He aquí los pensamientos aleatorios de un epistemólogo andante.
I dream of a world where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned.
피할수 없는 고통이라면 차라리 즐겨라
As of June, 2013, I have assumed a new identity: I am a cancer survivor. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."
"A blog, in the end, is really not so different from an inscription on a bone: I was here, it declares to no one in particular. Don't forget that." - Justin E. H. Smith
재미없으면 보상해드립니다!
"All things are enchained with one another, bound together by love." - Nietzsche (really!)
Leviticus 19:33-34
Donc, si Dieu existait, il n’y aurait pour lui qu’un seul moyen de servir la liberté humaine, ce serait de cesser d’exister. - Mikhail Bakunin
Solvitur ambulando.
"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to soliloquize. Where was I?" - the villain Heinz Doofenshmirtz, in the cartoon Phineas and Ferb.
My name is Jared Way. I was born in rural Far Northern California, and became an "adoptive" Minnesotan. I have lived in many other places: Mexico City, Philadelphia, Valdivia (Chile), Los Angeles. And for 11 years, I was an expatriate living in South Korea. In the summer of 2018, I made another huge change, and relocated to Southeast Alaska, which is my uncle's home.
For many years I was a database programmer, with a background in Linguistics and Spanish Literature. In Korea, worked as an EFL teacher.
In June, 2013, while I was in Ilsan in South Korea, I was diagnosed with cancer, and underwent successful treatment. That changed my life pretty radically.
Currently, you could say I'm "between jobs," somewhat caretaking my uncle (to the extent he tolerates that) and getting adapted to life in rural Alaska after so many years as an urban dweller.
I started this blog before I even had the idea of going to Korea (first entry: Caveat: And lo...). So this is not meant to be a blog about Korea, by any stretch of the imagination. But life in Korea, and Korean language and culture, inevitably have come to play a central role in this blog's current incarnation.
Basically, this blog is a newsletter for the voices in my head. It keeps everyone on the same page: it has become a sort of aide-mémoire.
For a more detailed reflection on why I'm blogging, you can look at this old post: What this blog is, and isn't.
If you're curious about me, there is a great deal of me here. I believe in what I call "opaque transparency" - you can learn almost everything about me if you want, but it's not immediately easy to find.
A distillation of my personal philosophy (at least on good days):
I have made the realization that happiness is not a mental state. It is not something that is given to you, or that you find, or that you can lose, or that can be taken from you. Happiness is something that you do. And like most things that you do, it is volitional. You can choose to do happiness, or not. You have complete freedom with respect to the matter.
"Ethical joy is the correlate of speculative affirmation." - Gilles Deleuze (writing about Spinoza).
Like most people, I spend a lot of time online, although I try to limit it somewhat. Here is a somewhat-annotated list of the "places" where I spend
time online.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Knowledge and News
I spend about half of all my time online reading Wikipedia. It's why I know stuff.
I get most of my world news from Minnesota Public Radio which includes NPR, BBC and CBC, depending on when I listen.
I don't really "do" social media. I have a membership at Facebookland but I never log in
there. I don't like it.
I have a membership at The Youtubes but I mostly use it for work. I also listen to music on youtube, frequently - I prefer it to typical streaming services, for example.
Humor and Cat Videos
Cat videos and other internet novelties: Laughing Squid.
Geofiction - this has evolved into a significant "hobby" for me. I like to draw imaginary maps, and there is a website that has enabled this vice.
I worked as a volunteer administrator for the site OpenGeofiction on and off for a few years. I created (but no longer maintain) the site's main wiki page: OGF Wiki. I am not currently working as administrator but I remain active on the site.
The above work has required my becoming an expert in the Openstreetmap system. Openstreetmap is an attempt do for online maps what wikipedia has done for encyclopedias. I have considered becoming an openstreetmap contributor, but I feel that my current location in Korea hinders that, since I don't have a good grasp Korean cartographic naming conventions.
Starting in April, 2018, I decided somewhat capriciously to build my own "OGF stack" on my own server. This was not because I intended to abandon the OGF site, but rather because I wanted to better understand the whole architecture and all its parts. I built a wiki on the Mediawiki platform (the same as wikipedia). This wiki has no content. I built a map tileserver and geospatial database, which contains a very low resolution upload of an imaginary planet called Rahet. And I built a wordpress blog, which is a separate, low-frequency blog intended to focus on my geofictional pursuits rather than this more personalized, general purpose blog. All of these things can be found integrated together on my rent-a-server, here: geofictician.net
TEFL - my "profession," such as it is.
Online English Grammar reference Grammarist. Useful for settling disputes over grammar.
