| (no subject) |
[Oct. 21st, 2004|02:44 am] |
Everything is going really well. Almost too well, in fact. I'm passionate about a lot of things that I love right now. And I'm enjoying them all. I just wish I had less things to love or more time with which to love them so that I could slow down and enjoy them more. I feel like a jack-of-a-bunch-of-trades but with the potential to be really good at each of them. That sounds a bit pompous, I know, but still...
OTP, the band I've been playing in, is doing really well. We played at MJ's, the local coffee shop, last week and the place was packed for the whole show. A lot of the people there, no one in the band knew. In other words, it wasn't just our friends. And people stayed! The next night, we played in the talent show on campus and had a lot of fun. We didn't win, but basically because the guy who always wins knocked us out of the running. Our manager, Courtney, is working on getting us some more gigs locally. She's in the process of sending out a bunch of demos for us. We'll probably play at MJ's again before the year is up and one of the bars in town. We're also scheduled to play a show on campus with about 5 other bands on election day in the dining hall to try and get people to the polls. And then we're also scheduled for LVC Unplugged in November. I feel more creative now than I think I've ever been before. I'm writing at least one song a week. Sometimes more than that. And it's some of the best writing I've ever done, too. Probably because OTP is the most focused group of musicians with whom I've ever played. I'm having more fun in this band than I've ever had before playing music. I wish I could be even more devoted to it.
I'll be posting pictures of us soon.
Social life is good, too. This is the first time in college that almost all of my friends are friends with each other. There were actually a bunch of people in my room the other night watching movies with me. Which never happens. It's really odd. But great at the same time.
Classes are good, too. Intellectually, I feel really confident with where I am. I've gotten into a groove with the fields in which I'm interested and I like what I've been reading. I need to really crack down on my honors thesis for religion in the next few weeks. I'm hoping to get a lot of that done over the weekends. I also need to do a bunch of transcriptions of interviews. Again, I love it and wish I had more time to devote to it.
Rachel and I are doing pretty well. We;ve been a bit up and down recently due, in large part, to us being in completely different social, intellectual, and cultural situations. We're getting into a rhythm, though. I'm going to see her this weekend. It'll be fun.
Here are the lyrics to some of the songs I've written recently:
Right on Through
Jordan Miller
9.20-23.04
I’m taking it back
It was never yours to take, nor mine to give, now…
Your deck was stacked
You thought you had it make like a little child running
Around a track
Chasing after a goal that never meant a thing
Got a plan of attack
But we all see right on through your card trick magic hat
I’ve been waiting years for you to choose
The door is open but you still stand in the shadows
I’m so in love with who I see inside
I hate you when you hide
You’ve been suckin’ it up
All across my town and back to Hackensack, you know
So fuckin’ corrupt
You’ve been turning pockets out and back around again
Quit messin’ me up
I’m sick of your tired excuse, your mouth is bleeding out
You’re gonna make me erupt
While the world is breaking out, now get away from me
I take comfort, knowing you have lost it all away
You banked on something you couldn’t hold to
I’ve been waiting years for you to choose
The door is open but you still stand in the shadows
I’m so in love with who I see inside
I hate you when you hide
_________________________________________________________________
Laughter is the closest distance between two people. - Victor Borge
Laughing Alone
Jordan Miller 9-10.04
Laughing alone
Is the best way to go home
As if you were here by my side, with me
By my side we’d be
Laughing at me
I’m ridiculous, I see
But you don’t in the least seem to mind, at all
seem to mind my lines
Any closer
Would be our laughter
We breathe in and out
The more we can re-
-cognize this distance
between you and me
you and me
As we’re laughing along
It becomes where we belong
And keeping up to speed, we relax, breath in
Keep tight, begin
_________________________________________________________________
Dragging Me Down
Words, Jordan Miller 9-10.04
Music, Jordan Miller and Dave McLaughlin 9-10.04
She says she loves me
She doesn’t know me
But the lies keep coming the same
Without some reference
She’s lost her conscience
And ignored the potential blame
I’m running for cover
But still looking backwards
She’s pushing me farther
But calling me back
No conversation
Can bring redemption
For the words you’ve written to me
No comprehension
Of thoughts you’ve mentioned
I’m lost to the points you’ve made
Where do you get off
Getting off to the sound of my voice
You’re bankrupt, corrupted
