27 Sep 2009

what i remember:

18 cupcakes (18)

balloons of kings cigs (23)

wuthering heights (25)

macdougal's alehouse (30)

and today alone.

always remember what died 

each time

you hoped.

always remember what happened

when you thought

the water was yours.

always remember 

your thirst

made others salt.

Shades of Memory - 1

sipping vodka and remembering

the chocolate milkshake 

that magically turned fresh bruises

back to mocha.

no more bruises

my blood is now watered.

Loneliness

Walking down a street that you've walked for the zillionth time, not taking it in, looking at everything but seeing nothing, hearing people talk and laugh but listening to silence, sitting alone at a bench in the middle of the divider, watching sparrows and squirrels, not thinking, thinking...

Listening to the same playlist on the iPod, trying to drown thoughts, but the same song keeps playing over and over again, and the same thoughts rise and fall with the music.

Looking at the phone time and again, trying to remember what the ringtone sounds like, wondering if it does ring,  what would your own voice sound like when you say hello? 

Buying things you don't need just so that the person on the other side says, 'cash back?' and you can get to hear yourself say 'no'.

Playing the guitar till your fingers bleed, or till you get sick of your incompetence, whichever happens first.

The lamest thing is to drop hints to someone you hope will understand, and then realize what a mistake that is... that you really don't have someone.

2AM

...and I'm still awake writing this song if i get it all down on paper its no longer inside of me threatening the life it belongs to

and i feel like im naked in front of the crowd cuz these words are my diary screamin out loud and i know that you'll use them however you want to

- Breathe, Anna Nallick

On (Not) Writing

1. Why can't I write?

Nothing can be said about what goes on in my head when I write... when I used to write... It is a kind of madness that breaks out without warning and possesses you and drains you of life word by word, and sometimes leaves you stranded mid-sentence, word, or comma,... what torture.

Writing takes a lot of nerve, to think that you have something worthwhile to say. To hope that you may be healed if only you use the right words. Write and be whole, write and be damned forever. For once written, you don't exist, only words do... at least the one sentence you have saved to be the noose around your neck... or fingers.

Why should I write? Because I must.

2. But why can't I write?

Stuck. It is some form of fear that eats from inside out. The disease starts in a brain clogged with duties  unfulfilled, that loan you'd have to pay in 7 years but have no idea how,  the assignment you don't see the point of doing anymore, the people you don't want to talk to but have to. You  don't  attend parties bcuz your dejection may seep through all the alcohol and substances you imbibe and people may notice, you attend parties bcuz people may also notice your withdrawal, so you restrict your public consumption to 3 drinks, and return to the stash in your apartment... 

Stuck. And yet the diseased brain recognizes the blank page, that thing which obsesses  you to fill it with words - only now, you are afflicted, you obsess that it will remain blank. 

3. Why can't I write?

To write well about something, you need to believe in it. Belief. And hope. In words. For the unbelievers and the hopeless. Words are for all those in need of it, to soothe, to scar, to burn, to love...So why is it that when you are in the depths of despair, you sit silent, so wordless in a corner? Is it cuz when dejection first started creeping in, you  hurt someone with words when all you were asking without asking was their help to survive before the darkness hit?

If there is nothing to believe in, if I believe in nothing, how can I write? How can you write about your dreams if you don't dream? And if all you have are your nightmares, should you write about it? For to write about your nightmares, your fears, is to bring them to life. 

And so the world was made from nothing - with a few well-said words.  

4. Why can't I write?

I don't have anything to say. But then one late night the radio plays U2, Bono belting out 'with or without you'...'and you give yourself away.....' and it all comes back to you in a flash - the nights you locked yourself in a small room with  only bottles of the cheapest vodka and cigarettes for company... writing. Writing because you couldn't sleep until the words were torn out of your daytime silences, writing bcuz it was a madness you used against the other madness that was always so close. 

You hear a song and like a recovered addict crave for the words...except now you have to try harder, longer and require more for the same high. You can't write because of the pain of self-induced silence, and the doubt that the other darkness may have swallowed your words forever.

