begin who I will be and what I will be.

And so, though this post has attempted to articulate the feeling that takes place when envisioning and speaking of the “real world”—the path ahead for many graduates and myself. The future becomes grounded in the present actions, in the now. Thus, the future is no longer the only focal point when we speak of future and the real world. The present comes into focus and is always paired with the future. The real world has always existed. Graduation merely removes a few veils from our vision. Thus, to revisit our initial questions that first directed our visions into the future, there is a similar, if not a more difficult, though pressing question, that places us into the present, into a more pressing thought. The question, who I am now?

Before The Law by Franz Kafka

Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to come in later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.” At the moment the gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside. When the gatekeeper notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try it in spite of my prohibition. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper. But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t endure even one glimpse of the third.” The man from the country has not expected such difficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he gets permission to go inside. The gatekeeper gives him a stool and allows him to sit down at the side in front of the gate. There he sits for days and years. He makes many attempts to be let in, and he wears the gatekeeper out with his requests. The gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, questioning him about his homeland and many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” During the many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the law. He curses the unlucky circumstance, in the first years thoughtlessly and out loud, later, as he grows old, he still mumbles to himself. He becomes childish and, since in the long years studying the gatekeeper he has come to know the fleas in his fur collar, he even asks the fleas to help him persuade the gatekeeper. Finally his eyesight grows weak, and he does not know whether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes are merely deceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination which breaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law. Now he no longer has much time to live. Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiences of the entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper. He waves to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body.The gatekeeper has to bend way down to him, for the great difference has changed things to the disadvantage of the man. “What do you still want to know, then?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are insatiable.” “Everyone strives after the law,” says the man, “so how is that in these many years no one except me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’m going now to close it.

My Prospectus for Senior Thesis

The poem “The Idea of Order at Key West” by Wallace Stevens sets out to explore the relationship between humanity, nature and language. The poem communicates a curious moment between three characters along the coast. The speakers of the poem, who are two men, witness this curious moment between the sea and an unidentified she character. The moment becomes curious as the speakers attempt to articulate what is taking place. The she character is singing a song, but the nature of this song and its relation to the sea is ambiguous, as the sea appears to be communicating as well.

The beginning of the poem is quite clear in stating that both the sea and she are communicating. She is singing, and the sea has a “constant cry,” but the speakers choose to define and redefine what they think is taking place between the two, through the complex images and counter-images used to articulate the uncertainty of the speakers’ narrative. The poem wavers back and forth to articulate the sea’s cry as either pure sound only or as meaningful communication. This wavering also takes place with the content or origins of she’s song. Is the content or origins of the song from the sea or she? Within this interaction between the sea and she, the poem alludes to the relationship between humans and nature through the realms of language. Humans rage to order through language. The poem states, “The maker’s rage to order words of the sea.” This line suggests two things. One, the maker (she or the human) rages to order the words of nature. And two, that the sea has words, has a language. With these two languages (human and nature) defined, language itself must be explored in the poem.

The poem’s final stanza articulates the complicated notion of words and how humans attempt to order them. Though humans order words of the sea, these words are defined as “fragrant portals, dimly-starred, / And of ourselves and of our origins.” Words communicate a notion of order, but this order is a fleeting idea. This said, it is important to connote this understanding of words to a human quality. The “self” suggested in this passage as well as throughout the poem represents a human voice that contains an invisible essence (spirit). But what does the poem say of nature’s language? The poem’s imagery of the sea’s words is only through the sound that these words make. Whether it is the “grinding water and grasping wind” or “deep air,” which is “sound alone,” the poem articulates nature’s language as sheer sound. Though the she continues to project a spirit upon nature’s language, it becomes clear that this is merely the human ordering an idea of things that does not exist. Nature’s language in the poem conveys a spiritless essence that the human struggles to accept.

With the scene set, my observation points towards several larger questions within the poem’s text. The sea throughout the text resists human intentions and purpose. The wilderness will not be tamed; however, there is a clear language of nature. Then what is this nature communicating? What is the sea saying? What is the substance behind the form? With the assistance of Paul de Man and Julia Kristeva, the notion of sound and nature’s language in the poem will be fully explored.

In his essay “Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant,” de Man moves to critique Immanuel Kant’s idea of the sublime. De Man’s argues that Kant’s sublime does not address the “materialism that…is seldom or never perceived” (88). An image in the essay is the sea the seer sees through the eye. With Kant’s sublime, the looker may look at a sea and see a teleological depth (an invisible essence). However, De Man responds, “Imagination substitutes for reason at the cost of its empirical nature and, by this anti- or unnatural act, it conquers nature” (86). The speakers and she of Stevens’ poem speak of this rage to order the sea, but they have not come to terms with the depthless sea. The sea’s language is purely material. There is no substance beneath the form. Nature’s language in Stevens’ poem through the lens of de Man’s essay becomes purely material. This purely physical language finds its voice through sound alone.