And dragging me down
_________________________________________________________________
The Teacher
Jordan Miller 10.19.04
I’ve lost my teacher
He’s gone away and left me alone
My voice, my speaker
Quietly killed
The splints dissolving
I’m unassisted unchained and undone
My head’s revolving
Met by the wind
I don’t want you anymore anyway
I have lost that self control imposed by someone else
This is my only shot at living
Once and for all your tyranny’s shaking
The power you once had I’ve stripped away from
You
You tell me one thing
I listen intently and strive to apply
It only blinds me
Hypocrisy
you’ve abandoned everyone: liar
we’re in this dismal predicament, but for the best
This is my only shot at living
Once and for all your tyranny’s shaking
The power you once had I’ve stripped away from you
Unrav’ling slowly
So subtle barely noticeable
but dire fallout
forced autonomy
This is our only shot at living
Once and for all your tyranny’s breaking
The power you once had we’ve stripped away from
You
_________________________________________________________________ |
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| my friend, bill, wrote these |
[Sep. 30th, 2004|07:29 pm] |
Some of The Lost Parables of Jesus (From which Evangelical Republicans base their political platform)
Mark 44: 12-22
And Jesus, clean-shaven and dressed in his usual armani suit and tie he purchased at a Men's Warehouse on the River Jordan, stood up among his followers and spoke:
"Blessed be the market, for it shall establish order! Blessed be the corporations, for they shall be rewarded with great tax cuts and political say! Blessed be all those who bomb, shoot, torture, maim and disfigure in my name, for ye are the true peacemakers!
But woe to you lazy minorities on welfare, for the scourge of the market shall be upon you and your family for your lack of motivation and ability to work and hold down a steady job! Woe to poor and senior citizens who complain about not having healthcare, for the Lord sayeth this is the way it shall be; for you shall end up in Hades for your transgressions where there will be many screams and gnashing of teeth, and watchings of reality TV shows like American Idol with the annoying vocals of testicleless Clay Aiken upon thy ears!"
John 33 1/3: -0.256 to Pi
And Jesus said to his disciples after viewing many television programs on the Bravo network, "I sayeth to you that, I pimp daddy Jesus who gets with all da ladies in da hizzouse, demand in the name of the Lord that all backdoor bandits and carpetlickers be hearby banded from being recognized as married under the Roman government; also, these queerbags whom the Lord disdains with all his unforgiving and hateful might shall be permitted from adopting children or being portrayed as human beings in hollywood or the media. For they are an evil lot who like to dress up in nice clothes, decorate their homes and do lots of cooking and watching of the Lifetime Network. Woe be onto them. Woe. Woe. My love is like Woe. Woooooeee, there Silver...! Jesus away!" |
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| in other news... |
[Sep. 30th, 2004|02:21 pm] |
OTP's demo, "The Don't Misunderestimate Us EP," is complete. There are three tracks on it entitled, "Streetcar," "Think Again," and "Copyright." All three are original songs. If anyone wants a copy of this demo, please let me know. It's free. We want to get our music out there. So even if you're just remotely interested, please listen.
Thanks. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 30th, 2004|02:19 pm] |
My memories of September 11, 2001 have been hijacked by the media and those who make war. At the very least, every time I speak of that day and event, I do so on their terms. They set the parameters for my discourse. It is not my event of which to speak. Primarily, it is the government’s day. It is the media’s day. Even those who lived in New York City at the time or lost loved ones in the event cannot speak of that day on their own terms. It has been kidnapped by the military-media-government-industrial complex for its own uses. Those who make war have committed an inherent violence against that day in that they do not let it speak for itself. It has, in effect, been raped and silenced--terrorized, if you will--so that the war-makers no longer have opposition. If any day had an ability to do so, September 11, 2001 surely speaks to us from the grave pleading with us not to commit violence. But its true, honest, ashy voice is silenced a sanitized press release and political propaganda. Surely September 11, 2001 would not urge us to bomb Baghdad killing thousands of civilians. Surely September 11, 2001 would do whatever it could to bring peace and reconciliation and end this ridiculous game of chicken we play attempting to trump one act of violence with another. My memories of that day feel clear to me, but I cannot speak of them on my own terms; I am always, when speaking of that day, speaking on the defensive or offensive--always against. I can never speak on behalf of that day or even of myself.
