Tag Archives: Ph.D.

Anamnesis with 15 Cites.

How to work when the pain is so great it slows even time? Indefatigable voice curling around and in on itself in the gut/womb space where I’ve put it down, you rise when and where I deny my body most: in the clinical waiting room; at the doors of the academy. [1] You are more familiar than I can say of my own touch on my own skin, as unpredictable a receptive surface as it is. A long time ago I knew that the point of my elbow will nervously caress the back of my throat, my right leg laid horizontal is a spire of tattoo ink run into my big toe.
The institution would have me call it “burning,” “aching,” “swelling,” “throbbing.” The same staple words of bad erotica, turned sterile to suit the bodiless worlds of hospital and university. [2] A carefully crafted, scientistic semantic field that wrongs patients, experts, scholars alike.
Really the institution would say I must be confused, because pain doesn’t typically refer like that.

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“Artistic integrity is a problem for you.”

Dream Log: 8/21/16

If this project were called “creative writing,” I wouldn’t question my instincts. Because it’s called “research,” I constantly feel the oppressive shadow of the Ivory Tower: Western, masculine, rational and orderly, demanding I leave my body and its (feminine, chaotic, threatening) intuition behind if I intend to progress further (Detienne & Vernant, 1974; Wilkinson, 1997; Metta, 2015). But the novelistic attitude and narrative inquiry exist on the same plane as ethnography. The use of fictional tactics like narrative plot, composite characters, and theoretical fiction are less alien to social science than (I think) I’ve been conditioned to think (Ellis, 2004; Gibbs, 2005; Spry, 2011; Smith, 2013). Footnotes and other radical citation forms abound in the writing of authors like Carolyn Ellis, Art Bochner, Anna Gibbs, Phil Smith, Aliza Kolker, etc., all of whom seem to recognize that parentheticals interrupt the narrative experience. The line that keeps recurring in my head is, Artistic integrity is a problem for you, but why does “research” mean I have to resist, or edit, or denigrate the forms that emerge as most effective for any project in question? Like Tanya Wilkinson (1997), who recovers her gut epistemology through dream analysis, I find myself asking all the time, Why can’t I bring my sick woman’s body and its particular brand of metis back?

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Really, we’re calling adjuncts “whiny” and “entitled” now?

Been watching this unfold in my inbox on WPA-L all day. As one such adjunct, I have not the words yet, but eventually I expect I will, once the anger dies down about how the people who are actually entitled, or lucky enough to be secure, or secure enough to not have to recognize that sometimes there are no other options, are always going to exist, say shit like this, and completely ignore the fact that if all adjuncts had other (emotionally, physically, etc.) viable options? The machine, sans cogs, would stop working.

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Consolation prizes.

My to-do list is a mile long, so obviously I’m updating my blog. In my absence, I’ve been publishing creatively—check out my pieces in r.kv.r.y and DIAGRAM if you haven’t already followed all my buzz about it on Facebook or Twitter—reworking my novel for the final time, and teaching three courses, while attempting to read a book or two for that dissertation proposal I have to write, probably sooner than I’d like to. Besides all that, I’ll break down my life like this: Fuck you, American healthcare system; and fuck you, American system of education that accepts the semi-hazing process of working yourself to the bone to simultaneously finance a higher degree and survive; and fuck you, government standards of disability that indicate that if you are at all functional, you’re not in enough pain to qualify for anything.

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Let’s see you grit those teeth (version Simon)

I realize now I’ve titled these posts by puncher, not by target, when maybe it should have been the other way around. Am I subconsciously thinking of myself as the one capable of administering the blow that brings the other to his senses? I think I always feel more like the target, the one desperately in need of that punch to remind me that things are possible, I am capable, and TMJ notwithstanding I can still grit my teeth. And maybe it’s related to the purpose of this post, that I rely so heavily on narratives as sense-making making devices, as new ways of understanding not only my subject position but also those of others. That I am interested in the semiotics involved in manipulating the cognitive processes that transpire in the space between eye and text object, whether they pertain to our methods of reading and looking or our understandings of visual-verbal combinations: what W. J. T. Mitchell called”image-text” relations–that is, relations between the image and the word: namely, the “imagetext,” or syntheses of visual and verbal elements that accord and/or amplify meaning; the “image/text,” in which the synthesis is dissonant and visual and verbal meanings undermine, contradict, or elide each other (p. 89). This was, after all, my method of analysis in my paper on the simulation of PTSD in the visual-verbal juxtapositions in Gurren Lagann, which in retrospect might have made for a more controlled case study. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

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Let’s see you grit those teeth (version Kamina)

I don’t even know why this happened but it is so stuck in my head and I want it out. Video unrelated. Or maybe, given her sheer absurdity and zaniness (I refer you to “PONPONPON” if you’re not already familiar with it), I can actually make Kyary relevant to something I’ve worked on, if I have the brainpower and willpower to do so.

