Attending College Without a Car

Believe it or not, it is entirely possible to survive college without owning a car. I did it for one and three quarters of a semester, and I didn’t even live in town. I lived too far away to walk or ride a bike, so I carpooled with my dad to and from college. For half of my first semester, I had one class on Fridays, when my dad didn’t drive to college. A couple of times, I tried to catch a ride with other commuters from my town, but eventually I found a friend to steadily carpool with every Friday. On campus, I walked to my classes, and a couple of times, I walked five or six blocks down to my credit union and Wal-Mart. It was hard not having a car because I didn’t have anywhere to store books or class supplies, but this isn’t much of a problem for students who live on campus or in town, and something I assume in this set of tips for surviving college without a car.

            If you look at it from one point of view, not owning a car can be beneficial in two ways, and it positively impacts the earth in another. When most people don’t have a car, they tend to walk, bike, or board more places. They use their own body power and muscles to travel. In a nutshell, they get more exercise. In doing this, they can also save money that would otherwise be used to pay for insurance and gas. Most importantly, going without a car lessens the individual’s negative impact on the environment around them; they aren’t burning air-polluting gasoline or contributing to traffic congestion.

            In order to live without a car, you have to walk everywhere humanly possible. Walk to the post office, walk to the store, walk to the movies, walk to friends’ houses, and walk to class. It will seem like a lot of walking, but think of it as dual-purpose exercise. You are accomplishing two purposes with one act, important for college students with a heavy load of homework and up to six classes. Sitting around too much doesn’t do anybody much good, and this makes going without a car a blessing in disguise. Walking can be enjoyable and easy; it allows you out into the fresh air and sunshine, and most college campuses are designed with pedestrians in mind, meaning that quite a few people also walk. This can be a good source of social interaction, so don’t ignore your fellow pedestrians; greet them with a “good morning”, or just a simple “Hello” and wave of the hand. If you feel uncomfortable walking alone at certain times, or just in general, find someone to walk with. They can be a fellow classmate or one of your friends. Finding a walking companion is a particularly good strategy at night, when most people feel insecure or unsafe on their own.

            When a destination is too far to walk to get a wheeled vehicle like a bike or skateboard. It is essential that you enjoy and feel comfortable riding your particular human-powered vehicle; otherwise you’re better off walking. When I was without a car (and occasionally nowadays) if I needed to go somewhere fast or far away, more than four or five blocks, I would ride my long board. A lot of people on my college campus use longboards and bikes, with the occasional person riding a penny board or a scooter. I have even seen one kid ride to classes on a unicycle. There are a ton of human-powered alternatives to cars, what you end up choosing is dictated by your preferences and comfort zone.

            Carpooling is another fantastic strategy for automotive lacking college students. You can carpool with someone if you need to go somewhere too far for walking or biking. Carpooling is a good way to conserve gas, and most people are happy to share the ride. If the ride is short, there’s no need to offer to pay for gas, but it is courteous to offer if it’s longer than fifteen minutes, or out of the driver’s way. It’s also nice to chat with the driver. Don’t get in the car and ignore them for the whole ride, and definitely don’t text. On long drives, it’s thoughtful to bring snack food to share. If done right, carpooling can be beneficial to the passenger and the driver.

As you can see, it isn’t impossible to survive college without a car. All of the alternatives to driving take more physical effort, but they save money and provide a chance for exercise. A lot of driving alternatives also provide an opportunity for conserving resources and reducing your carbon footprint. In my own experience, it was hard not having a car during my first semester, I had to walk a lot of places, which made Ephraim seem a lot bigger than it was. In other ways, being without a car was also easier. I saved a lot of money on gas, and I didn’t have to pay car insurance or repairs. I rode with other people to and from college, this gave me the opportunity to get to know people better and spend time conversing with them. Because of this experience, I am not too attached to my car, and I understand what places are possible for me to walk to. While enjoying the benefits and working through the challenges, I found that surviving without a car in college was entirely possible.

Match Sticks

The limousines are burning, little sister.
See smoke rise against skyscraper,
Dulling shiny black metal and tinted glass.

