Thursday, March 12, 2015

Sunrise Over Temporary Cubicle, or: Bleggalgaze

I know why I need prove to myself that my favorite posts are the least read, but here I am again.


  1. Sounds like suckitude at work. Sorry. Wisdoc went thru about 4-5 years of her boss demeaning and degrading her, taking her windowed research suite and sticking her in an oversize internal closet. After 26 years of service to our nation's mentally ill veterans. He got shitcanned in the recent DVA unpleasantness for many, many instances of the same. Things are better now, but man it was shitty for a long while. Hope it's not so much so for you.

    1. Work'snotsobad, standard gah. Was actually stunningly beautiful light at time of photo (and I'm going to ask Earthgirl if she wants to try to paint that photo) and I was the only one in the area so I didn't have to share it with anyone I didn't want to. View now sucks from temp cube, though new cube has no natural light at all. Move back tomorrow.

  2. comment at youtube 'new cube' is from me despite differing cybernom

    now that cubicles are a two-day topic, i give myself permission to repost once again a james tate poem with my anagogic commentary - adding, this time, a pointer to the song from the movie babe [plot not so different from the first part of tate's poem] -a musical tribute to the joy of living while under the gun of mortality set to a tune from Symphony No. 3 of Saint-Saëns

    "The Promotion" by James Tate

    I was a dog in my former life, a very good
    dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being.
    I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer
    guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes
    tried to get past me almost every night, and not
    once did I lose a sheep. the farmer rewarded me
    with good food, food from his table. He may have
    been poor, but he ate well. and his children
    played with me, when they weren’t in school or
    working in the field. I had all the love any dog
    could hope for. When I got old, they got a new
    dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade.
    He quickly learned, and the farmer brought me into
    the house to live with them. I brought the farmer
    his slippers in the morning, as he was getting
    old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a
    time. The farmer knew this and would bring the
    new dog in to visit me from time to time. The
    new dog would entertain me with his flips and
    flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just
    didn’t get up. They gave me a fine burial down
    by the stream under a shade tree. That was the
    end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so
    I sit by the window and cry. I live in a high-rise
    that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises.
    At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak
    to anyone all day. This is my reward for being
    a good dog. The human wolves don’t even see me.
    They fear me not.

    My analysis: I conclude that the cubicle dweller of Tate's poem is worse off in his current incarnation - his "promotion" to a human life has not gone well - for two reasons.

    1)His emotional needs were much better met in his life as a dog - Tate evokes this beautifully, and anyone who has loved a dog must be moved by this.

    2)Contrariwise, Tate's protagonist, looking backwards at his former happiness, has not yet grasped his current opportunity and responsibility for "the development of his soul", to use old-fashioned language.

    See the Monty Python creed - movie excerpt

    An exegesis of the above scene:

    Tate's protagonist is "reborn" into human circumstances, but he is immature in the sense that he is only reacting to, rather than mindfully and proactively responding to, his current place in the universe - he needs to be reminded of the possibility he has to "shine":