Questioning war demeans and dishonors the dead who fought it far less than hubris, nationalism, and support (if there is such a thing) of the war do. Hubris, nationalism, and “support” of the war do inherent violence to those who fought it. It simplifies and contracts all of the multiplicities of meanings in war to a single cause—that which the State desires at the time. When one “supports” our troops, I don’t know what that means. One cannot agree with everything every soldier believes for one would contradict oneself by the very nature that troops believe different things. Some soldiers want to participate in war and believe in the nationalist cause. Some do not and ask a constant stream of questions as to the purpose of the war. If we support the troops, whom then do we support? Really, the troops matter little in our support. Instead, our support is of the State who sends the troops off to die. In this sense, supporting the war demeans and dishonors the dead by forcing them to speak of the war through the State, much in the same way that I am forced to speak of September 11, 2001 on the war-makers’ terms. Nationalism simplifies and reduces the polyphony of soldiers’ voices to a single voice—that of the nationalist cause. This is dishonorable. It is simple, easy, clear, and present; but it is demeaning. Questioning the war allows for undecideability to return. When the great cacophony of voices who speak from within war are allowed to speak once again without the filter of nationalism, suddenly war becomes honest; whereas before it was made a liar and a fool. Only through questioning the war can we truly hear what the dead have to say to us. Only through questioning the government and media’s use of the event of September 11, 2001 can we hear what that day has to say to us on its own terms. Questioning is openness to voices that we will not hear otherwise. |
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| Article |
[Sep. 16th, 2004|11:57 pm] |
I wrote this article for the school paper. It's been getting a lot of attention and a huge variety of commentary and feedback. I've been thanked and called an asshole.
Here it is:
Hi, I’m Jordan and I’m a white male.
I admit that I live a life of privilege. I realize that I do not deserve this privilege, but that it is given to me at birth. It is silent and invisible, but has the potential to be quite deadly to others.
I admit that I take full advantage of this privilege throughout my daily activities. I admit that I speak up in class and cut people off when I feel like it. I admit that whenever I have the need to speak to someone in a position of authority, I expect to come face to face with someone who looks like me--someone who is white, male, or both. In fact, I admit that Lebanon Valley College itself is run and controlled--academically, institutionally, and financially--in large part by white men. I admit that I would be at least mildly surprised to see someone other than a white man in a position of power.
I admit that, however covertly, I demand subservience of the women around me. Specifically in religion, I work my way into positions of dominance and stifle the gifts of the women whom I love by overpowering them. I admit that I uphold the status quo of patriarchal religion passed down to me by the men who have come before. I accept this privilege from them gladly, if passively. But, then again, I’m usually not passive about it at all. "Enthusiastic" seems like a better term.
I admit that the social and historical factors which make me who I am are not natural; they are constructed. As with all constructions, they can be torn down. I affirm that I am terrified by the idea of giving up this power. After all, who wants to lose authority and privilege? Yet, still, I admit that this power is not mine upon which to grasp. It is fickle, contrived, and detrimental to the psychological, and sometimes even the physical growth of those whom I love.
I take full responsibility for my role in giving white male privilege to other white men. While I realize that I have potentially harmed all those with whom I have come into contact, I apologize--I am desperately sorry--to those whom I love but have hurt nonetheless.