The notion of sound is threaded throughout Stevens’ poem. The poetic genre and sounds of the poem will need attention, but for our purposes now, the sound of the sea should be explored. Kristeva in her work Revolution in Poetic Language explores the purely physical sense of language through sound in her idea of the semiotic. The notions of the “semiotic chora” and “symbolic” will develop Kristeva’s observations of the “genotext” and “phenotext,” which will then develop Stevens’ language within the poem. The sound of the sea and nature becomes purely physical and material. With de Man’s and Kristeva’s assistance and perspective, can we separate human language in Stevens’ poem from the conclusive materiality of nature’s language?

This final question is where my working thesis will develop for this essay. The tensions of materiality and phenomenality in human language teeter back and forth in Stevens’ poem. Not only are there questions concerning the nature of language’s cry, but the subject of the song itself. What is she singing about? To answer this question we only have the account of the speakers who attempt to communicate what is happening. And in this moment a peculiar thing happens. The poem zooms out of the moment between the sea and she, and we are left with the speakers. The speakers in this moment attempt to understand the moonlight and random assortment of visual images around them. At this moment, they realize they are doing the same act that she was doing to the sea. This conviction grips them, as they now understand how they, a part of humanity, rage to order and to know the invisible meanings behind the visible. The speakers are articulating a meaning to the empty song she sings. Thus, human language is also made up of sheer materiality.

My thesis hopes to work through the complexity of “The maker’s rage to order words of the sea.” Though it appears that I have rather quick answers to the questions I pose, this is merely to communicate my intended direction towards my argument. This said, there will be many anticipated stops along the path to my argument. These stops will construct my thoughts on Stevens’ poem and the postmodern lens that will assist the closest and liveliest understanding of what the text is saying that I can articulate through text. “The Idea of Order at Key West” will anchor or guide the reader and myself through invisible realms of the visible, if the invisible does exist.

A Moment or Two Ago

Can I be with you and

you with me, tonight?

That's all I'll say.

But wait, wait.
Take this into consideration...

You're the one who lays arms clenched and crossed
and folded to and through the pillow
staring my way
wishing, I would
pull it away.

Soon to be Titled (Part 2)

Since I have been home from Europe I have decided I would want a wardrobe much like in The Chronicles of Narnia to guide me back to Europe whenever I pleased. It is far too expensive to merely fly there wherever I want. But this brings up an interesting observation, one of distance and space.

I did not like how quickly I traveled home. It took me about 7 hours to fly back into the States from Heathrow Airport and then a hour and a half home to Indianapolis. Due to the perfect nature of my life and stay in England I felt that I should have been on a long pilgrimage home. But within 10 hours I left a home and returned to another on the other side of the world. I did not like this feeling.

This quick transition made me aware of something though. My idea of self in space and time tore. There became two thoughts of me, two of me. One Jeffrey that lived in the States, and one who lived in Europe. My life abroad was the first experience to create this conscious parallel universe.

What I mean by this parallel universe is that I can imagine a second me in Europe now. He is almost like a ghost. A faint spirit but very much real. This second Jeffrey is living a life if I was to stay, if I was to actually live a life in Europe now. This idea of this parallel me is the only way that I can convey how hard it is for me to just be in the USA and also to tell people about my trip. For it was not a trip, but I lived in Europe and still do to this day.

Canterbury was and is one of my homes. I was not a tourist in London nor Paris, these were second cities, second homes to me. I have dear friends in Germany, Switzerland and Italy. What my point is that I could live there so easily. I can imagine and feel myself living there vividly. This is why it was hard saying goodbye, but also hard transitioning back to the USA.

All this being said, I will return to Europe as soon as I can. Like I have told all my friends there… it will be in a couple years.

And this is the reality. I live in the USA. This is why I want a magical wardrobe... so I can pop into Europe and pop back into the States. But this also brings to focus my contentment with being here. I am glad to be back. Though I miss Europe dearly and I have a part of me floating about over there, I am glad to be here. But this thought comes and is found in tension.

I now want to address my European companions... or bitches...

Dear dear companions,

Though there is this ghost of me around you all. You all are in America though you may be unaware of it. For I speak of you often and think of you even more. Thank you for the love and friendship you have given me. Thank you for the pubs and the pints. Thank you for your visions and re-visions before and after a cup of tea. Thank you for being you. Now let's attempt to unfuck the world.

Live. Laugh. Love.

Your Jeffrey, Jeff, Indiana and/or America

Soon to be Titled

Some have noticed that this post is the first post in a long time. I am now State side and have yet to reflect on my year abroad in Canterbury, England.

Since being home I have been attempting to put in words a blog post that would best articulate my experience. I have not found the collection of words to do so until now. And even now, my words fall short though they pursue presentation.

I now understand and appreciate why authors choose to write fiction.

This statement might seem a bit odd given the content of this blog. Well, it is odd, but I have begun to understand through my journey and life overseas that a fictional story would present a truer reality and a more accurate essence of my experience. There would be no other way to convey the countless pub-crawls, rappers, French dinners, lectures, Switzerland trains, bottles of wine, McDonald adventures, Parisian nights, Clowes parties, tea times and the deep companionships I have had in England and Europe without creating, without writing a fictional tale, let alone an epic.

