Huck Walker's Blog, page 3
February 9, 2014
Back into the swing.The local council wants to build a ca...
Back into the swing.
The local council wants to build a car park in front of our house. It's frustrating. They voted on the idea late last year and are now seeking written submissions, possibly to say what an awesome idea it is to put a bunch of cars right up against our front fence.
NO
I'm not thrilled by the idea. I hope my submission is not ignored.On a brighter note, book two is progressing. I'm forcing myself to write, instead of playing silly compooda games, in my discretionary time. It's wierd because I feel like I'm back on the roller coaster of emotions; being frustrated by self doubt and blockage one minute then overly enthusiastic the next. I have a goal for my writing, which I won't be sharing blithely lest it becomes diminished or diluted, but I can share that the goal exists.
The local council wants to build a car park in front of our house. It's frustrating. They voted on the idea late last year and are now seeking written submissions, possibly to say what an awesome idea it is to put a bunch of cars right up against our front fence.
NOI'm not thrilled by the idea. I hope my submission is not ignored.On a brighter note, book two is progressing. I'm forcing myself to write, instead of playing silly compooda games, in my discretionary time. It's wierd because I feel like I'm back on the roller coaster of emotions; being frustrated by self doubt and blockage one minute then overly enthusiastic the next. I have a goal for my writing, which I won't be sharing blithely lest it becomes diminished or diluted, but I can share that the goal exists.
January 10, 2014
Some Circles in my head
Ok, so I want to make a relatively large circle. Take a 1m (square) tile and shave a thin triangle off one edge, cutting 0.999977032mm in from the corner on one side and meeting flush with the other corner (on that side). Now I’m sure it would look like a square to a casual observer, but if you laid this type of tile end to end it would eventually make a circle 2km in diameter.I think that would be fun (and potentially useful).It would require 6 284 tiles, with about 715mm of overlap, to complete the first layer of the circle. Now I need to work out how long it would take to manufacture that many tiles at what available thickness. (I’m estimating about 50mm)This is one branch of thinking that has been frustrating me for the past week. The writing plans that I’ve been entertaining for half a year have met with a wall of speculation as my brain wrestles on several fronts, trying to pull together a diverse range of fields where I am master of none. Still, I will persist.
"Thinking about circles"[Pen on paper - approx A6]
"Thinking about circles"[Pen on paper - approx A6]
December 9, 2013
I've spent the last few days reading a lot of writing bot...
I've spent the last few days reading a lot of writing both about Maria Montessori and some of her own writings about her teaching method. There is a lot to consider.
A dichotomy arises from the twin ideas of 'secure autonomy' and 'purposeful activity'. How do the edges of 'purposeful activity' and compulsive or addictive behaviour get separated when a student has chosen to engage in repetitive activity that, from an external observation, employs skills but does not seem to provide an increase to potential?
When working, as I currently do, for a department of education, the direction of purpose is set by policy; a reflection of current paradigmns distilled from those who claim a stake in public education. This is a melange of citizenry and shifting powers of influence, swaying and pulling at curriculum, averaging it around the teacher and pupils, defining what is purposeful and mandating what is necessary. This curriculum states clearly what activities are acceptable and those that are deemed to be frivolous.
In the private arena, where an underlying principal or methodology leads the curriculum, where is the definition of 'purpose' that judges the value of an activity? The Montessori method claims to be non-secular and respectful of diversity and student driven investigation, does that mean that the students decide what is purposeful, or, as I suspect, do the more localised stakeholders of parents and teachers determine the value system that the children are to be guided towards.
I hope to find out.
"Bird"[ballpoint on scrap piece of paper during budget meeting... and yes, I was still listening!]
A dichotomy arises from the twin ideas of 'secure autonomy' and 'purposeful activity'. How do the edges of 'purposeful activity' and compulsive or addictive behaviour get separated when a student has chosen to engage in repetitive activity that, from an external observation, employs skills but does not seem to provide an increase to potential?