5. Why can't I write?

Maybe I should. Write that is. Just the same stories that have all been told before. Maybe in the re-telling there may arise something new.

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

Song of Myself - Walt Whitman

Lost in Translation - Orhan Pamuk, Maureen Freely and Michael Scammell in Conversation

What a heady experience to listen to Orhan Pamuk's views on translation, the current state of translation work in the US, what is lost in translation, the challenges and everything else...

http://wwwapp.cc.columbia.edu/art/app/arts/writing/news.jsp?news=494

eeeeeeee - learning

We talk and talk of designing the perfect training material - one that is engaging, interactive, useful for learners, and so on and so forth. But that's all about it - just talk. Let's face it, any training we design is pointless, cuz universally - training is only training; in a regular organization where training is mandatory or where there's a specific policy that employees should undergo some form of training per year - it remains just that - some policy that is adhered to. (I hate this sentence - too long - 52 words!) Means there's no real motivation. None for the learners anyway. Strange thing is, we are wired to learn. Even against our will. By ‘learning’, I mean the stuff that we remember. Cuz the aim of most training/ learning/ education is to remember stuff so that we can apply that knowledge at a later date.

How do we remember irrelevant stuff, for example, that Hotel California was released in 1974, or that gravity was 'discovered' when some rotten apple fell on someone's head (and since that head happened to Newton's, we got to study that extra lesson in Physics - if it fell on some average IQd bloke, we might have just gotten a few more swear words in Websters). What earth-shattering difference would it make to me or to you that force = mass X acceleration? I don't believe that the principles of momentum, centre of gravity, acceleration has had any impact on the quality of Agassi's serve or Mohammed Ali's punch. But ok, this information does make a difference, or it gets stuck in my head if : a) I were a tennis player at the point of time when I was taught this fact. b) if this was taught to me while I was getting coached on my serve. c) if I wanted to show off this info trivia and wanted others to think 'Man, she knows stuff.' (Okay, I've gone too far). 

So, anyway, information gets stuck in the head and becomes learning only in the right context. Just like I could understand frequencies and octaves in my physics class since I was studying music. (It didn't make a difference in my playing, but yeah I did well in those physics tests without much effort) And that’s the point – passing exams and tests. How else would we get from here to there? And what motivates anyone to learn (other than getting thru tests)?

Everything that was ever made were made for the lazy (I believe that). We all would like to spend less effort but get the most out of it. In short, I'd learn something if I think it will help me get a raise, write mails faster, knock someone out, whatever. So what should be the aim of training material we instructional designers should create, that is the burning question. Here’s what most people (90%) think about learning/ training and the courses and exams that come with the package:

I hate training programs, I think it’s a waste of my time, but it’s something that's got to be done. A do or be damned kind of thing. (zilch motivation) – 70%

Well, guess if I attend this training session, I’ll get a certificate. So when I apply for my next job, I can negotiate my pay hike. (money) – 10%

I can frame this certificate on my bathroom wall. (ego) – 5%

I do this training; I’ll get promoted next quarter. (money, ego) – 5%

And what the rest 10% (?!) think:

I need to know this thing. (ego)

I need this training, then I can do my job better than the rest. (ego again, the money is immaterial, if it comes along with the package, great!)

So all motivation (for adult learners atleast) boils down to money and ego / self-esteem. But hey, 70% of your learners are really not bothered. Now how do we tackle this?

Since the majority are not interested in the training, and just want to get over with it, the challenge is how to design a program to (not necessarily in the given order):

1. get them interested
2. teach them exactly what it is they have to know in the shortest possible time
3. keep them interested

Getting people interested is easy. Keeping them interested is not. If you can achieve point 3, then point 2 can be ignored – your learners will want to be there hanging on to every word you say, even waiting with bated breath…ok that’s again goin a bit too far…but ok, you get it? Now for the work:

Note: All examples are a reflection of what I've seen at work in the elearning/content development industry. And just my opinions. This is my blog, for god's sake.