흰 구름 시냇가에 절을 지으니 서른 해 내리 이 주지로세 웃으며 가리키노니 문앞의 한 줄기 길이 조금 곧 산 아래를 떠나면 천 가닥이 되네
- 최치원 (신라 시인)
English Translation
Presented to the Abbot of Keumcheon Temple
By the White Cloud Stream you built a temple where for thirty years you've been the abbot. Smiling, you point to the single trail outside the gate. At the foot of the mountain, it branches out to a thousand paths.
- Choi Chiwon (Silla/Tang poet, 857 - 924?) - English translation by Christina Han and Wing S. Chu
Note that the Chinese is the original language of composition - all poetry and literature in Silla-Era Korea was written in Classical Chinese (similar to the way poetry and literature in Europe during a parallel era was mostly written in Latin).
I found the poem in the book Solitary Cloud: Poetry of Ch'oe Ch'iwŏn, by Christina Han and Wing S. Chu. The text of the poem is only in the Chinese characters in the book, along with the English translation. I really wanted to include the Chinese text here, but I am incapable of typing Chinese characters unless I know their Korean pronunciation, and I only actually know about 20 such hanja, so... I wasn't sure how to figure this out.
I tried a little trick, which was successful: I took a photo of the Chinese text with my phone, I went to one of those free OCR (Optical Character Recognition) websites and uploaded my photo, and presto, a somewhat faulty capture of the Chinese text. I took that text, in turn, and googled it, to find the correct text of the poem (verified against the book's text), where I also found the modern Korean translation - for which there was no attribution.
I was traveling by airplane. Maybe LAX to MSP or something like that.
It was strange, because all the passengers looked like they'd been drawn directly from my facebook feed - all relatives and friends and long-lost acquaintances. And everyone was staring at their smartphones.
Then the captain announced that we had a problem. We would have to make an emergency landing. Oddly, everyone was pretty calm. The airplane spiraled down in a wide loop, and I saw snow-covered mountains - the Rockies? We landed almost as smoothly as at an airport, but on a blustery, snow-covered alpine meadow. People got off the plane, but it didn't seem like anything was wrong with it. And everyone had cellphone reception, so people were announcing the landing on facebook and other sites, and people were watching news of our own emergency landing.
But there was some delay in getting us rescued. There was only one helicopter arriving, to ferry out the 100s of passengers. So it would come and go, taking out only a half dozen at a time. A lot of us would have to stay the night. We camped out in the airplane, but it was quite cold. I felt sooo cold.
On the news in the middle of the night, that everyone was looking at on their cellphones, a scandal was erupting. It turned out the same pilot had made an almost identical emergency landing, in the same location, some years ago. How could that be? Especially since there was nothing obviously wrong with the plane. All the passengers and crew realized the pilot and copilot had disappeared. That was just too weird. On the next helicopter ferry arrival, some police arrived, with police dogs, who began looking for the pilot and copilot.
I was just too cold. I didn't care about the pilot and copilot, I wanted to get out of there.
I woke up, and I had kicked my covers off. I sleep with the window open, and the building's heat had been turned off April 1 - the room was cold, it was chilly outside. So at least that's where the cold came from. The rest is just plain weird. The dream was far too coherent, in some ways. Almost like a movie or novel. It could be one.
I don't know where all the material came from - I haven't been watching any TV lately, so there's no airplane thriller movies enrolled in my dream-queue. I haven't looked at facebook in months, so I don't know how that happened either. It was just strange. What does it mean?
The "hover text" (a feature of XKCD cartoons), says, "They say you can't argue with results, but what kind of defeatist attitude is that? If you stick with it, you can argue with ANYTHING."
Somehow, this quite seems like it could easily be attributed to certain prominent politicians.
Meaningless? You mean it's all been meaningless? Every whisper and caress? Yes, yes, yes, it was totally meaningless
Meaningless Like when two fireflies fluoresce Just like everything I guess Less less yes, it was utterly meaningless
Even less a little glimpse of nothingness Sucking meaning from the rest of this mess Yes, yes, yes, it was thoroughly meaningless
And if some dim bulb should say We were in love in some way Kick all his teeth in for me and if you feel Like keeping on kicking, feel free
Meaningless Who dare say it wasn't meaningless? Shout from the rooftops and address the press Ha ha ha, it was totally meaningless
Meaningless Meaning less than a game of chess Just like your mother said and mother knows best I knew it all the time but now I confess
Yes, yes, yes, how deliciously meaningless Yes, yes, yes, effervescently meaningless Yes, yes, yes, it was beautifully meaningless Yes, yes, yes, it was profoundly meaningless
Someday, I want to create a story or novella with the title, "Art and the Maintenance of Motorcycle Zen." It would be a kind of sincerely felt, but also maybe vaguely comedic tribute, to Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. In fact, it wasn't that long ago that I was jotting down a few snippets that might pertain to such a story.