When working, as I currently do, for a department of education, the direction of purpose is set by policy; a reflection of current paradigmns distilled from those who claim a stake in public education. This is a melange of citizenry and shifting powers of influence, swaying and pulling at curriculum, averaging it around the teacher and pupils, defining what is purposeful and mandating what is necessary. This curriculum states clearly what activities are acceptable and those that are deemed to be frivolous.
In the private arena, where an underlying principal or methodology leads the curriculum, where is the definition of 'purpose' that judges the value of an activity? The Montessori method claims to be non-secular and respectful of diversity and student driven investigation, does that mean that the students decide what is purposeful, or, as I suspect, do the more localised stakeholders of parents and teachers determine the value system that the children are to be guided towards.
I hope to find out.
"Bird"[ballpoint on scrap piece of paper during budget meeting... and yes, I was still listening!]
November 15, 2013
(something from the blurred past)
More of the same.
My teeth rattle against this metal. The sides of my face are a constant callous. I pull the weight through the water. The land slips past me the wrong way. I push extra hard. The water bunches up in front and the land slows to a stand-still.
My legs and my jaw ache and finally I cannot continue. My body weakens. I slipped under with a little air and let the load drag me back.
Imagine the pace of the land...
I don't care anymore-
Too tired-
Not sure why I would do it in the first place.
In the fading dimness I feel my back against the weight and the ropes of my yoke. The water pushes on my face. My load and I are caught. Most likely on a rock or log.
"This," I think, "Is where I remain."
The water is cool on my tired body. The last of my air plods its way out of me.
ho hum.
...
My face hurts. My body is warm and dry.
Puke on my chest. I am hanging between the poles of my yoke, hanging over the burden which I pulled. The cart has caught fully on the rock and, turned by the flow, has lifted my skinny self above the waters. I am raised quite high. I now can see even my bloodied feet above the river.
I now can see far ahead. I now can see the forgotten place of my yearning - and remember.
I see the straps and metals that bind me were of my own design, and for what burden?
Crap.
Weighing me down.
All crap.
I can see by degrees how this tinsel would collect itself by me. Fetishes for the journey. How they would destroy me.
The straps and bindings of the yoke are simple and I disarm them.
I stand on this pile of mess with the water churning around.
I breathe quietly.
There is no rush.
My teeth rattle against this metal. The sides of my face are a constant callous. I pull the weight through the water. The land slips past me the wrong way. I push extra hard. The water bunches up in front and the land slows to a stand-still.
My legs and my jaw ache and finally I cannot continue. My body weakens. I slipped under with a little air and let the load drag me back.
Imagine the pace of the land...
I don't care anymore-
Too tired-
Not sure why I would do it in the first place.
In the fading dimness I feel my back against the weight and the ropes of my yoke. The water pushes on my face. My load and I are caught. Most likely on a rock or log.
"This," I think, "Is where I remain."
The water is cool on my tired body. The last of my air plods its way out of me.
ho hum.
...
My face hurts. My body is warm and dry.
Puke on my chest. I am hanging between the poles of my yoke, hanging over the burden which I pulled. The cart has caught fully on the rock and, turned by the flow, has lifted my skinny self above the waters. I am raised quite high. I now can see even my bloodied feet above the river.
I now can see far ahead. I now can see the forgotten place of my yearning - and remember.
I see the straps and metals that bind me were of my own design, and for what burden?
Crap.
Weighing me down.
All crap.
I can see by degrees how this tinsel would collect itself by me. Fetishes for the journey. How they would destroy me.
The straps and bindings of the yoke are simple and I disarm them.
I stand on this pile of mess with the water churning around.
I breathe quietly.
There is no rush.
