Here I Be, and There Be Babies.

It’s been a while, so I figured I’d just drop a few random shots from some creative exploits up in KY. If you don’t know what Storker is, check it out: http://www.xmarkjenkinsx.com/storker.html

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT BELOW!

Fun times.

Shortish, sweetish

So, I haven´t put togeather a long blog post in a while (call it a combination of laziness and litterary absorbtion) but today something finally happened that was a long time coming, and my mind may have changed slightly about the direction the organization I’m working for is headed in. Today I took part in a meeting of the full upper administration and radio staff in order to demonstrate the website. There was much discussion about adverstisement funds, where they were going, and other such things. I was just starting to feel like I had sat through a 2 hour waste of my time when, lo and behold, someone made a comment about the delapidated state of the office. It seems I wasn´t the only one who had noticed, and despised, the decripitude. At first it seemed to be just the “we need a new cleaning lady” v. “she’s a sick old woman we can’t fire her” arguiment I had anticipated, and I put in my word about how it wasn’t just an internal problem but an external one as the building put out an extremely bad impression to outsiders, but then it took an unexpected turn. Someone suggested a cleaning day, and everyone became very enthusiastic. Now it seems they are going to get togeather Saturday morning and overhaul the offices. That ability to make snap decisions on the fly is a side I had yet to see of the scheduleless hive that was the main office. It makes me thing that perhapse they aren´t hopeless afterall and affirms my belief that they have simply subordinated office work to work in the field.

Then came my dreaded demonstration of the site as it is. It is a structural shell with barely any information in it, that is clear. I said repeatedly I simply didn´t have the information to fill it in and couldn’t fabricate my own written content as I had neither the knowledge or linguistic capability to do so. This sent a buzz around the room, especially when I mentioned I could relatively easily add new pages on to the site structure if I had something to fill them in with. The radio staff quite obviously want to be a large part of this operation, and as it is at the moment they are not even mentioned. All this has combined to give me the impression that 1. this meeting should have been held when I first arrived, not two days before I left, and 2. tomorrow afternoon is going to be a mad dash for the finnish and I am going to do more work then then I  have in the past 3 weeks. May the powers that be help me make it all work.

In an intresting side note the vice president has asked me to help him with an english based internet lottery ¨freelotto¨that claims he has won a million dolars. It is a convincing affair, though obviously fraudulent to my American eyes. This is the second time he has stood me up though, after yesterday when I was stood up by both the Vicepresident and President in the period of one hour. Oh well, two days and I’m out of this mess.

Until next time, ciao!

What Can I Say, When The Hamster Runs, It Flies

Where to begin? So much has happened in the past five days I can hardly expect to be able to write it all in one post. That is not to say that any of those numerous events would be shocking or even important enough to leave bitter their omission. I am, however, beconed by a fear of forgetfulness to attent to my most recent intelectual realizations first rather than those physical events which will stay until I once again care to recall them.

I have become engrossed in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The discussion of the nature of rational thought and science is potently meaningful to me at this moment, for it is a discussion I must have with myself before I commit myself wholly to the path of my future. The question that arises is “Does science offer enough fulfillment to compel my comitment to it?” that is to say more specifically “Will I study science or art primarily in college?”. I have said, up to this point, that I will be focusing on Film and/or Photography for a few reasons, but before I explore those I must say I have never been interested in the “entertainment industry,” I quite simply refuse to to take  part in any business so indulgent as that of the blatenly capitalist and brain-numb blockbuster/sitcom media machine. I have been drawn to film and photography for two distinct primary reasons. First, it offers me a means to express artistic vision using a media of which I have an intuitive understanding. Second it provides a pretense for the expansion and outward expression of my personal bank of knowledge. It is towards this second reason I have leaned in the recent past, claiming intrest in documentary work more than fictional work. The truth is I have a natrual tendancy towards the endulgance of my curiosity, and that the world of science and technology offers me a source of both questions and answers for my personal indulgence. That is not to say that I do not considder those more noble reasons and goals refered to at large as “helping the world” when considdering my ocupation, but rather that I have reached the conclusion that I will be pursuing this path with whatever means I choose to focus on. A further inspection into the nature of science has, however, introduced me to other paths of reasoning.

What is science? This is the overarching question that has compelled me. In order to answer it, however, many other questions must be adressed. Firstly we can break science into a broad heirarchy: Physical Sciences and Social Sciences are the two “domains” of science and I did not, until recently, understand the implications of these labels.