I pledge to do my best to recognize this privilege which I have accepted whenever possible. Recognizing the historical and cultural factors working against me, I promise to give power back to those who rightly deserve it. I vow to speak to other white men in an attempt to help them realize the pain they cause, as I do, by exercising our white, male privilege. |
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| oh, and one more thing... |
[Aug. 23rd, 2004|05:15 pm] |
i forgot to mention in my last post this most very important bit of news --
i don't have any leadership positions of student organizations this year. no freedom rings, no uat, no SAGA, no cco, no nothing. it'll be great and incredibly freeing. |
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| weekend and whatnot |
[Aug. 22nd, 2004|09:12 pm] |
last wednesday i finished my early american history class. i'm fairly sure i kicked it's ass. i'll be surprised if i get less than a B+. after all, i've taken plenty of other upper-level history and history-related classes on campus already. and this was History 125.
this week will be my last week working full time for grounds on campus. i told my boss i'd do odd jobs for him through the year. for instance, if we get a lot of snow some night, i'd be willing to shovel the next day. i turned down the offer to work regular hours because i have 4 other job offers on the table. i'll definitely be working 3 hours for the chaplain (sitting at a desk, answering phones) and 9 hours for tchet (in the office of multicultural affairs -- i'll be writing articles for the school paper, facilitating meetings, writing programs and seminars, training people to lead them and leading them myself, etc) each week. so that's 12 hours of work a week i've already signed on for. plus whatever i happen to do for grounds. last year, i tutored american studies, philosophy, religion, and writing for the writing center in the library. i don't know how much/if i'll work for them again this year. in any case, i have to fit work into my schedule consisting of classes and band rehearsal. oh yeah -- and i get to transcribe interviews which robbins and grieve-carlson conducted with john d. caputo and thomas j. j. altizer this year. i've already got the tapes from the first interview. i'm thinking i'll do a bit of that at the chaplain's office and (if i work there) the writing center. here's my schedule:
REL-253-01 Buddhism E. Bain-Selbo
REL-201-01 Biblical Literature I J. Robbins
PED-135-01 Racquetball O. Reed 09/01/04 04/FA
PED-113-02 Bowling O. Reed 10/26/04 04/FA
DSP-390-02 ST: Violence & Non-Violence D. Byrne
DSP-352-21 Marx and Marxism J. Hinshaw/J. Robbins
ART-223-01 Ceramics D. Maust
REL-500-01 Independent Study (Honors Thesis) J. Robbins
Meeting Days & Times
Day From To Bldg Room Course Title
M 10:00AM 10:50AM ARN RC Racquetball
M 02:00PM 03:20PM CHA 103 Buddhism
M 03:30PM 04:50PM CHA 103 Biblical Literature I
T 09:30AM 11:30AM FEN STUD Ceramics
T 01:00PM 02:20PM ARN AREN Bowling
T 03:30PM 04:50PM HUM 302 Violence & Non-Violence
T 07:00PM 09:30PM HUM 302 Marx and Marxism
W 10:00AM 10:50AM ARN RC Racquetball
W 02:00PM 03:20PM CHA 103 Buddhism
W 03:30PM 04:50PM CHA 103 Biblical Literature I
TH 09:30AM 11:30AM FEN STUD Ceramics
TH 01:00PM 02:20PM ARN AREN Bowling
TH 03:30PM 04:50PM HUM 302 Violence & Non-Violence
This week is also going to be my last meeting with Robbins for my independent study this summer which i took on postmodern philosophy and theology. afterwards, hinshaw, robbins, kate, and i will be going out for drinks to celebrate my 21st birthday.
this past weekend, rachel and i went to philadelphia to see her apartment and celebrate my forthcoming birthday. it was great. she'll be living in a beatiful part of the city. we saw jason, lydia, and drew -- we hung out all over the place, getting dinner, walking around, sitting in coffee shops, we watched "collateral," and walked through penn's campus late at night. lots o' fun. |
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| Pig |
[Aug. 17th, 2004|12:32 pm] |
Isn't it strange
How we move our lives for another day
Like skipping a beat
What if a great wave should wash us all away
Just thinking out loud
Don't mean to dwell on this dying thing
But looking at blood
It's alive right now
Deep and sweet within
Pouring through our veins
Intoxicate moving wine to tears
Drinking it deep
Then an evening spent dancing
It's you and me
This love will open our world
From the dark side we can see the glow of something bright
There's much more than we see here
Don't burn the day away
Don't burn the day
Don't burn the day away
Is this not enough?