November 9, 2013
Ten Past
It’s ten past midnight. The back room looks out onto the garden, but the light from the kitchen reflects off the French doors, obscuring everything but the plate metal spider hanging in its ring of wood. Guarding the yard.This room has been returned to a functional state. Not least because the of the newly laid laminated flooring or the large white desk, but the weather is no longer so cold as to make the space unbearable.I’ve been reading ‘Spook Country’ by William Gibson and dwelling on the ‘Gargoyle’ character as described by Neil Stevenson in his book Snow Crash: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/830.Snow_Crash?ac=1I’ve fantasised often about getting a hold on a pair of interactive goggles, preferably ‘Glass’ by Google. I can see myself using these, along with a portable keyboard and other useful peripherals, to teach more effectively: Front Ending or Flipping my classroom by recording lessons and editing them down to useful instructionals would be useful for all kinds of students and it would be great to be able to do things like navigate, amplify and manipulate the digital environment on the interactive whiteboard without having to look away from the class or be tied to the board or computer.
I also like the idea of using this technology to leave digital structures or ‘invisible graffiti’ around the traps. Tying two dimensional, three dimensional and interactive (scripted) constructs to the real world environment as described in 'Spook Country'. I think it would be lots of fun.Here is a drawing I did on Friday when at a Deputy Principals’ conference:
Untitled[Ballpoint pen on paper - A5]( a little annoyed that my scanner can't pick up the detail ) One of the things that came of the day was a reminder that many of the people in the upper executive in NSW Department of Education and Communities are significantly older than myself, putting many of them at or near retirement age. There is definitely an interesting and turbulent time ahead in the teaching profession as this group of people with their wealth of experience and corporate knowledge move out of the field and a significantly younger, much less experienced group take their place. On the plus side, the enthusiasm of youth and the new ideas will be a great boost, however, with the changes to funding models, increases in principal discretion, more stringent prerequisites for undertaking educational studies, new syllabuses, growing technological demands and generally rising levels of teacher scrutiny and accountability I currently feel like the profession is under siege.Maybe I’m just tired.
November 5, 2013
We have a single person sauna in the house. It's infra-re...
We have a single person sauna in the house. It's infra-red based. A big pine box with a short bench and several heating panels stuck to the walls and door.
When it was bought I thought it might be an expensive white elephant. But I was very wrong. I use it regularly, setting the temperature to 70 degrees Celsius (or 158 Fahrenheit for the metrically challenged). After it has heated up, I sit in there for 33 minutes, dwelling on whatever passes through my brain-pan. It's awesome. I often call it 'The Revalatorium' for all the great ideas it has gifted me with.
Recently, I was baking myself in the sauna while listening to some 'Data' [Ancient electronic experimentia]. The layered mixtures of digitally birthed sounds and warped samples was assisting the thinking process. When there were about five minutes to go on the sauna's timer I realised that the music I was listening to was new, as if there were an extra track or file, one that I had overlooked or just hadn't bothered listening to before. I listened intently for a couple of minutes before I looked at my phone and discovered that the music player had switched off.
The music wasn't coming from my phone.
In the seconds following this discovery, while I was staring at the phone in a delirious, sweaty confusion, the music dissolved from my hearing.
I'd like to think the music was a gift from my brain; extrapolating the patterns it had been exploring in the music for my listening pleasure. I choose to believe that I'm not cooking my grey matter in the sauna. I'm fairly certain I'm not yet hopelessly delusional.
Here is a drawing completed in a meeting recently:
[Very sloppy inky pen on an a4 sheet of fun]
When it was bought I thought it might be an expensive white elephant. But I was very wrong. I use it regularly, setting the temperature to 70 degrees Celsius (or 158 Fahrenheit for the metrically challenged). After it has heated up, I sit in there for 33 minutes, dwelling on whatever passes through my brain-pan. It's awesome. I often call it 'The Revalatorium' for all the great ideas it has gifted me with.
Recently, I was baking myself in the sauna while listening to some 'Data' [Ancient electronic experimentia]. The layered mixtures of digitally birthed sounds and warped samples was assisting the thinking process. When there were about five minutes to go on the sauna's timer I realised that the music I was listening to was new, as if there were an extra track or file, one that I had overlooked or just hadn't bothered listening to before. I listened intently for a couple of minutes before I looked at my phone and discovered that the music player had switched off.