Physical Sciences are concerned solely with truth and the pursuit thereof for it’s own sake, they concern themselves only with the litteral, physical aspect of the world. They are, in the most litteral use of the term, the Research Scinces. They search only to anwer one question: How does it work? The vast body of answers to this question is continually examined and reexamined, or, more pertinantly, Re-Searched. The Physical Sciences are on a quest to search for the set of ultimate truths, truths which can never be disproved, but because of the ver nature of science itself there is an equally vigorous search for reasons why the currently accepted answers to the great question are wrong. It is a continually expanding loop of self-contradiction. Why is this indulgence allowed the scientific community, one must considder,  if truth is its only goal? what good does it do humanity? There are two answers that I see. First is that it adresses a simple human instinct: curiosity. The Physical Sciences continually provide new and more detailed stories that we can tell one another about the answers we have found to the questions we ask ourselves because it is in our nature to do so. The second reason is one more often cited as a “good” reason to pursue the physical sciences: it feeds the body of Social Sciences.

In order to truly understand the nature of the Physical Sciences we must further devide it. There is an ocasionally joked about heirarchy within the PS that is more important than most people will admit, that is the Heirarchy of Truth. The Heirarchy of Truth is an organizational structure by which one can asign the scientific divisions values for “how close to the unquestionable truth they are,” or alternately “how tainted they are by subjectivity or impure objectivity.” In order to understand this heirarchy, however, we must understand a bit about the Social Sciences.

The Social Sciences are those pursuits of man which pursue the question “how can the truth work for man?” Medecine, Philosophy, Religion, History, Engeneering, Design, and  Entertainment are all concerned only with how the truth discovered by science can be used to “better” the lives of humans. They are not so much concerned with truth as results: if this chemical, discovered by the PS, is consumed by a human will he be more healthy? If this physical concept is aplied to these materials will it allow more people to live better? If this principal is aplied in this structure will people be more happy because of it? It does not matter if the principals and understanding behind the pursuit are “true” as long as they work.  Is gravity caused by gravatons? are gravitons particles? it doesn’t matter to an engeneer as long as gravity remains functional. In the Social Sciences only subjective conclusions are valid, for purely objective thought is rarely beneficial to humanity.

This brings us back to the Heirarchy of Truth. The Physical Science all strive for pure objectivity, however their subject matter varies in the degree in which it comes into contact with the subjectively corrupting influence of the Social Sciences. Unarguably the purest of all Physical Sciences is theoretical mathmatics, which has no conection whatsoever to subjective thought and relies strictly upon observed interactions between a set of flawless truths to produce enhanced knowledge. Because of this the Heirarchy of Truth can also be considdered a spectrum which details the amount of mathmatics involved in the science, as mathmatics contains the only known pure and flawless truths. Physics, then, is second in ranking as mathmatics directly aplied to physical existance, followed by Chemistry and Astrology which differ only in scale, Geology and Biology which differ only in the presence of life, and so on until we reach Sociology and Anthropology and lastly Psychology which are so thoroughly tainted by the subjectivity of the Social Sciences they are hardly involved in mathmatics at all exept for the most subjective of mathmatical concerns, Statistics, and even that is only peripheral.

These two bodies of work are essentially the embodiment of two schools of thought, the only two schools of thought, Classicism and Romantacism. Classicism is concerned with form, Romantacism is concerned with function. The example used by Robert M. Pirsig is a motorcycle. Classicism looks at a motorcycle and wonders how does it works? How does each part interact with all the other parts to form a system? How does the system move the maching forward? Is this motorcycle running the same as the ideal motorcycle? Romantacism looks at a motorcycle and wonders what can be done with it, will it allow me to go from one place to another faster than I can as I am now? Will the feeling of riding it make you more or less happy than driving a different vehicle? Will painting it blue make the person riding it look better? This last question is perhapse the most telling. Romantacism is the only school of thought which can create or change anything. Equally Classicism is the only school of thought capable of repairing or reverting anything to its previous form. For this reason Technitions are the median between Researchers and Creators, classical in the methodology of their work yet romantically concerned with its original creative intent. This middle ground is, however, not as valued by society for the reason that it cannot exist without the previous work and involvement of the other two classes, which are fully capable of functioning independantly.