Flames rise from underneath
Maws shaped from the Earth's
Once living bones.
Once, these gleaming, fishlike cars
Were alive,
Before they were spat from
Factories, that was not a birth, but a death,
Carved out of soil and mountains,
Cut from the flesh of beasts crowded into
Windowless, grating buildings.


Fire is contagious, little one,
Having ignited my imagination,
I hope that soon
They will collapse into dust.

In the dark, dust

Everything is pitch black, completely dark.
I am nothing but the dark.

I am scared that this is going to mean nothing more than laying here for endless years, no control over anything, lonely, and in the dark.


I suppose this situation would be suffocating, except I don't need to breathe. I would be cold, except the cold doesn't bother me.
I suppose there's really nothing to be afraid of; I'm completely isolated from the world in a box deep under ground.

No harm can befall me; I'm already dead.

***
Dark yellow afternoon light fell heavily through thick curtains, softly illuminating a square room filled with people. Some walked slowly past a casket while others stood around in small groups, speaking softly. Other people wept; a girl in her early teens sat in a straight backed chair, slumped over. Her mother's hand smoothed rhythmic circles on the back of her dress. Her mother looked like she too had been crying some time earlier, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and sadness seemed to weigh on her like a lead cloak over her wide shoulders. The girl's own thin, bony shoulders shook as she sobbed into her hands.
The father, a burly and powerful looking man, stood by the entrance, shaking hands or hugging the people who entered. He stood straight and tall, but his face looked as though something in his chest was causing him great pain.

As the light softened and faded, the casket was solemnly carried outside to a waiting car. A procession of cars wound through narrow streets to a small cemetery presided over by great, lush trees in the full colors of Autumn. The cars began to line the narrow roads running like a grid across the lawn dotted with trees, headstones, and concrete benches. Next to a deep, long hole in the ground stood a temporary canvas gazebo shading a thicket of folding chairs. People got out of their cars and gathered together in clumps and pairs. Children raced across the thick grass, laughing and playing, enjoying themselves despite their surroundings and circumstances.
A few of the children plucked brightly colored plastic flowers and toys from the bases and sides of headstones, delighted with their findings until their parents ordered them to return their newfound treasures to where they belonged.
The family of three, heavy shouldered mother, straight backed father, and weeping daughter made their way to the chairs and sat down.

***

Everything is dark and I am bored.

The funeral service was nice, but my inability to respond to anything was stifling.
My heart ached for my mother and father. I heard my sister crying once, and then again all through my mother's talk at the service. There was nothing I could do to comfort any of them.



I was scared right after the casket had been buried. I haven't been able to see anything since my eyelids were closed, but all sound ceased when my casket was lowered into the vault. I almost felt like I was suffocating until I remembered that I don't breathe anymore.

Now it is dark and quiet and there isn't much to feel.
I can feel the velvet against my bare arms, and the clothing on the rest of my body, but the air in here is still and unmoving. I suppose it's cold down here, but I am not uncomfortable, thank god. Or not. As far as I know, there's no afterlife, so why would there be a god? I haven't met a god, and I don't expect to. I never really did. In life, I didn't believe in a god.

The moment of death meant nothing more than the cessation of pain, and control over my body and senses. I wish I had been cremated, instead of enduring this unending consciousness.



It's dark. I don't know why I keep repeating that.

It's dark.

It's still dark.

It's going to be dark forever. I'm going to be here forever.
I never really thought myself outgoing in life, but my current state of undeath and loneliness is making me reconsider.
I had friends. I had family. I wasn't isolated or shy, but I didn't particularly seek out company.
What I wouldn't do for a conversation with anyone but myself right now...

Dark.

...think I'm losing the use of my mind.... never thought of thinking as a sense, like seeing, smelling, and hearing... nothing to do down here... thought is the only interaction I have with the world. There's nothing to hear, smell, or taste... but there's a little of something to touch. Touch doesn't count when you can't move.

Time has no meaning, nothing to measure it by. No clock hands, no sunsets no sunrises, no light contrasted with dark. No change in my emotional state... Not scared, not bored, not happy or angry or depressed.