I am reminded of this today because I have heard that Pirsig has died. I have to say that Pirsig's book, and even some of his other activities, have had multilayered influences on my life.
I first read his book as a high school senior, I think. And it was a required text in my "freshman seminar," my first year at college. The book is easily in my personal list of "10 most influential books in my life." It might be the most influential book.
Some of this influence and importance derives from the very weird parallels between the book and my life. And it's an eerie set of parallels, because I read (and re-read) the book before many of those parallels occurred (ECT? check. Zen? check. Philosophical road tripping? check.). So the question naturally arises: did I, perhaps, subconsciously "follow" the book?
Certainly there is one very significant instance, where I think the book might have had a conscious influence. The main character, like Pirsig, is from Minneapolis. And perhaps this raised my awareness about that part of the world sufficiently that it made it possible for me to imagine going there - which is what I did for college. Not many California kids would move to Minnesota, sight-unseen, and so I think the book's presentation of the midwestern landscape embedded it higher up in my awareness, such that I might consider it. I guess it's difficult to say for sure - I remember tracing the route of his motorcycle journey in a road atlas, during my first reading. A line, drawn from Minneapolis to the west coast, that, incidentally passed through my home town on the Pacific, which is actually mentioned in the book (although not as a destination - just in a "passing through" way). That line was effectively reversed when I went to college less than a year later.
The other impact Pirsig had on my life came much later, and was indirect, I suppose - essentially unrelated to the book. He was one of the founders of the Minnesota Zen Center. When I moved back to Minneapolis in 2006 (the year before deciding to come to Korea), I attended the Zen Center a dozen times or so. Its location on Lake Calhoun was within walking distance of where I was living, and since I was working to transform my life and habits, I was walking or jogging past it daily - going around that lake was one of my new habits.
So Robert Pirsig is gone.
But, in the Buddhist spirit, I shall interpretatively paraphrase my friend Curt: "Death is nothing."
My students taught me this phrase the other day. I always learn the best Korean from my students.
Actually, they taught me the positive version: 띵가띵가놀은다 [tting.ka.tting.ka.nol.eun.da], which seems to mean, roughly, "goof off", " "play around", or, as I pointed out, "dink around" as in to work completely unproductively. I wonder at the sound symbolism, because of that. Anyway, the term joins my long list of phenomimes and psychomimes. The term is not in the standard online Korean dictionaries, but I noticed that the googletranslate gets it right.
The negative phrase, 띵가띵가놀지마 [tting.ka.tting.ka.nol.ji.ma], I managed to use quite successfully, later in the same class. The kids were duly impressed. Lisa had been playing around with my collection of whiteboard markers, and not really paying attention. She gets easily distracted - a bit of a space cadet. So I said that: "띵가띵가놀지마!" She looked up, surprised.
Annie, who keeps trying to be my Korean coach, raised a thumb in broad approval. "Oh, nice, teacher. Good Korean!"
Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montaña. Con la sombra en la cintura ella sueña en su baranda, verde carne, pelo verde, con ojos de fría plata. Verde que te quiero verde. Bajo la luna gitana, las cosas la están mirando y ella no puede mirarlas.
Verde que te quiero verde. Grandes estrellas de escarcha vienen con el pez de sombra que abre el camino del alba. La higuera frota su viento con la lija de sus ramas, y el monte, gato garduño, eriza sus pitas agrias. ¿Pero quién vendra? ¿Y por dónde...? Ella sigue en su baranda, Verde carne, pelo verde, soñando en la mar amarga.
—Compadre, quiero cambiar mi caballo por su casa, mi montura por su espejo, mi cuchillo per su manta. Compadre, vengo sangrando, desde los puertos de Cabra. —Si yo pudiera, mocito, este trato se cerraba. Pero yo ya no soy yo, ni mi casa es ya mi casa. —Compadre, quiero morir decentemente en mi cama. De acero, si puede ser, con las sábanas de holanda. ¿No ves la herida que tengo desde el pecho a la garganta? —Trescientas rosas morenas lleva tu pechera blanca. Tu sangre rezuma y huele alrededor de tu faja. Pero yo ya no soy yo, ni mi casa es ya mi casa. —Dejadme subir al menos hasta las altas barandas; ¡dejadme subir!, dejadme, hasta las verdes barandas. Barandales de la luna por donde retumba el agua. Ya suben los dos compadres hacia las altas barandas. Dejando un rastro de sangre. Dejando un rastro de lágrimas. Temblaban en los tejados farolillos de hojalata. Mil panderos de cristal herían la madrugada. Verde que te quiero verde, verde viento, verdes ramas. Los dos compadres subieron. El largo viento dejaba en la boca un raro gusto de hiel, de menta y de albahaca. ¡Compadre! ¿Donde está, díme? ¿Donde está tu niña amarga? ¡Cuántas veces te esperó! ¡Cuántas veces te esperara, cara fresca, negro pelo, en esta verde baranda!