Where, one must wonder, does Art fall in this mass of Science? The temptation is to allow Art to fall under the label Entertainment and be percieved only as a utilization of acumulated information to best stimulate the emotions and thereby enhance the lives of man. I feel, however, that it might better be placed under the Research Science catagory, and it is this revelation which has left me further questioning my calling. The creation of Art is, in essence, the most subjective of all research, research into the very essence of humanity which cannot be accessed through any other means. What, however, does this mean to me?

I´m not sure, GObama ´08! It´s an Obamarama!

Arutam Etc.

Today I ventured into the shuar library to try and get a grasp on the nature of native religion. I have been tempted to do so for some time, but have been less keen on abandoning the isolation of my pretence of work. I have reached a point where I have done nearly all I can do with the resources at hand and, as I just finished the audio book I was so entranced by, have no distraction to fritter away the time with as I wait. I have always had an interest in the smaller, less ethereal religions of tribal and ancient cultures; I suppose it started with my Rainbow Mountain grounding in Greek Myth, which was encouraged by my mother’s dinner-time reading of a compendium of mythology. From time to time I have come in contact with other small (or ancient) religions through my studies of history and various digressions on the net: Aztec Quetzalcoatl, Mayan Maiz myths, Nordic mythology, Egyptian Mythology, the creation stories of several North American indigenous groups. I was unsurprised, then, to find in my hazy comprehension of the pages I read that the Shuar had a hierarchical and competitive system of deities. Arutam, I believe, is a Brahman like omnipotent being which is not often expected to intervene in the lives of men directly. There are, however, several smaller deities who compete over control of the Shuar people. One is a ruler of life and death who competes bitterly with another god who was charged with creating man and wanted to make them immortal but was foiled (this has something to do with lost stones that haven’t been returned to her and are key to the completion of her power, which seems greater than that of her rival). Also there is a witch-goddess who seems to be always waiting around the corner waiting for men to make some religious slight against her so she can punish them with violent death or some such. After this my understanding gets fuzzy. The force of life resides in the head, which has lead to the ritual head-shrinking of offenders against the balance of society, however it is not clear to me whether this means that a person who’s head has been shrunk has been removed from the cycle of reincarnation, or is just shamed and laughed at by men and gods seeing their life-center contorted in such a way. There was a lot of emphasis on the decision to shrink someone’s head not being allowed to be an act of jealousy or rage, and that the person making the decision must fast, go into a trance, and then perform some sort of ceremony involving smoking and drinking tobacco and trying your best not to offend any gods. The heads also seem to be used in other rituals as a sort of talisman, but how exactly I am not sure. After reading 10 or so pages of Spanish from aging periodicals I begin to get a headache.

 

This brings me to the periodicals themselves. It seems that some man with a strong vision undertook the in-dept study and compilation of upwards of 7 series of periodicals based on shuar culture and history. The topics range from the Evangelization of the Shuar Villages to Plant identification. The thickest one by far was the edition on Shrunken Heads, which seems as fascinating a topic for the Shuar themselves as it is for the outside world. They all date back to the mid 70’s when the missionaries had a large and influential presence in the area, and I am struck by the professional illustrations of the type I associate with novels and informative texts printed in the period and a bit before. Who was the illustrator I wonder? Was he or she a native or a missionary? The booklets are bound in square glue-spine style of National Geographic, yet the publication page locates it as a Sucua produced commodity.

This leads me to remember something I might not have mentioned in my rather negative review of the offices; in the Lands department there is a large printer which must have been purchased in the late 80’s or early 90’s, as I recognize the design styling. It is a mouthwateringly fine machine which appears capable of printing full-color posters off of a 4 foot broad paper spool, yet it sits in the back of the office in it’s dust cover, doing nothing. I asked the good natured man who’s name I have misplaced that calls me Carlos (a result of our initial miscommunication on my first day in the office when it appeared I would be working under him making maps) if they still printed posters, and if they had printed any of the ones on the walls. He replied no, it didn’t have any ink. That was the first seed of my exasperation. The existence of that printer, and the enviably well-outfitted recording studio I am sitting in at the moment indicates that in the past the Federation was taking on the world with an optimistic gleam in it’s eye and investing in the technology and expertise to accomplish great things. Yet now it seems only individual fights against the unremitting flow of bureaucracy glimmer in this way, this recording studio under the supervision of the technophilic Leonardo as one example, and his compatriots operating the radio station as another. The radio station is, in itself, something of a mystery to me. It functions, and is listened to widely, yet the programming is quite obviously only semi-professional. They have the nerve-pinching habit of running songs full volume and intermittently using a cross fade to interject local news and notifications. Yet it unquestionably functions, but under who’s guidance I have no idea as the position of Director of Communications is left vacant along with the directorship the Labor department.