The music wasn't coming from my phone.
In the seconds following this discovery, while I was staring at the phone in a delirious, sweaty confusion, the music dissolved from my hearing.
I'd like to think the music was a gift from my brain; extrapolating the patterns it had been exploring in the music for my listening pleasure. I choose to believe that I'm not cooking my grey matter in the sauna. I'm fairly certain I'm not yet hopelessly delusional.
Here is a drawing completed in a meeting recently:
[Very sloppy inky pen on an a4 sheet of fun]November 2, 2013
night terror
I have not been writing for a while, but this week I had a very special kind of dream. It was so real. So tangible that it has followed me through my days, threatening to rob me of my easy demeanour. Here it is, as best as I can recall;
It is after hours and only the security lights are on. The corridor is dim, but not dark enough for her. She wants to show me her new toy. It’s a video camera with amazing low-light recording. She is so excited. She is urging me on ahead and looking for just the right spot to test it out. “Go in there!” she gushes, pointing to the dark gap in the wall where the public restroom stands abandoned. A wedge of tiles shows on the floor at the entrance. Beyond is pitch blackness.“Ok.” I go in, just far enough to be concealed by the darkness.“Yes, great! Oh, wow. This is amazing! I can see you so clearly!” she says.I’m looking at her from the darkness, out there in the dim hallway. She marvels at the screen of her camera, smiling. I twist back and forth, giving her a moment more, but I want to be out of the dark. It’s chilly in the dark. The tiles absorb the heat from my body.Some uncertainty on my face must have shown and she looks up. “Here. You have a go.”I skip out eagerly, taking the camera from her.She goes in, much further into the gloom, all the way to the blind corner, to the deep and unpalatable black.“Can you see me?” she asks.She is a painted green figure. Bright tones and dull, but all green. Very clear. Very crisp on the tiny screen of the device. Her eyes are bright lime and reflecting like the eyes of a cat. “Yes. I see you.”She moves deeper into the dark and I must follow. She ducks down and aside, testing me. I follow her with the camera but there is a pair of legs behind her.“There is someone in here!”I raise the camera and my friend comes to my shoulder. Through the tiny screen we see a girl. She is standing in the dark by the sink. Her eyes are wide green lamps, her little teeth glint as she grins, chatting soundlessly, looking past us both, her hands held together, tight to her chest. “Joanne?” says my friend, “Joanne what are you doing here?”But Joanne natters without noise to an unseen audience, conspiring with imaginary companions, and the tiles are sucking the lingering warmth from my flesh.“We have to get her out of here,” I say. My friend reaches for Joanne. The little green screen in my hand seems to be shrinking as the blackness presses in.“We have to get out!”Behind Joanne, from the void, a form lifts silently from the ground to hang in plain view. Another girl. Her limbs are twisted at rare angles. Her body is held aloft by means unholy. Her skirt and hair hang limp. Her face, pulled back, is frozen in fear and anger, staring at the wall.And I can’t move. The cold has reached my bones.The darkness has us all.There is no escape.
****************************************************************
Hux’s note: When I woke from this dream my body was cold. Despite the heavy coverings and the warm night air, despite the heat from my wife beside me, my body was frigid. It was a while before I could warm myself. Even longer before I could banish the faces of those poor girls from my cortex.I also needed to go to the bathroom, but that was the last place I would venture while the sun was still so far from the horizon.
October 4, 2013
I've been lobotomised.The sneaky trickster that whispered...
I've been lobotomised.
The sneaky trickster that whispered sickly jokes has been replaced by a ceaseless wandering multitude of pedestrian horrors. They tramp the cracked concrete streets, their heads bowed, their jaws slack and numb, humming unimaginative concerns that can't be ignored. They drain life and humour with talk of lost opportunities, of risks not taken and always the promise of shortcomings just over the horizon.
In moments of clarity I can see them; grey and shaggy, feeding off the unwary.
