In a lecture hall…
“Sea level rises from glaciers and ice sheet melts.” What is boredom, but not a negatively connoted coated lens through which we view life? Is boredom man-made, man-produced, man-generated, man-observed, man-felt, man-… Surely the absurd and blatant repetitious nature of the argument can be forgiven for the absurd and blatant repetitious subject I am bringing up to you. Airing out to dry, if you will.
The nature of “resetting” expectations; the recursive nature of man-generating derivatives.
“These glaciers are enormous,” how can he possibly expect me to “engage” when there are so many more pressing, volatile, and intricate matters. “RADARSAT measures both velocity and ice sheet thickness,” but can it explain what boredom is? Can it measure it down to its axioms, untangle the web of paradoxes, and assemble them into straight lines? RADARSAT really deserves a round of applause because it excels in both… I swear to God, the squeaks of chairs in this lecture hall are enough to flood RADARSAT with so much white noise that there is a viable chance that it will soon comprehend boredom.
“Vast qualities of data” -> “Incontrovertible information uncovered” -> “A breadth of knowledge both incontrovertible in nature and implication…”
How can one engage always, when it is easiest to write while putting off something else? Why does writing flow, flood, spill, drench, and saturate the pages of my notebook during such times of much-needed attention on the often referred to “task-at-hand”? Why does the writing feel so detached from both my speaking voice and thinking voice? As if I have harnessed them together to create a voice at once my own and, still, not at all.
“Grace Satellite, the study of gravimetry (gravity anomaly).” Anomaly, anomalous, analog, analogous, axiom, axiomatic. Language that defines our thought that defines our language. Are we not an evolution of language or is language an evolution of us? Yes, I know, this is what boredom feels like.
Is a second draft just a disfigurement of my first draft? Who is Don DeLillo really? Never married, yet have you heard all this white noise? An observer of the outside or a reporter of the inside? I imagine things grow out from within, in terms of his writing. The commentary of the outside world is just his decorations for the world spiraling within his skull. “Jakobshavn Isbren.”
Remember at dining hall when there was laughing. “We know this glacier…” There is a lag in his speaking and my ability to write it down and this all feels significant in more than one way. I wonder what Erin is up to…
Thinking. Thinking is far more complex than DFW could portray and I am a fucking asshole to think I could dethrone any of them, I critique and judge for no purpose because often my writing is so hackneyed and overdone and overwrought and just inauthentic because–“And this is an ice shelf.”
Threads of memories tearing loose and unlatching memories of others left dormant by time and experience. Emotional hurt v. physical pain. Trauma used interchangeably among the two. Descends from language? “Sea ice and ice shelves are not the same things. Sea ice is thin whereas ice shelves are thick.”
I wonder what the history of my professor is. What is his deal, anyway? A teacher lecturing about the history of himself, now that’s a lecture worth watching. “Listen students, you are going to want to take notes, here is the syllabus and you’ll see it starts chronologically on April 19th, 1978 when I was born…” There is a narcissism and inflated ego that makes this idea all the more attractive and interesting, perhaps I will delve into it further. “Any Canadians here? No, well in Nova Scotia ice sheets can be…” My interest has been peaked in a way I had not anticipated. What is boredom, anyway?