Sobre el rostro del aljibe se mecía la gitana. Verde carne, pelo verde, con ojos de fría plata. Un carámbano de luna la sostiene sobre el agua. La noche se puso íntima como una pequeña plaza. Guardias civiles borrachos en la puerta golpeaban. Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar. Y el caballo en la montaña.
- Federico García Lorca (poeta español 1898-1936)
Sin duda, este poema es mi favorito de todos los poemas en cualquier idioma. Me parece una falta el hecho de que nunca lo he publicado, antes, aquí en el blog. Pues, ahora lo publico. El tema trata de la guerra civil española.
It's actually much easier and transparent than most of these types of expressions that I've attempted. It's a great phrase to know, too. Especially given the way I sometimes feel like I'm working my way through a dream.
There was a thunderstorm this morning. Nice, the hard rain scrubbing the air.
Con chupe de pescado, pues, soñaba sin querer. Al despertar, me estremecí ¿cómo pude saber?
This is my second attempt at a quatrain using English ballad meter, but in Spanish - for which ballad meter is quite awkward. Still, this more or less works, except how it reverts to trochees in the last line. Don't ask me what it means, exactly. A prose paraphrase: about fish chowder, then, [I] dreamed without wanting to. Upon waking up, I shivered - how could I know?
This is actually a dream I woke up from this morning: nothing complicated or surreal - I was just eating Peruvian style chupe de pescado at a certain Peruvian restaurant in Newport Beach, down the road from where I used to work in 2005-2006. I used to go there for lunch with coworkers fairly often. That fish soup is some of the most memorable food in my life, for some reason. I'm sure if I had it now, it would seem a poor shadow of its former glory - but that would be because of the changes to my own physiology of taste, post cancer.
Paranmaum, "Linda Linda." This is a cover of a song originally by the Japanese band Blue Hearts. The group singing, Paranmaum, is a kind of "in character" band created specifically for a Japanese movie, Linda Linda Linda (note that the title of the song and movie are, uh, different). Nevertheless, the band members aren't lip-syncing - they're really performing and their music had some success outside of the movie context. Also worth noting, the lead singer of the band is Korean. The role was an early one played by the prodigious and talented actress 배두나 [Bae Doona]. I guess "in character," Bae here is playing a Korean exchange student at a Japanese high school, where she forms a band. Hence the band's name is Korean, too (Paranmaum [파란마음] = "Blue Heart").
가사 (Lyrics - Japanese with transcription and translation in Korean).
ドブネズミみたいに美しくなりたい 도부네즈미미타이니 우츠시쿠나리타이 생쥐처럼 멋져지고 싶어-
寫眞には寫らない美しさがあるから 샤신니와우츠라나이 우츠쿠시사가아루카라 사진에는 없는 멋이 있으니까-
リンダリンダ リンダリンダリンダ 린다린다- 린다린다린다-
リンダリンダ リンダリンダリンダ 린다린다- 린다린다린다-
もしも僕がいつか君と出會い話し合うなら 모시모보쿠가이츠카 키미토데아이하나시아우나라 만약 내가 언젠가 너와 만나서 이야기하게 되면-
そんな時はどうか愛の意味を知って下さい 손나도키와 도우카아이노이미오 싯테쿠다사이 그럴 때는 부디 사랑의 의미를 알아줬으면 해-
I have a certain student, whom I've written about many times before. She's been at Karma for a long time - I think at least 3 years now. She goes by Sophia. She is a very voluble girl, and talks with me, in English, almost continuously whenever she's around me. Also, she's the only student I've ever had who ever had any kind of interaction with any members of my family - she bonded to my niece Sarah when my sister Brenda and her kids visited a few years back (I have no idea if that bonding was mutual, but anyway, she still mentions that visit). For these reasons, I've perhaps come to think of her like she was a bit of a surrogate child in a way I don't typically feel for students.