I am digressing into negativity once again, and so must make a note that I think the reason for some of these perceptions is that I am located in the main office, which has long since stopped being the central point of work. I believe the Federation has gone Republican in the sense that most of the work is undertaken on-site at the Associations and sub-center locations rather than in the main offices, and the central administration has become a tool for answering the needs of these groups rather than the strong Federalist administration that would be printing, recording, and organizing in earnest. The Health Center, under the guidance of the Health Department of FICSH, seems to function admirably well, my diagnosis was quick and professional and the location sees a substantial amount of foot traffic, especially from mothers. SERBISH where I am located now I cannot quite get a handle on. Sometimes groups of children flit about from room to room, employees meet in jolly bands in various offices, and the supply store seems well stocked. But the bathroom is still a dismally dirty affair, though by no means the pit of damnation that is the abandoned bathroom of FISCH, the library lacks any apparent organization that I can see, and many doors remand closed and inactive. I am intrigued by a door labeled “printing” but haven’t yet found an excuse to peer into it. Perhaps they might be better suited to take control of that magnificent beast twiddling its thumbs in the Lands department. I suppose I might see or I might not, but for now I must be heading off, lunch is calling.

A few tweaked photos I have been experimenting with

Also, Happy Holloween!

Updates for my mates

Hello everyone, I apologize for my prolonged absence after that last, rather negative post. I have had some high points and low points over the past few days that have kept me away from internet access, but I will get to those in a moment.

First, while it is still fresh in my mind, I will offer an update on the peculiar state of internal politics in this nation which I have come to understand more over the past 15 minutes than in the past month is truly a foreign nation. I believe I commented in my first post on the proliferation of socialist graffiti in the urban centers, and upon further reflection I have realized that many of these mural-type statements must have been at least put up with, if not allowed, by the local authorities as many of them were done on public through-ways with wet acrylic rather than aerosol paint, and had a vibrancy of color that indicated the possibility of multiple coats. This reflection comes, however, on the revelation of an unexpected and unwelcome truth. There was, in light of the recent referendum on liberalizing the constitution, a large, often violent, conservative protest movement based primarily in large urban universities. The “painted hands” or “white hands” came as such a surprise to me in their television expose that I had to check more than once which side the protestors were on, assuming I had misunderstood. It seems the movement is an international one, crossing the boarders of Bolivia, Venezuela, and Ecuador with impunity in light of their recent efforts to recognize the legitimacy of civil unions for gay couples, the rights of indigenous groups to political power, and other efforts supported in mass by the vehemently liberal student groups of the most recognized American universities. Clips of youth wielding chains, fists, and traffic cones against the “man” represented by, *gasp*, cops positioned to defend the stance of the liberal majority evoked all the stereotypical images of 70’s anti-Vietnam protests and more obscure ones of contemporary anarchist marches (yes, Anarchism is alive and well in the world, read bombsandshields.blogspot.com if you don’t believe me). Suddenly I have become a bit disillusioned with the promise of passionate causes ahead of me, for perhaps the reality is that young people will always find some reason to protest, no matter which direction the political tide is turning. Then, however, I take some solace in the knowledge that my nation is not, nor has it ever been, controlled by a Catholic majority.

 

In other news, first the bad: I have encountered the inevitable stomach malcontent that almost all tales of Stateside tourists venturing south contain, but luckily it was a rather mild form that gave me a bit of fever but spared me the double-ended spouting of the horror-stories. The illness came on the tails of one of my most relaxed and enjoyable periods thus-far. I stayed in Macas over the weekend with the sister of my host, that elusory English-fluent aunt promised me by my initial contact Juan Carlos who I have still yet to hear utter a single anglo-saxon syllable. The family and house, however, were a breath of fresh air. Living a far more urban lifestyle than their cousins, Pati and Stephan (the Ecuadorian aunt her German husband), Marcel (the eldest daughter of the family, 23 and, from what I can tell, a single mother who reminds me slightly of Mr. Gordon my first high school advisor) Amaru (the eldest son, a senior in highschool with slightly bro-esque skater tendencies), Yankuan (the youngest son, a friendly but moody pre-pubescant with a pension for the game I recognize as those failed trading-discs once known as Pogs stateside), and the two babies, Sua (an adorable rolly-polly type who makes a great model and you have already seen pictures of) and the two month older daughter of Marcel who’s name I can never seem to get a grasp on (what I do know is she learned to dance before she learned to walk). We spent the first day at a family birthday party, playing basketball at a local court, and playing a family game of Monopoly until 2 in the morning (7 hours of fun, who knew?).

