I thought Ideate was funny. First, it added Id and ate and so you can imagine my Freudian Id being ate up by who knows what? Some of the what has been learning about Carly Rae Jepson and the fun lip sync's of Call Me Maybe going on-- the Miami Dolphin Cheerleaders and some army men. Other videos for the day that ate my brain was the calving of an ice berg that took ten years to retreat the same distance as the previous 100, not so fun.
And Ideate connected to the Idiot by Dostoevsky. Why not feel like an idiot by betraying ever hungry moment for attention, every lost lonely moment spent neglected, every hurt moment, every tickle to the foot and every cold contemplation of humanity. Unfortunately, unlike what I remembered, my collection of Fyodor Dostoevsky's work didn't include the Idiot. So I spent time reading, "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man" instead. The story tells a tale of a man about to kill himself when a young girl pleads with him to help her Momma. He decides to shoot himself that night but realizes that his idea that nothing exists because he feels nothing and is nothing and the world is nothing isn't true because this young girl, even though he rejects her, awakens feelings within him. He falls asleep and dreams of a world filled with people who love and are loved, after almost rejecting it because he loves our own sun and the planet Earth so much. He then infects the planet with his negativity. On his wake up, he preaches his dream to everyone as the only truth he has known and even though everyone thinks him ridiculous, he no longer minds.
I often find Dostoyevsky humorous in his close examination of himself, something that I read in The Art of the Personal Essay by Philip Lopate, was a similar activity to the essay writing of Michel de Montaigne. Unfortunately, I couldn't finish his essay "Of Books", which I will return to later.
I did fall into "Essays in Idleness" by Kenko, a Japanese writer and poet. What Kenko and Dostoevsky share is a sense of how beauty connects to emotion and to the greater perception that makes life worth living. Kenko offers up some alternatives to viewing of cherry blossoms including the sight of windblown petals or fading colors. He uses lovely poetic language--the dew of morning, the smoke over a mountain and the scent of a woman to help capture the sensual pleasures of life that makes memories.
It connects because I have just gloried in the blown blossoms beneath a flowering tree at Monet's gardens in Giverny and have returned to those summers we all clambered into mom and dad's car and took off to the heat of Yakima's lovely cherry trees, picking the fruit and hauling them down the rickety ladders to take home and can, after a refreshing swim among the crowd at the local swimming pool, much like the swimming pool in Dickinson, ND where we all escaped the heat, almost elbow to elbow.
Ideate also lends the feeling that one idea can actively generate another and another and another. And yet return, like Pacman, swallowing up our own tales and maybe even becoming wholly human.
And Ideate connected to the Idiot by Dostoevsky. Why not feel like an idiot by betraying ever hungry moment for attention, every lost lonely moment spent neglected, every hurt moment, every tickle to the foot and every cold contemplation of humanity. Unfortunately, unlike what I remembered, my collection of Fyodor Dostoevsky's work didn't include the Idiot. So I spent time reading, "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man" instead. The story tells a tale of a man about to kill himself when a young girl pleads with him to help her Momma. He decides to shoot himself that night but realizes that his idea that nothing exists because he feels nothing and is nothing and the world is nothing isn't true because this young girl, even though he rejects her, awakens feelings within him. He falls asleep and dreams of a world filled with people who love and are loved, after almost rejecting it because he loves our own sun and the planet Earth so much. He then infects the planet with his negativity. On his wake up, he preaches his dream to everyone as the only truth he has known and even though everyone thinks him ridiculous, he no longer minds.
I often find Dostoyevsky humorous in his close examination of himself, something that I read in The Art of the Personal Essay by Philip Lopate, was a similar activity to the essay writing of Michel de Montaigne. Unfortunately, I couldn't finish his essay "Of Books", which I will return to later.
I did fall into "Essays in Idleness" by Kenko, a Japanese writer and poet. What Kenko and Dostoevsky share is a sense of how beauty connects to emotion and to the greater perception that makes life worth living. Kenko offers up some alternatives to viewing of cherry blossoms including the sight of windblown petals or fading colors. He uses lovely poetic language--the dew of morning, the smoke over a mountain and the scent of a woman to help capture the sensual pleasures of life that makes memories.
It connects because I have just gloried in the blown blossoms beneath a flowering tree at Monet's gardens in Giverny and have returned to those summers we all clambered into mom and dad's car and took off to the heat of Yakima's lovely cherry trees, picking the fruit and hauling them down the rickety ladders to take home and can, after a refreshing swim among the crowd at the local swimming pool, much like the swimming pool in Dickinson, ND where we all escaped the heat, almost elbow to elbow.
Ideate also lends the feeling that one idea can actively generate another and another and another. And yet return, like Pacman, swallowing up our own tales and maybe even becoming wholly human.
It relates because I have just gloried in the blown blossoms beneath a flowering tree at Monet's gardens in Giverny and have returned to those summers we all clambered into mom and dad's car and took off to the heat of Yakima's lovely cherry trees, picking the fruit and hauling them down the rickety ladders to take home and can, after a refreshing swim among the crowd at the local swimming pool, much like the swimming pool in Dickinson, ND where we all escaped the heat, almost elbow to elbow.
Ideate also lends the feeling that one idea can actively generate another and another and another. And yet return, like Pacman, swallowing up our own tales and maybe even becoming wholly human.
I haven't mastered the art of weaving gracefully on the fly, most of my polished work requires many takes, while this is gradual and spotty and no doubt deserving in ridicule. My day has been full of thinking about thinking while dreaming of my golden cat returned to me after teaching some students a little about math after a dash to the school, fumbling my exits and having to reroute along the way.
Ideate also lends the feeling that one idea can actively generate another and another and another. And yet return, like Pacman, swallowing up our own tales and maybe even becoming wholly human.
I haven't mastered the art of weaving gracefully on the fly, most of my polished work requires many takes, while this is gradual and spotty and no doubt deserving in ridicule. My day has been full of thinking about thinking while dreaming of my golden cat returned to me after teaching some students a little about math after a dash to the school, fumbling my exits and having to reroute along the way.
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