Anyway, I have been feeling singularly depressed about Sophia, lately. She's in the sixth grade, now, and if she's always been a bit emotionally immature and academically unmotivated, recently she's become gloomily but quite declaratively unambitious, too. With alarming regularity, these days, she says things like, "I don't want to learn anything," and "I'm going to get married and only be a mom."
I don't really want to begrudge anyone their passion or heart's desire - and there's a place in the world for "just gettting married and being a mom" - it's not like that isn't a really important role for society.
The problem is that Sophia is possibly one of the smartest students I have ever taught. I would expect that if she took an IQ test, she'd be a genius. At the least, she's without a doubt some kind of savant in the realm of language: without ever having lived or studied abroad, her spoken English is better than most other students'. She's been entirely autodidact in this - she actively resists formal instruction of any kind, and always has. But she soaks up vocabulary and grammar effortlessly. I think she mostly learned English by watching TV shows and movies in English.
She will correctly use a new word that I have used in class in front of her, after hearing it just one time. She has a stunning memory. She can memorize the words (English-Korean translation lists of 20 words) for her in-class vocabulary quizzes in the 3-4 minutes right before the quiz. She can memorize songs in Korean and English flawlessly, and has a huge repertoire of song lyrics floating around her head. She even memorized a fairly passable rendition of a stanza of a song in Spanish, which she sang for me one time simply to impress me. She said she had no idea what it meant - she found it on youtube.
I would be so happy to see her show some intellectual ambition about life. I have tried to encourage various pursuits that match her expressed interests, including suggesting things like acting, linguistics and recently, songwriting or just writing. But my seeing her only 1-2 hours a week really isn't going to give me much influence over the choices she makes.
I suspect these loud declarations of anti-intellectualism are rooted in some kind of rebellion against parental pressure - I sense her mom pushes hard. There's nothing I can do about that. But I feel sad. Hopefully she'll find a different way to rebel against mom that is less self-defeating for the long term.
What I'm listening to right now.
U2, "Numb."
Lyrics.
Don't move Don't talk out of time Don't think Don't worry Everything's just fine Just fine
Don't grab Don't clutch Don't hope for too much Don't breathe Don't achieve Or grieve without leave
Don't check Just balance on the fence Don't answer Don't ask Don't try and make sense
Don't whisper Don't talk Don't run if you can walk Don't cheat, compete Don't miss the one beat
Don't travel by train Don't eat Don't spill Don't piss in the drain Don't make a will
Don't fill out any forms Don't compensate Don't cower Don't crawl Don't come around late Don't hover at the gate
Don't take it on board Don't fall on your sword Just play another chord If you feel you're getting bored
I feel numb I feel numb Too much is not enough I feel numb
Don't change your brand Don't listen to the band Don't gape Don't ape Don't change your shape Have another grape
The following is my own thought, but the idea was initially prompted by some points made by Robin Hanson (economist) on an old post at his blog.
Wealth leads to delusional behavior, because the wealth "cushions" us from the consequences of behavior that runs counter to reality. Thus the best cure for a delusional culture is to try to impoverish it. Arguably, if the culture is sufficiently delusional, it will probably end up impoverishing itself. Thus the whole seems to be a kind of self-correcting equilibrium. But a helluva ride for the people involved. Roman Empire, anyone?
I learned that the essential character of a nation is determined not by the upper classes, but by the common people, and that the common people of all nations are truly brothers in the great family of mankind. ... And even as I grew to feel more Negro in spirit, or African as a I put it then, I also came to feel a sense of oneness with the white working people whom I came to know and love.
This belief in the oneness of humankind, about which I have often spoken in concerts and elsewhere, has existed within me side by side with my deep attachment to the cause of my own race. Some people have seen a contradiction in this duality. ... I do not think however, that my sentiments are contradictory. ... I learned that there truly is a kinship among us all, a basis for mutual respect and brotherly love. - Paul Robeson
What I'm listening to right now.
Paul Robeson, "Joe Hill." Song by Phil Ochs.
Lyrics.
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night, Alive as you and me Says I But Joe, you're ten years dead I never died said he, I never died said he. The Copper Bosses killed you Joe, They shot you Joe says I
Takes more than guns to kill a man Says Joe I didn't die Says Joe I didn't die And standing there as big as life And smiling with his eyes
Says Joe What they can never kill Went on to organize, Went on to organize From San Diego up to Maine, In every mine and mill, Where working-men defend there rights, It's there you find Joe Hill, It's there you find Joe Hill I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night, Alive as you and me.
Says I But Joe, you're ten years dead I never died said he, I never died said he
I think the Joan Baez rendition of this song is the one I heard in childhood.
