Tuesday, February 28, 2012
As he now lay in the blistering cold vastly covered in snow, he realized the true grit of Jacks words as well as the fallacy of his own. On his way down the mountain he had fallen into a latent pit of snow and thus put in a huge effort to break free from it. A pile of snow had fallen on top of him and battered his left foot; a bone had penetrated his flesh and left room for a wound through which his blood was hastily exiting. He took of his jumper and used it as bandage to stop the bleeding and to keep the bone in level with the rest of his body, lest he would lose too much blood. Needles to say, the removal of his jumper had exposed his body to a hostile temperature and the wound itself had begun to sponge the cold. He knew he had to move, if he was to make it home, let alone survive.
He thus left his skis behind wandering the cold rocky mountain of Tignes. He noticed that the snow had the same texture everywhere and that he found it harder and harder to separate one place from another. The cold was getting to him and he knew it. It exhausted his navigation skills. He knew this because he usually had excellent navigation skills. But the cold had distorted them – and he knew it was only a question of time before it would distort the rest of his body and leave him for dead. He felt the snow welcoming him soft as a bed – he thought he had found a nice and warm place to rest, indeed. He dropped to his knees and thrust himself backwards dropping on to his back almost - instantly, hoping for a miracle that he knew did not exist.
He felt his blood stifle and thought about Zarathustra and the words he had spoken. He knew that nature would not main him, nor suspend her laws for his sake. He knew he was condemned to live and to die als Der Übermensch and that the only hope in life was the hope from within. Suddenly Nietzsche was no longer of much consolation to him. But he knew that it was true: One could either rule, be ruled - or die. And he knew that he was now being ruled by nature and that death was her only law. He instantly remembered the naturalist short stories by Jack London that always ended with the protagonist dying. Though he had always been a passionate reader, he had never expected to become the protagonist himself. That was it! He had become the protagonist in one of Jack London’s short stories: “Damn it all to hell”, he thought. He knew he was no longer capable of ruling. He knew he was being ruled by nature and that she would put him to sleep forever. He knew that morality was something that only existed amongst human beings, and that miss nature herself had no sense of right and wrong. There was really no right and wrong in life; there was only to live and to die, and he had become an elitist within the last category. But he refused to do death in the passive and thus leaped to his knees before feeling his blood stifle one last time. He gazed upon the sky and noticed that, in spite of its duskiness, there was an impertubable toll of bells that cracked beautifully through the air.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
I have marked
that were in
you were probably
to hear about
they were delicious
and so cool
In prose: all who have handed in have received a pass grade (with the exception of one student who failed on a technicality. That student has been notified separately).
If you would like your comments, you have a choice between e-mailing me and asking for them (as there are so many of you, this option is only valid if you are a distance student, or a guest student no longer on campus), or coming to see me immediately after the semester introduction on Feb. 1st, 10-11 a.m. Failing that, e-mail me to set up an appointment at another time...
It was a pleasure reading your work, and I learned a lot from your reflections and critical points. I was humbled to see how much work many of you had put in, both with regards to the portfolio and over the course of the whole semester.
"This is just to say"...
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
At first I really did not know what to make of hyperfictional texts. Isn't it strange, that they are even called texts? I felt misslead, yes, even betrayed by this announcement. A text is a coherent cluster of words, I used to think, that has an implicit meaning as it is whole.
After this time you may of course still post and comment on each others' posts, but I will no longer be able to supply teacher comments in time for your portfolio hand-in deadline at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning...
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
200 words as an author of Comedy.
My response to hypertexts
Prior to us being introduced to the genre of hypertexts I hadn’t really given the phenomenon much thought. When we were then introduced to the hypertext http://openingsources.com/ I was truly amazed. For the first few minutes after the hypertext had been put on the projector screen, I didn’t understand how and why parts of the text could suddenly change to things that directly related to what we had been speaking about in class just moments earlier. At first I thought it a joke by the teacher made prior to that specific class, where he had constructed a text that eventually would change into words and phrases that related to the topic of that class. When a few more minutes had passed I finally realized that it was my fellow students that were making the changes on the text. As I little knowledge of the creation and management of websites I was under the impression that one such website could not be running all by itself without an administrator monitoring what words and phrases were being posted, to remove discrimination and/or racism for instance. Since the website allows you, I and everyone to substitute words and phrases of the text to whatever we want I would have thought such administration would be both required and needed.
Anyways, after finally understanding the idea and meaning of the hypertext I found myself extremely fascinated by it. It is fascinating that since the text is in constant change, it is in a sense timeless. This text will never be finished, but on the other hand it always is! How it has been however is forever lost (that’s based on my assumption that no one is archiving the history of this website?!). Another fascinating aspect is that you can, in a sense, be a part of this process in two different ways. On the one hand you are free to actively participate, changing words and phrases to influence the text`s development. On the other hand you can choose to just be an observer. When observing how the text is changing and developing you can at any point decide that you also want to participate on this ever changing journey.