...getting used to the dark, different shades of black in black... Used to see patterns under my eyelids when I lived... These are nothing like those patterns... maybe light is required... There is no light here. No light. No light. No light. Only-
Dark

*

Body breaking apart, breaking down- my abdomen collapsing, my joints loosening, my muscles unwinding and pooling, my skin tearing. My body crawling and oozing, my bones exposed through my flesh like the stone skeletons of the mountains, -flash of memory and lucidity, -I used to drive by them every day, windows down, trees, green or orange or bare-branched and gray, whirling, streaking past my own fragile little car.

*

Thought is no longer my only sense of my small world. I can smell the effects of my body decomposing. This is the most unpleasant thing I've experienced since the actual moment of my death.

*

My consciousness fragmenting, spreading out and breaking up.

Breaking down and breaking up... like a tv screen full of black and white fuzz, a cell phone connection going into a tunnel, radio static. At least forever isn't anymore-

Anymore isn't forever.

The dark. The dark isn't forever.

The dark is just now... Now is forever.

The dark... only not dark, not dark, not dark. Static, fuzz; lighter dark and darker dark.

I am...
I, am.
I am... slipping. Sliding, thoughts like walking with a bowl of water, liquid sloshing and spilling over the edge, droplets. Droplets scattering. St-st-stuttering, bre ak ing u p.

I.
I,
I-I-I.
One...
One word, but not one mind. One letter. One me? Me, two letters, still one.


W....
e

We?

We.


We, no I anymore.
Many, so many.
We are many. Live in the dark, of the dark. Still, dark is not forever.

Someday, emerge into the light once again; New Life.
Thinking they can stop time, but they eat the bodies of their ancestors every day, and ancient stardust lives on in them as us, and as Them. We are what they say is primitive, but they are the ones who don't realize; Everything Lives Forever.

Prayer

Sacred little fruit,
Thank You, speechless burst of life
in my mouth, my mind. 

Blackberry Kisses (Walk Two Moons)

Blackberry kisses
cannot be understood, fully,
until you take one with your own lips,
camel, giraffe, horse-like,
from a bowl, deep blue,
empty save for one other berry;

and bit down
into the fully ripe,
starburst purple
of awe and universe in a
single, perfect blackberry. 

Awake, under the sky

There's a thunderstorm outside my window.
We watched it from our back porch,
lightning turning night to day in the bed-sheet clouds.
Rain caught up to us over our end of the valley,
wind whipping the trees in an energetic dance
of thrashing, coin-like leaves.
I am inside, almost ready to sleep, noises creaking
and shutting and humming all around as my family
readies for comfortable, dry sleep
under the sky, awake. 

Wind passed through, husk of
cicada on stalk of
dry grass. 

An Insult or a Fact?: Hypocritical

To call a person hypocrite doesn't seem like much of an insult to me.

To be human is to be hypocritical, contradictory by definition. We are constantly growing and changing, and our emotions and outlooks evolve by the moment. When we are angry we think differently from when we're happy. Things that sound great when we're well-rested and well fed sound terrible when we're sleep-deprived and hungry. We say things we mean whole-heartedly when we're depressed and frustrated, but we take them back aghast and ashamed when we've emerged from the tunnel of bad feelings. We are completely vulnerable to so many things that direct, manipulate and persuade us in myriad ways.
Being so changeable isn't necessarily bad, nor does it mean that what we changed from was less desirable than what we are now. We -as humans, as creatures of the world, as denizens of nature- just change; constantly.
I am a hypocrite, dear, and in some ways I am not happy about it, but I also don't think it is a terrible as some would have us think. It's part of life; it's part of learning. We think we want or like something, but when we have it we change our minds because it wasn't what we expected, or we find that it doesn't suit us as well as we thought. We think we'll hate something, but when we try it, we find it isn't as bad as we once thought. My mom encouraged me to take a book binding class at our local college one winter. I was terrified. I convinced her to stay with me for a few minutes during the first class, but it turned out to be not as bad as I'd expected; not as big or scary or intimidating as I'd imagined. I learned a lot in that month-long class; a lot I continue to do, skills that have proved to be very useful to how I live my life. I've created a couple of journals I've since filled up, and many gifts for my friends and family.
The point is, if you're actively learning and growing in your life, you are probably going to do, say, and be some hypocritical things. You may be perfectly sincere and still become "hypocritical" by changing your mind or choosing something new and different for perfectly logical and sound reasons. Even if you are at a standstill as a human being, you're going to be hypocritical. It's okay. Be conscious and aware, and don't let it define you. We're playing this whole life thing by ear, despite what anyone might tell you.