This may seem a bit much but I believe it to be true. I have been reading The Chronicles of Narnia amongst other books and have felt a kindred link to the author of these stories. Though these books are considered fiction for the sake of categorizing them, I believe C.S. Lewis and I have been in the same boat before, that is we have found the purpose of fiction to articulate the real. If I ever attempt to communicate this year abroad, I will have to write an epic. For now, I have been telling the people who ask that my experience was perfect.

I have travelled to the lands of Narnia, to the white city of Minus Tirith, the parallel universes of His Dark Materials and to the classrooms of Hogwarts…

How was my time? How was my journey?

My time was perfect. A dream. Simply magical. A life I would like living again. I could see me living there now.

100 days

I have 100 days before I board my flight back to the United States of America. I know this because I have a little countdown on my computer. The purpose of the countdown is to think about each moment and to make sure I live in the moment as I am here. The countdown is not to hurry up my time here, but make me aware of it.

I have been thinking about my time here. It has been wonderful. A grand experience. Words do not have the power to convey such wonderfulness. I have learned much. I am also becoming confident in my education. In a way I think I am "growing up" a bit. In other ways, I finally feel like a legit literature student. However, I still understand the importance of a childlike imagination and an explorer’s heart. The world is still too big to actually know things.

Below are three days full of events that have taken place here in Canterbury. I wanted to compile some (and let me say some) of my favorite moments here. I want to share with you a few of my favorite moments. The days are compiled by events that have not taken place during a normal day (if there are such things) but specific events compiled to represent three perfect days.

And for those I have not mentioned in this blog, your turn will soon come.

And as far as the concept of time goes in these days… it doesn’t really exist.

Day 1:
10:30 am: Wake up on the Castle’s couch after a solid night out.
11:00 am: Consume some English fry-up goodness at the Beano.
12:30 pm: Pop into the library’s 4th floor computer lab to say hi to all my friends.
1:00 pm: Bag It lunch with the crew.
2:00 pm: Walk to town.
2:00 pm: Spend the afternoon at Coffee and Corks writing an essay.
3:00 pm: Tea with Carmen.
4:00 pm: Touch rugby.
5:00 pm: Late tea and crêpe party.
9:00 pm: French frog legs at Valentine’s.
10:00 pm: Comedy night at Mungos.
11:00 pm: Run to Essentials for chocolates and sweets.
12:00 am: Pop into the Canterbury Tales pub for a relaxing last drink.
12:30 am: Talk the muse of music with Craig and Carmen.
1:15 am: Decorate my room a little more.
2:00 am: Teas and conversation after a great night out.
3:00 am: Chat with Liz.

Day 2:
9:00 am: Begin the morning with croissants, pan au chocolats and coffee.
12:00 am: A Mungo’s Mega Burger for lunch.
1:00 pm: Skype with Ken.
2:30 pm: Packages from family arrive.
3:30 pm: Shotgun James’ discount when we eat at McDonalds.
5:00 pm: Sip Swiss wine.
5:45 pm: Myriam brings a friend.
6:00 pm: Head to the gym for Circuits.
7:30 pm: Pasta with Jason.
9:00 pm: Team Groovy wins another beer pong match.
10:00 pm: Alex leads the horse races.
10:15 pm: Sucette A La Viande.
11:00 pm: Surf night at the Venue.
11:38 pm: Sucette A La Viande.
12:00 am: Matt smacks me across the face once again.
12:30 am: Clowes 6 family pictures.
12:54 am: Sucette A La Viande.
1:30 am: Help Caitlin stir the peanut butter cookie batch.
2:30 am: The conversation could go on till the end, but I had to leave.


Day 3:
10:00 am: Coffee and e-mail a “vulnerable moment” to family.
11:00 am: Pancake brunch with neighbors.
1:00 pm: Watch football with Alex.
3:30 pm: Relax at Canterbury Cathedral.
3:50 pm: Wake up Marius and cloth Antoine for footie.
4:00 pm: Footie with the boys.
6:00 pm: Two for Tuesdays at Domino’s.
8:00 pm: Watch X Factor with the Castle.
8:30 pm: Scare Nat by simply breathing.
9:00 pm: Pig Fuckers at the Cheery Tree.
10:30 pm: Save the Queen.
11:00 pm: Sip port while listening to some Harry Potter piano music at the Thomas Becket.
11:30 pm: Save the Queen yet again.
12:00 am: Watch Matt dance at the Studio. He dances his signature move, which consists of him looking as if he is biding the unseen spirits with his hands to enter his mouth.
1:15 am: Super Mario Kart. Enough said.
1:30 am: Beat Nat till she can’t remember.
2:00 am: Step on the uneven stone while walking up Tyler Hill.
3:00 am: Teas with Anja’s special collection and biscuits.