Getting ‘em interested

Most designers think ‘icebreaker activities’ – asking learners (and the instructor) to introduce themselves, present the agenda, housekeeping rules and so on. As an instructor, I don’t think I need to know the names of 10 people to be able to teach them, but I do need to get them interested in the training material I’m about to present. So what would I do to break the ice? Break ice? And drop it on someone’s foot. That sure will grab their attention, don’t you think?

Ok, but seriously.

Let’s take an example:
Subject: Sales Training
Audience/ Learners: Call centre guys (and gals), 20somethings

So how would you, as an instructor, get their attention?

Option 1: Instead of having a slide showing – How to Make a Successful Call, change the title to ‘You Had me at Hello’ and an audio clip of Kenney Chesney singing that…

Option 2: Show a movie clip of…lets say… Jerry Maguire… oh ‘you had me at hello’ again (maybe a clip of Tom Cruise trying to pitch for a client is more relevant – by the way, you, or rather Mr.Cruise, have gotten all the ladies' attention)

Option 3: Show 2 video clips – one of a chirpy Call Centre rep, and a disinterested one. (How boring, but I guess the organization would okay that strategy than options 1 and 2)

Option 4: Ask a colleague to give you a call and pretend to be the customer (Do this when the learners have just settled down). Respond to the call as if it were the real thing. Alternatively, respond to the call real rudely and ask the learners their opinion. This way, you get the agenda of your session.

Option 5: Just before the learners enter the classroom, write a controversial statement (related to the subject) on the board, for example: Customers suck so I can reply any way I want, it makes no difference… This way too you can ask the learners to create the agenda of the session.

Option 6: Why have PPTs and movie clips and all that jazz in the first place?? Can't you just talk? (alright, I'm ranting. Not everyone can talk interesting).

Ok. That’s enough of a start. Please note: All options work only if you are a good trainer/ instructor and can carry it off.

Teach them exactly what it is they have to know in the shortest possible time

Well, this is not for instructors who like the sound of their own voice. The problem with getting the learners attention with a wonderful start is that most instructors can’t sustain that interest. They just go on and on and on…rather like starting a song on a high note and then going flat cuz you can't keep the pitch or raise your octave level.

So keep it short. It helps if you are an expert and know exactly what they need. Like Atticus Finch said ‘Stand in a persons shoes and walk two miles in ‘em’…If you’ve been a student who’s been bored to death (and remember it), I guess you’ll be kind. (you better be, else you’d get huge yawns, or worse, never be asked to train again).

Keeping ‘em interested

Well, activity, activity, activity. But why? As a learner/ participant in an Instructor-Led session, I positively hate it when the trainer asks me a question. This is more like an easy way out – instructors think they keep a class awake by asking them questions.

The key is not to keep the learners awake by asking them to do something, but to involve their minds. Why not ask them to think, reflect (as Poirot would say, and get the grey cells working furiously)? Easier said than done? Maybe. All depends on you, the instructor. How can you convince them that what you’re teaching, or about to teach is the only thing they ought to be living for?

Take a few lessons from Mark Anthony (or Shakespeare if you will) – A paragraph of Friends, Romans, countrymen blah blah, and he caused a war. He got their minds working, he spurred them to action by telling them exactly the opposite – yeah, but Brutus is an honourable man, yeah sure. Take Iago, for example – he caused the Moor to murder - how? The art of effective sentence construction. By not telling everything, but just enough. The decision to kill or not to kill, to commit suicide or not to, was entirely up to Othello, not Iago’s fault.

So - get your learners to think, and make their own inferences. The golden rule is this: Do not provide all information to the learners. People learn more from searching for the correct answer and not finding it than from learning the answer itself. Think Iago. You just provide the seed crystal (whatever that means).

Let learning be a discovery, an experience for the learners. You as the instructor, is only a facilitator, not the storehouse or dispenser of knowledge.

In the end, the key to a successful training is – know when to shut up and make an exit. Fast.

The Haunting

these words should be free, unshackled, without form and rising out of a void like creation from chaos and a big bang. instead the visions arrange themselves around the language of pauses in commas semicolons and sighs. oft repeated. same words, same vision, same nightmare, same color.

the words inside are wilder than the strange winds that whirl around the unsuspecting soul caught in a pillar of lust impervious to everything but the sense of touch. Or the thought and vision of it.

these words surround you and hold you captive in their silence. for right now the only answer is to ignore these alphabet conjugations and forget what you see in the spaces and the shadows.