This blessed sip of life, is it not enough?
Staring down at the ground
Oh, then complain and pray for more from above,
You greedy little pig,
Stop, just watch your world trickle away
Oh, it's your problem now
It'll all be dead and gone in a few short years
Oh, just love will open our eyes
Just love will put the hope back in our minds
Much more than we could ever know
Oh, so don't burn the day away
Don't burn the day away
Oh, come sisters, my brothers,
Shake up your bones, shake up your feet,
I'm saying, open up and let the rain come pouring in
Wash out this tired notion
Oh, that the best is yet to come
But oh, while you're dancing on the ground,
Don't think of, oh, when you're gone
Love, love, love, what more is there?
'Cause we need the light of love in here
Don't beat your head, dry your eyes, let the love in there,
There's bad times but that's okay, just look for love in there
And don't burn the day away
Look, here are we,
On this starry night, staring into space
And I must say, I feel as small as dust lying down here
Oh, what point could there be troubling
Head down, wondering, "what will become of me?"
Why concern? We cannot see but no reason to abandon it
The time is short, time, that's all right
Maybe I'll go out in the middle of the night,
And take your hand, look in your eyes, my love
All good things must come to an end sometime
Oh, but don't burn the day away
Don't burn the day away
Oh, come sisters, my brothers,
Shake up your bones, shake up your feet,
I'm saying open up and let the rain come flooding in
Wash out this tired notion
That the best is yet to come
But, oh, while you're dancing on the ground
Don't think of when you're gone
Love, love, love, what more is there?
'Cause we need the light of love in here
Don't beat your head, and dry your eyes, let the love in there
The bad times, well that's okay,
Let's just look for love in here, yeah
Just let the love in there,
Oh love, light up
- Dave Matthews Band |
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| HA! |
[Aug. 7th, 2004|02:17 pm] |
A bear is charging this hunter in the woods. The hunter fires, and misses. The bear breaks his rifle in two, sodomizes the hunter, then walks away. The hunter is furious. the next day he is back in the woods, with a new rifle. Again the bear charges, again the hunter misses, again he is sodomized. The hunter is now beside himself. He is going to get that bear, if it's the last thing he does. He gets himself an AK-47 assault rifle, goes back into the woods. Again the bear charges and, believe it or not, again the hunter misses. The bear breaks the assault rifle, gently puts his paws around the hunter and says, 'OK, come clean now. This isn't really about hunting, is it?'
- Peter Berger, as quoted by Simon Critchley in "On Humour." |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 3rd, 2004|08:52 pm] |
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no more barnstock....:'( |
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| otp and song i just wrote yesterday afternoon |
[Aug. 2nd, 2004|08:32 am] |
otp is back and better than ever. we're preparing for a gig on august 7th up towards shamokin. if anyone wants to come, let me know and i'll get you details. it's free. we rehearsed all weekend and i'm having more fun playing music than i can ever remember. in fact, i was inspired so much by the whole weekend that i cranked out an entire song -- start to finish -- yesterday afternoon. here are the lyrics:
Copyright
by Jordan Miller (Words, 7.04; Music 8.1.04)
I can’t tell you a thing
Words are not mine to possess
With which to do what I wish
Abusing "yous" and "therefores" for my own purpose
Oh, I can’t tell you a thing
These words are not my own
I fall at their feet and beg mercy
These words are hers and theirs
Inscribed on the past that is not mine
Which I can’t pin down, either
Belonging to the public domain -- it is yours
Traces of eternity underneath
Giving rise to all that’s around and inside of us
I am not my own, I’m not self-made
I don’t know who I am
These words flow from inside
I don’t know whence they came
I owe those who came before me |
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mrmcgoo13's journal
