joshhansen.net

Category: reading and writing

  • The Epic of Zagmurf

    I went to Cheney to visit Susanna yesterday, and had a great time. After going out to lunch, she, Ben, and I all sat around watching me play World of Warcraft. I love games like that—which is why I forbid myself from regularly playing them, because I can’t seem to play in moderation. But, this just once wouldn’t hurt, right? 😉

    Anyway, I created a character—a night elf hunter, as a matter of fact. He was an mighty man, whose name, in the annals, was said to be Zagmurf. Yea, and in the first year of his hunting Zagmurf did slay many beasts of the forest: nasty spider things, and boars, and a rabbit. And Zagmurf waxed strong in the ways of questing, and he did level up.

    But lo, Zagmurf’s bow-hunting skills were wonderful great, even to exceed all in the realm of Shadowglen. Yea, he slew the beasts from afar, and their poison spraying upon him was like the soothing fall of rain on his skin. And in the second year of his hunting, Zagmurf did gain the Stalk Beasts skill, and received many a ruined pelt as his prize. Nevertheless, Zagmurf was a friend unto the beasts, slaying only that which was meet. And he was beloved of the woodland creatures.

    Yet in the third year of his hunting, Zagmurf was afflicted with an strange ailment, and did linger on the threshold of death, even until the forest animals did howl and cry at the sickening of so mighty a man. And in the fourth year, Zagmurf gave up the ghost, and returned to crumble unto dust upon the earth. And in that very hour, a boar did break forth into song, singing:

    The mighty hunter, Zagmurf, is dead!
    whose marvelous skill was exceeded only by his care.
    May his bowstring spring ever-tight!
    May his knife-blade glint ever-bright!
    Though his body rot in the grave’s earthy bed,
    In our mem’ry he’ll always be fair!

    And when the boar had sung his verse memorial, he was seen to shed a tear. Then stood forth a deer to speak honorful words over the corse of Zagmurf, saying:

    “Behold, all ye who loved Zagmurf! and hark, though your fathers were slain by his bow! Here lieth a man in the glory of death. Yet better it were”—and he paused, and with his mouth layed a wreath of ivy upon Zagmurf’s cold brow—“to remember the glory of life which he showed us.”

    And he kissed the man’s face, though its aspect was funereal-somber. The deer then righted himself, and continued:

    “Indeed, mayhap his love—which was great—shall be magnified in death, unto the gain of the living. Yea, haply his power—which was fearsome—shall not weaken with his flesh but shall invigorate us to yet nobler deeds of valor. And haply his heart—which was great—at his passing beat not its last beat, but its first unto our lasting welfare.

    “So all hail Zagmurf! and all praise! For he was, verily, an mighty man!”

    Thus fell Zagmurf, the mighty hunter, whose ways were the ways of the just. And he quested no more in the land of Shadowglen.

  • A Return to Blogism

    My good friend Michelle pointed out with disappointment that I hadn’t posted anything to my blog for months. I made her what I hoped wouldn’t become a hollow promise: to post, or, in other words, to return to blogism. Well, Michelle, here it is.

    The Past

    I’ve been spending a lot of time lately transcribing my journal from my freshman year here at BYU. Some people think it’s depressing to read old journals, and I admit that from time to time I do find that to be the case, especially if I’m really dissatisfied with the now. But in recent weeks it’s been a very positive experience. Check out this long sequence (with some editing):

    Saturday, October 6, 2001

    General Conference!

    Ben and Brandon came to Utah this weekend for General Conference, among other things. They had an extra ticket for the afternoon session, and their uncle Harold had an extra standby ticket for Priesthood session. So we got to go to both!

    Waiting in line before the afternoon session, we met a girl from Pleasant Grove named Charlotte…. Anyway, we talked and after the afternoon session we ate dinner at a little diner on North Temple called Dee’s. We laughed, we had fun – those precious human interactions that are both impossible and meaningless to quantify. Charlotte summed it up when she said, “You know, it feels like I’ve known you guys for years.” It’s a pretty cliché line, but I totally agreed with her—it seemed like we were already friends, even before we met.

    Before Charlotte left and we went to priesthood meeting, I got her phone number and cellphone number. Here’s the final twist to the story: … five minutes after meeting Charlotte, I just had this feeling that I should ask her to the Homecoming dance.