For what do you see but the words stifled by hauntings of hands that traced letters and secrets and drew patterns on your body? What do you see? Too many words you wrote on the other's skin, that now there can be no more?

shadow play behind closed eyes

What do you see when you close your eyes? Do you see what I see? And if you do, tell me - how do you sleep at night, if you sleep at all? And if you sleep, how do you keep yourself from gettin trapped in a nightmare, from screaming and waking up in fear?

This worries me - if you don't see what I see, then are the visions that keep you awake worse than the colors and the gray that torments me? Is it a longer shadow? A darker, colder fear? Then I am the weak one, for giving in to my lesser nightmare, for waking in a cold sweat from a more bearable fire.

And i am ashamed.

On Writing (and Not Writing)

scribble. why do i write? b'cuz its a visual form of speech? so are the blank pages a direct result of silence?

a place where the bridge doesn't burn...

...cuz there wasn't a bridge?

Just a river flowing by, running by, as if it desperately had someplace to go to, someone to meet. And the sound of the water as it hits the shoreline- 'wish-wash, wish-wash...' yeah, you wish and and you wish and then it gets washed away. All that remains is mud.

This place is quiet. I am alone - there's just the river, the wind and the sky. And the birds for company. Night approaches and brings along a gentle rain. No stars. Not a single star. And thoughts go dark...

There is the temptation to walk into the water, or to walk away and never return. Then I suddenly see a kingfisher and forget the thought. Temporarily. I toy with the idea - on and off. Every movement is a fight against it, for though the mind is dead and has given up, the body wants to survive. In moments like these, you realize they are separate entities...and you know if the body gets too tired to fight, then walkin into the river is...no longer an option, but an action already taken.

Darkness is here. And even if there were a bridge, I wouldn't have been able to see it. I still can't see it. So now I just will myself not to look for it, tell myself to forget looking for it for there is none. And try to just breathe...one breath at a time.

Stillborn

If words could kill a person, break down a life, can't it also define one, make it whole? For God is in the words; or is he in the spaces between the letters and the lines of text, holding it all together so we can make sense out of it? Then by tearing apart these words, do we break God into bits?

I try, I tear, I try again
and it doesn't make sense,
I tear it all apart
and then there is great silence.
But no peace. No peace.
So I save a sentence a word a syllable
in a sigh
and it tears apart something inside
giving birth to
stillborn screams.
Do I dare try again?

Why I asked you for an autumn leaf...

When I think of autumn, I think of somebody with hands who does not want me to die.
- The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison

So would you then pick up that dying leaf and breathe life and color into its veins? For me?

Colors

Let me tell you about colors.

First came yellow. Bright golden sand in the afternoon sun, the sun white-hot, the sand golden, changing shades every second, a distraction...The color of light. When you see people in this color, you can trust them.

Blue. A lovely word that rolls off your tongue, a lovely color, a piece of sky. This you can stare at forever without taking your eyes off for a minute...

Red. Lust. Love. Loss. Blood. Passion. A rose by any other name?? This is a color that once you're smeared in it, there's no way you can get it off you. Or get it off the canvas. There it will remain under all the other colors you've painted over it to hide the shade. Other colors change when mixed with this one - you'd get wine red, lavender, lilac...so you need to be sure of what color you need. And deal with red in your own way. Blood congeals. The bruises change from red to purple to brown to yellow and disappear. Disappear. Maybe.

Black. Night. The color of a certain kind of fear.

Oh, other fears are orange-red. This is the fear that you can feel permeating throughout your body, like molten lava...it burns and freezes on you at the same time. The lake of fire. A kind of hell.

Words, Music and Images

In the beginning was the word. Scribbled on walls, you think you are the first to dicover language, not yet aware of those ancient writings on other walls that weighed a life and passed judgement in just four words; not aware of their power. How a woman by changing a single word caused the exile from Eden, and gave a meaning for the word 'loss'.