Ghouls.
[here is a mostly unrelated picture - ballpoint on paper - untitled]
The sneaky trickster that whispered sickly jokes has been replaced by a ceaseless wandering multitude of pedestrian horrors. They tramp the cracked concrete streets, their heads bowed, their jaws slack and numb, humming unimaginative concerns that can't be ignored. They drain life and humour with talk of lost opportunities, of risks not taken and always the promise of shortcomings just over the horizon.
In moments of clarity I can see them; grey and shaggy, feeding off the unwary.
Ghouls.
[here is a mostly unrelated picture - ballpoint on paper - untitled]
September 15, 2013
I'm still alive.I don't know if anyone has been reading t...
I'm still alive.
I don't know if anyone has been reading this blog, but people might be wondering what the hell has been going on.
For the last nine weeks I've been in the Deputy Principal position at my school. I thing about a fifth of that time I've been acting as Principal too. (Mind boggling...) That hasn't left an awful lot of time or energy for much else. I keep thinking that it will calm down a bit... but it doesn't. I just have to force myself to push through the fatigue if I want to be able to get any decent writing / drawing done.
I presented at annual MANSW Conference (Mathematics Association of New South Wales) on Friday. There aren't many situations where I still get nervous talking to groups of people, but presenting to a bunch of mathematics teachers is one of them. I spoke about my time as a re-trainee mathematics teacher and showed them a selection of finely wrought activities.
It went ok.
Besides the other presentations and the food, the best thing about the conference was sitting and drawing while people carried on about maff! It was great. Here is the pic of the pics from a few pages of scribbling.
'Blockhead' [ballpoint on a5 cartridge]
I don't know if anyone has been reading this blog, but people might be wondering what the hell has been going on.
For the last nine weeks I've been in the Deputy Principal position at my school. I thing about a fifth of that time I've been acting as Principal too. (Mind boggling...) That hasn't left an awful lot of time or energy for much else. I keep thinking that it will calm down a bit... but it doesn't. I just have to force myself to push through the fatigue if I want to be able to get any decent writing / drawing done.
I presented at annual MANSW Conference (Mathematics Association of New South Wales) on Friday. There aren't many situations where I still get nervous talking to groups of people, but presenting to a bunch of mathematics teachers is one of them. I spoke about my time as a re-trainee mathematics teacher and showed them a selection of finely wrought activities.
It went ok.
Besides the other presentations and the food, the best thing about the conference was sitting and drawing while people carried on about maff! It was great. Here is the pic of the pics from a few pages of scribbling.
'Blockhead' [ballpoint on a5 cartridge]
July 27, 2013
Sexy Time
I'm quite sure that I will be writing at least one sex scene in the second novel. I'll have to wait until the relationships develop more context before I get the characters to do the fictional wiggle.
I wrote a couple of sex scenes into The Griefing. Looking back over it I was surprised by how coy I was in writing them. I know that I could have been graphic, frighteningly atomically correct and fairly squelchy, but it just wouldn't have worked.
The following picture owes its existence to several forty minute stints in the sauna at 70 degrees Celsius (158 Fahrenheit). The start of the picture was slightly spooky, in that it seemed a bit lewd, but as I kept at it I realised that it was becoming increasingly 'organic'. Several times I was tempted to just delete it, but I thought that wanted to see where it would go.
Well, now I know.
"Strange Bedfellows"
I wrote a couple of sex scenes into The Griefing. Looking back over it I was surprised by how coy I was in writing them. I know that I could have been graphic, frighteningly atomically correct and fairly squelchy, but it just wouldn't have worked.
The following picture owes its existence to several forty minute stints in the sauna at 70 degrees Celsius (158 Fahrenheit). The start of the picture was slightly spooky, in that it seemed a bit lewd, but as I kept at it I realised that it was becoming increasingly 'organic'. Several times I was tempted to just delete it, but I thought that wanted to see where it would go.
Well, now I know.
"Strange Bedfellows"