Not sure I have either after that.

Still, because I can barely remember my own name through this fibro-fog, and because my last post really cleared some things up for me, I’m going to take the time and space here to (ethically) reflect on everything I need to be thinking about for the oral defense portion of my qualifying exams: i.e., as much as I can without revealing anything about my questions or answers. tl;dr version: I feel like this is the worst piece of writing I’ve produced in my entire life; I’m ashamed that it ever saw the light of day; but I suppose it got me thinking above and beyond the question and I’m going to attempt to record those threads before they, like my name, escape me too. And in an ideal world, that’s the real goal of the exam, right?

Here is a story before I delve into my quals woes. I get into a psychotherapy debate with my therapist. My therapist kills it by noting, Maybe the real question is of a higher order than this. If you know this much about the profession and its techniques, why not indicate to me that you have this knowledge?

Well, I say. What do I know? I’m no expert. I have no right to challenge those who are.

It always boils down to this.

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The Omega Point.

happyfamily

Left to right: Jaws (young adult), Shogun Star (baby), Fused Tooth (young adult), Big Mouth (young adult)

 

Picture unrelated. But aren’t they precious? They hit their spring/summer growth spurt as I was in the middle of my comps. Nice of them to be my cheerleaders during this rough time.

My oral defense is on Monday, and because I’m terrified of revisiting my comps answers, I’m (productively?) doing nothing and letting my thoughts about each question settle. I’ve got a few irrelevant problems overwhelming my brain, and I thought I could clear my head by thinking through them here, which will hopefully enable me to face my own writing. First, my theoretical positioning; second, the body as a technical assemblage; third, what the hell am I doing with my life.

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Calling a spade a spade

Lately I’ve been thinking about a horizontal eyebrow piercing. It’s an idle thought. I doubt I’ll ever modify any part of my face. My reasoning has less to do with how it might affect my employment opportunities, however, and more to do with issues like my tendency to develop raised scars, or the number of times I faceplant on my laptop or my bed, which can’t be good for healing. I’ve dealt with some difficult healing processes with the tattoos and piercings I already sport, and right now I’m not willing to modify my sleeping position further.

Talking about body modification may seem like an odd entry point to a discussion of information transparency in academia, but bear with me. Continue reading

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Critical Information Conference 2012

Excerpts from a panel on street art, hacktivism, and subversive inspiration at the Critical Information Conference 2012, held at the School of Visual Arts. The paper I presented, titled “We Do it for the Lulz: Graffiti as a Metaphor for Digital Defacement,” emerged out of research I am conducting regarding the political viability of DDoS actions as hacktivism. As they are so often accompanied by cyber-graffiti, I thought I’d take a shot at addressing their role and significance in hacktivist practice.

Materials from the entire conference can be found here.

Upcoming projects include a conference paper on the convergence of comics, animation, and gaming in the webcomic Homestuck, a conference paper on lurking as a methodology for studying 4chan, an optional random paper on polemology, art, and The Dark Knight Rises, and uploading textfile versions of current and pending publications.

Still waiting with bated breath to receive edits on a piece on the logics of misogyny on 4chan, still thrilled by being included in Black Clock 16, and still keeping busy, as always.

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Too little coffee, even less time.

This was my overarching impression of my first year as a Ph.D. student: too much reading, too much coursework, too much busy work, for any real reflection outside of class sessions.  Forget integration with preexisting or current research, or time spent with the subject of research.  There was too much insistence on fast turnaround and constant production, the same old reliance on the inescapable “publish-or-perish” adage, with the added pressure to present at conferences, seek out internships and future funding opportunities, collaborate, research, endure.

This is what I found so startling, this emphasis on endurance over enjoyment, on gritting your teeth through coursework to reach the relief of quals and the dissertation process, what should ostensibly be the most depressing, isolating portion of the Ph.D. experience.  But the most repeated (and dare I say soundest) piece of advice I received all semester was the vague encouragement that “it does get better.”  I’m still not convinced.

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