 

The next day we ventured out to one of the many day resorts in the area to celebrate the anniversary of the founding of the Foundation that Stephan works for (that sentence hurt my brain). Pools, more basketball, ping pong, and lounging abounded. I played my first improvised game of three-ball billiards there, I have no idea if we were playing correctly but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The celebratory cake was delicious, and the meal was one of the best I have had while in the country. I suspect, however, that the source of my intestinal disruption was either the french-fry and chicken-foot soup or a later snack of fried chicken and french-fries accompanies by lettuce that I attempted to avoid but am not sure how successful I was. The different environment, more jovial nature of the siblings, and beautiful house (white walls with rounded dark wood trim and plenty of porch space) was a much-needed breath of fresh air for me.

 

When I returned to Asuncion I slept poorly, sweaty and hot, and awoke to troubled insides. It was not until almost half a day of work had passed that I ventured down to the Health Center where Esther works to be diagnosed with an intestinal infection by a very amiable young doctor. I sequestered myself to my room in an effort to avoid infecting the house elders and infant if my ailment turned out to be contagious. My fever continued but my overall peace of mind was not much disturbed. In my isolation I rediscovered my childhood indulgence in prolonged literary investment. I first finished 100 Years of Solitude, I can see why Marquez was awarded the Nobel. The book is both profound and moving in its surrealism. I was especially affected by the big-idea pursuits of Jose Arcadio Buendia, and the dogged persistence of the Aurelianos. Part of my year is an attempt to find within myself the capacity for self-motivated devotion so eloquently expressed in these characters. Marquez’s warning on that hand was not lost on me, balance is called for above all else. The image of the turn of the century aviator (who’s name has sadly abandoned my mind) in white tights and a dashing mustache atop his velocipede evoked an age old yearning to hold a turn of the century aristocrat party, or perhaps a picnic luncheon, complete with jovial mannerisms and bawdy striped and plaid attire.

 

My literary gluttony has continued on into The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, which I found amid the audiobooks on the iPod my father so graciously lent me for the trip. Even in my rejuvenated state I find the temptation to wander off to some uninhabited corner and lose myself in listening, even though I find it interferes for a time with my Spanish comprehension afterwards. My original intent to find a job in a bookstore and read the classics has reemerged as a serious possibility upon my return to Asheville, though possibly a video store might be a better option. I don’t know if TVEye is hiring, but it seemed perfect in it’s slow pace and easily reorganized shelving system for a combined literary and cinematic glutton.

 

Another side-effect of my two-day absence from the outside world directly following a venture out into the wider world was the emergence of something akin to homesickness, but far less about the aspect of a location and much more about a broad spectrum of characters that makeup my far-flung friend spectrum. Jonathan, good lad though he is, can only do so much to satiate my need for companionship. I have found myself lazing about lost in fantasized adventures with various cantankerous groups of amigos far more often than is probably healthy for me. A side-effect of these sessions is the continued growth of my concept for a broadly expansive video and musical experiment. I will elaborate more on that later, however.

 

For now here are some shots I took in Macas near the river. Incidentally I actually crossed the collapsed bridge there on my buss-ride from Quito. I understand it was overloaded by a truck containing an unreasonable number of cement sewer-pipe sections, or something along those lines. It was impressive, to say the least.

Bill-esque

Bridge Remnant

Obama ´08!

a step towards the edge

Fallen

Through rivers they must come.

Big Mama

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

Sua Sua

 

P.S. I got my ballot and am voting today! Huzzah!

 

P.P.S. I will hopefully be headed to a small town in the jungle without road access some time next week, apparently it is all very traditional so I should have some great photos for you then.

P.P.P.S. Happy Holloween, dress up twice for me, mmkay?