    Tuesday, October 16, 2001

    Quick update:

    I asked Charlotte to Homecoming, which will be Friday night. Very stressful figuring this all out, but it will be fun.

    I’ve been running with Michelle on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Tonight we were running on the track by the stadium and she told me about this guy who Christie is interested in. He is 25 and he’s moving way too fast with Christie….

    Friday, October 19, 2001

    Tonight I went to Homecoming with Charlotte. First, I had to get some things done at school and otherwise, though. This morning I woke up later than I had planned, but I still wanted to take my Physical Science test before the American Heritage lab.

    Charlotte was supposed to pick me up at 6:30, and Dan and Michelle, too. (On my recommendation, Dan asked Michelle to go to the dance with him.)

    Charlotte ended up being about an hour late because I gave her 1460 N as our street instead of 1430 N. By the time we got to Macaroni Grill for dinner our reservations were long overdue, so we had about a 40 minute wait to be seated. In the meantime, the four of us walked around a little shopping center outdoors. Charlotte graciously blocked my view of “€œVictoria’s Secret”€ as we walked past it. We meandered around Border’s (a bookstore) for a while, then headed back to the restaurant just in time to be seated.

    Our table was near a gas fireplace that was burning just enough to keep gas from building up around it. We could still smell the burner gas though.

    On our paper table covering I drew in crayon a picture of a sun rising against a bold blue sky. In the bottom I wrote “€œCharlotte is my sunshine!”€ Of course, Charlotte had already written my full name in beautiful lettering on her portion of the paper. We cut our respective works of art out with my picket knife scissors and gave them to each other. (I left mine in the car though. I’ll have to get that for her….)

    After a delicious dinner, on, on to the dance! A crazy trip south on I-15 brought us to the Chillon Reception Center in Spanish Fork. We escorted our dates in the cool, gusty night to a large stone or brick building.

    OK, pause. One thing I really noticed tonight was that because it was cold, when Charlotte hooked her elbow in mine it was like she cuddled in for warmth. When girls do that, and they cling to your elbow like you’re a protector of sorts, it makes me so excited! It’s amazing how awesome it makes you feel!

    At the dance, Charlotte and I tried competing in the swing dance competition. We began dancing (quite well, in my opinion) but when the DJ started calling out couples’ numbers we got confused as we didn’t have one. So we weren’t really that much in contention, but we had a great time—the swing music was very refreshing.

    One time while we were dancing, I told Charlotte about my fears that she’d think I was stalking her when I called to ask her to Homecoming after just meeting her. She responded by saying that she didn’t have to give me her phone number—that was optional. Good point!

    After that dance—and some many great slow dances along with it—we rode home and said goodbye. Goodbye hug. Now a few hours later here I am.

    I had an awesome night! I’m pretty sure Charlotte did too! Yeah! Woohoo! Victory! She had fun!

    Saturday, October 20, 2001

    Due to going to bed very late lats night, I didn’t wake up until 11:30. That left me and everyone else in our apartment 2.5 hours to get ready for cleaning inspection. I was quite surprised how clean this place can really be if we work at it a little bit!

    OK, the real exciting part of my evening was when I got home at around 9 o’clock I quickly got a message saying that Charlotte called. I called Charlotte and, after “€œHello, how’re you doing?”€ etc. she told me that the reason she called was to say “€œthanks”€ for last night. I said, “€œOh, it was totally my pleasure. I’m glad to hear you had a good time!”

    I also told Charlotte that I left the paper she gave me at the restaurant in her car and would like to get it from her—a convenient excuse for us to have to get together sometime, I say!

    I really enjoyed talking to Charlotte tonight and look forward to seeing her again.

    On the other hand, I need to be particularly careful not to get too serious with any girls before my mission.

    Well, I’m off to bed!

    Wow, I was bold! Nowadays I’m waaaay more hesitant to do crazy things like ask girls in lines on dates. Darn hard life experience has lowered my expectations for such craziness, which is a shame, as it seems like we really had a great time.

    The Present

    I recently started a poem that I want to share:

    Dialectic

    Behold the brilliant vista,
    A world before us lays
    Enswirled all by mist, a-
    wash with golden rays.