Here, you just begin to discover, unearth, ascertain, learn...and what do you learn? That words have different meanings based on tone, time, thought, who said or wrote it, ...so you learn that you'd be a fool to trust them...you bend words, it takes on a new guise. And so you learn to tread carefully. You learn there's a virtue in silence.

Then you hear the words, and the sound astounds you, the music gets to you. The haunting has begun. The music haunts the silence you had wrapped around yourself for protection. Its the only way now for others to get through to you. Its the way you think you'd be able to get through...everything. So you teach yourself to listen to the music behind the words that people speak to understand what they really mean. But sometimes, the music is too loud, the words faint, and once again - its a kind of loss.

You make up for this loss with the images that rise in front of your eyes. But this is a last conscious move. For the images become indelible. And most times its not just another pretty picture. Sometimes these are just dark shadows that flit across the room, the spaces in your head. And these may lead to nightmares. Sometimes. Most times. A positive side to this is you don't forget. The downside - you remember...

The Funeral Planner

When I'm dead, and assuming I'm not thrown out to the vultures and there'll be someone around to bury me, here's a list of how I'd want it done. [How I love making lists].

1. Red and black balloons. End of the 'service', please release 'em to the skies dear friends, romans, countrymen. (Did I forget to mention I want to be buried under a tree? Any tree that has red flowers, which will drift and rest on my grave every fall.)

2. Ice-cream. Death by Chocolate. Served to all kind enough to attend. (Folks, I'm real grateful, but not all that grateful - sorry, no booze).

3. Music - now this is difficult. Since I can't make up my mind about this, lets just say rock? No, don't throw stones, just play Everything Burns, In the End, Going Under and Coming Back to Life. In that order. Now those are for me. If you folks want something else, bring your own CDs and dance.

4. Now very important: 2 minute eulogies, I rather listen to the songs from down under than well-thought out lies. (Again, I've assumed someone will want to say something, and that someone will attend. With optimism levels as high as this, I'm goin to have a very long life.)

That's that. Finis. Let me get on with life.

Another Kind of Death

when you feel like you contain nothing
except ashes, smoke and dust

when you stare at walls and realize
that you built them

when you stumble through ancient paths
and clutch only air

when you hear laughter bounce off the floor
and cannot remember how to smile

when you feel the rain on your face
like stings of poison darts

when you see visions of words
fade into shadows in a purple sky

when you know you cannot
give anything in return

when you don't know a thing
except that you can't live

this way

About Death

Yesterday I went for a walk. 4 hours. 2 hours in the light drizzle. Didn't cover much of a distance as I paused now and then, watching the trees, the flowers on the ground; stepped aside to let other pass by, stopped for the cars to whiz by. And a long pause in front of the cemetery on the Dead Zone (as a friend once called it).

No, I didn't go inside, just stopped and stared at the graves - some fondly remembered and smothered with red flowers, yellow flowers, (I don't know anything about flowers, and I don't think the dead care much either); some forgotten, some with elaborate heavy tombstones (to keep the dead from escaping the depths and wandering I suppose), and some with plain slabs of granite...dearly beloved...here lies...born - dead...

Thought of all those dead and gone to some other world, heaven, hell, planet Z, who cares...what kind of lives they must have led, no, more important, what kind of death? Is there a difference in the death of a 20-something and an 80 year old hag? People sigh 'oh but its not fair, he was so young...' and 'oh thank god her suffering has come to an end'.

What I think is that it is just selfishness of people that speaks in both cases - you sigh when a young thing dies, cuz he or she isn't goin to contribute to your household expenses anymore; or if they were wastrels, there is yet the possibility that they would have turned a new leaf and if nothing else, take care of their old and dwindling parents. As for the 80 something who dies, a burden is off their heads, all the expenses and the trauma of taking care of a cantakerous old geezer is over for good.

That's just about it. All the pain you feel is for yourself, cuz what you feel is an amputation - that a person you need to feel needed has left you. Forever. The grim reaper with his sickle chops more than one in a single sweep. You get to keep the scars.