    Why weep ye now upon this sight?
    You can’t believe what see your eyes?
    But it’s here, it’s real, it’s true, it’s bright!

    I see naught but clouds below.
    There is sunshine, but as well there’s rain.
    It’s not that I refuse to know
    The good; but that I’ve seen much pain.

    But in spite of having seen much more,
    Now I see much less than I could see before
    And it chills me to the very core.

    Light and dark:
    They call, they know our names.
    We cannot only to one hark
    For our path will lead both ways.

    Ah but what a sin you’ve found,
    Such gloominess as you think on!
    Turn your head up. Do not look down,
    And soon your gloom will all be gone.

    Think not of evil—it is wrong.
    Think not sad thoughts—life’s a song!
    Think not—or hearts will ache too long.

    Naive—you don’t understand.
    In fact, I would say you’re slightly blind,
    You insolent, odious man,
    For you think not of the mind!

    It has full well the pow’r to crush you.
    When you need to speak, it can quickly hush you.
    To fight it is to watch it mush you.

    To the friends at bitter odds
    Then came another soul
    Though by which lonely path he trod
    We do not—cannot?—know.

    He brought goodness, he spoke peace,
    (Somehow knowing what our friends did seek,
    But of which they never did speak), saying

    Peace is truth, goodness is real,
    Not naively, but in actual fact.
    It’s obscured by the things that you feel,
    ‘Times obstructed by the way that you act.

    Thus you wander about in a cloud
    Through your life as with a burial shroud,
    But your goal will never be found.

    Obviously the discussion amongst the friends and the inexplicably wise stranger is not complete, because the stranger has only barely introduced some of the themes of his position without really explaining it. There would have to be some exchange between him and the other two before a resolution could be brought about. Sadly, knowing my tendencies of starting and then abandoning poems, I don’t really expect to see that happen. But the poem has already served its purpose of helping me to think through conflicting views of life—both of which I have subscribed to at various points in my life, and both of which are clearly not optimal: the blindly optimistic view because it can’t help anybody, the more pessimistic because it ignores great joy that really is to be found.

    Oh, my sister recently introduced me to something that should be indispensable for anybody somewhat inclined to bookishness like myself: Shelfari.

    The Future

    I have one more month of school before graduating with a B.A. in Linguistics, and I’m terrified of facing The Real World once more.

    Terrified? Not so much, actually. I was terrified. That was before I “just happened” to get some interesting ideas. They could be summarized as code, quill, and casa.

    Code

    Google recently announced the Android Developer Challenge, a contest for good new applications developed for their Android mobile phone platform. Entries for the first round are accepted from January 2 to March 3, 2008, which is right when I start to have nothing to do because of graduating and as yet having no job. It also so happens that the work I’ve been doing for Dr. Ringger in the NLP Lab for the past several months has almost all been in Java—the primary language for Android development. Thus the relevant skills are very fresh at the top of my toolkit. And, once more, it just so happens that I’ve had an idea for a feature for mobile phones bouncing around in my head for almost the past year. Hmm….

    Quill

    I love to write. I think writing should be a part of my future. I’ve been getting lots of practice in the past year, and I’m getting to the point where I really just want to sit down and write a novel. You know, put in a couple of hours a day brainstorming, outlining, writing, revising. When will there be a better time in my life? I have no dependents, I have the luxury of doing so, why don’t I just give it a shot?

    Casa

    (Or maybe a better word is pueblo?)
    I feel like I need to go home. This feeling came shortly before my older sister offered to let me stay at her house in Washington. So starting sometime after my rental agreement ends at the end of April, I’m going to do just that. I don’t know if I’ll ever return to Provo. I mean, I might, but I just as likely might not. Yikes! I’ve been living here for six years and have come to be very comfortable. But, at the very least for a few months, it’s time to be home. And I’m such a romantic with regards to patria, my homeland. I really, really love it there — there’s something in me that only feels whole at home. I miss the wind, the smells, just those indescribable things that you would only fall in love with if you lived the first 18 years of your life there.

    The End

    No, not of my life, just of this post 🙂 It’s been quite a grab-bag, eh? And there’s so much more to think and write and say and do!

    My life is quite good right now, and I can only say that it is such only as I really seek to do what I know the Lord would have me do. It’s the seeming paradox of obedience: that as we voluntarily shift our activities from what we are naturally inclined to do, to what God wants us to do, we seem to be more able than ever to do the things that we really want to do. No, it’s not always simple; but in being real the gospel of Christ naturally exhibits all of the complexities of the real world, and likewise turns out to have overriding patterns and principles that are very powerful.

    ‘Tis true.

  • Beginning a New Poem

    After an institute class about the Beast and the Dragon in the Revelation of John, I started writing a poem, which currently consists of the following. Oh, and please note that the lines in the large font indicate new sections. Each of these is actually just one stanza, most of which are sonnet-like with 14 lines.

    I

    Ah yes, very well then
    All you ruddy mice and men,
    Throw your face down in the mud and grovel on your knees
    Sing with sullen exultation, for you worship the Beast!

    Oh, truly noble, truly wise,
    Is the one with seven eyes.
    Brilliant plan to join his team,
    He whose crown so dully gleams.

    His monsters walk beside their Lord,
    Godhead to the unwitting horde.
    He heals the sick, the dead he revives.
    Oh woe unto all who against him do strive.

    Rising from the earth you show your joyful eyes.
    Upon your hand a red ring sits;
    For your loyalty, you’ve won a prize!
    You get ahead when you use those wits.

    II

    Too late they’d slept, those doers of good
    For hour th’eleventh must follow hour the tenth.
    I’d have ta’en from their eyes that veil, that hood,
    If I’d known what those many signs meant.

    But they bowed before him and reached forth their hands
    To be branded with his mark.
    They pilgrimaged from far-flung lands
    And sensed not th’encircling dark.

    We saw the signs, we should have known
    The slide to evil had subtly begun.
    We, fools, worshiped things that one could own!
    So, cunningly, our minds were won.

    And now I must tell this tale of woe
    Of blindness, and men and their mettle,
    And of some small few – with every day more –
    Who learned the truth and gave the Beast battle.

    III

    On plantation field, a black indigenous man
    Wiped from brow dust-begrimed sweat.
    He had a look of concern and a tremor in his hand
    For a stranger whom he had just met,

    Who, with black assault rifle was no trabajador
    And whose grisly machete chopped no banana stems.
    He’d smiled a sickly smile, spat his chew on the floor
    Of the shed, and thus frightened our friend.

    This good man (whose name, by the way, was Hernán)
    Mumbled something, then shuffled away.
    If Hernán could have seen the fiend’s face once he’d gone
    He’d have panicked, but now not till some other day.

    So Hernán, quite startled by the man he’d just met,
    Went back to work, but mark you, he didn’t forget.

    IV

    A man’s face was seen through window pane
    Wrought by fury, none would him deter
    From a solemn life of lonely pain
    Wanting things as they once were.

    As rain spattered glass, his eyes were bleak.
    His hair stayed still while outside wind howled,
    Though a storm within him brewed beneath
    His looks. He sighed, then blinked, and in his soul bowed.

    “Alone, oh God, closed in on myself,
    No one knows my heart, my struggle, my hurt.
    I’d do so much more, if released from this hell.”
    So by this bargain he staked all his worth

    To live to do good – well, at least to try –
    When through window, on street, he saw a lady walk by.

    V

    From his basement room, Simon – yes, that’s his name –
    With one eye to Heaven climbed stairs to the door.
    Not finding her there, he stepped into the rain,
    His hair flattened by raindrops that fell by the score.

    To right, an old man with umbrella above.
    To left, there she was! striding quick against wind.
    Simon followed, intrigued, strangely smitten with . . . love?
    He ran up and tapped her. She turned, and he grinned.

    “Dear lady, I can’t help but notice with pity
    That with no umbrella, you’re soaked through and through.
    I happen to carry a large one right here with me.
    Please grant me the pleasure of accompanying you.”

    Love began to grow in him as they – very dry – talked.
    Pausing, then laughing, God-blesséd they walked.

    What do you think? I wonder how it transfers from my imagination to yours. If you’re thinking that none of these sections have anything to do with each other, well… they will once it’s done. Later!