Wind passed through me, I 

could not catch it. Cicada 

husk on stalk of grass. 

Moon, earth, and a new sun

You're still shiny
Even though you're invisible.
Chasing our own stars
On separate sides of the Earth. 

Holding Hands with God

My eyes are thirsty 

And my soul is desiccated

Because I have forgotten the feel of your fingers, 

God,

On my palms. 

I never did learn to fully trust you 

And you have flown from the cage in my heart.

But when I remember to look up, 

You greet me from the fence posts,

The song of red winged black bird

And mourning dove, 

And you whisper in the back of my hollow throat. 

I abandon the pretense of walking on the road

Cut across the vacant lot of town
Defy the fences built by own nervous mind

And hold my hands, 

Palms out,

To the phantom of you. 

Halfway mark

 Five hundred cranes folded and strung

        

Something was lost 

in the peppered night air.
Trees bloomed sweetly secret.

Lovers inspiration, 

Poetry written from heart aflame. 

Nothing more, nothing less, 

It is but glass and not living. 

You Don't Understand

As much as it frustrates me when people say "You wouldn't understand", or "you couldn't/can't understand", or even "They can't understand", I understand I'll have to come to terms with this truth sooner or later.
I really believe in the power and beauty of empathy, an ability to understand other people's feelings and viewpoints.
However, empathy can only go so far, and really, it is still hard to truly understand another person's experience if you haven't had that or a similar experience.
My main problem with "You can't understand" is it tends to be a device to push people away and alienate them. It's a way to separate yourself from someone who could benefit from understanding you, or who could benefit you in their understanding, however shallow that understanding could be.
"You can't understand" tends to be a way to get out of explaining yourself or your feelings. I understand that sometimes this is just because a person doesn't want to attempt to explain themselves to another person.
I am attempting to reconcile myself to the fact that sometimes I cannot understand another person's experience or feelings, this is due to things out of my control, and this is okay.

An open door in answer

I thought to send out a message,
A digital prayer for company
while I waited for my gardening class.
But a voice inside quietly spoke up,
and I gave myself up, whole, to chance.
I slung my heavy bag on my shoulder
and walked down the hallway,
I asked a question with no form,
and it was readily absorbed into the pattern all around,
the threads and weave of that particular day
In that very building lit with a fire to the gods of
creativity; physical, written or worded.
My question condensed into you,
an open door in answer.

Chance Meeting

Walking that grey, winding hallway,
I was following unseen,
Only felt
Threads blindly.
I trusted to the pattern
All around me.
I asked a question;
It had no body,

But its form dissolved,
Was taken up into my surrounding
and condensed into you;
an open door in answer

I missed supernova

Wide Eyes and a Tender Heart

Idealistic little college student:
Some days are good,
Others are like black holes of time and energy,
All the world hard and jagged,
No desire to interact with other human-persuaded beings.

Pause, redirect-

Now is not the time to dwell on that half of life,
We are happy, and
we mean to speak about the days
that go better than ever expected;
Filled with inspiration,
We feel like God, themself, is leading us by the heart and hand
And all of the world is deserving of our love
and reverence.
On these days, the world is moment-by-moment created for us...
And we understand;
Are somehow understood by all people.
These are the days we meet extraordinary souls,
sometimes only into hour-long-deep conversation mates
and sometimes those extraordinary souls grow into
Life long friends.

This day of Facebook allows you to
Hold onto the strings of possibility,
Whether or not if they hold fast and strong;
More time for them to mature;
the potential to braid our lives together extended.
More often than not, they dissolve,
and we are left with the memory of ties.

We suppose friendship is more than one person pursuing another,
but both running to meet somewhere in the middle.
How does it work?- We found ourselves asking, waiting, watching
All last year.
Still no answers, but butterfly-bright flashes of inspiration all the time.
Still no answers, still waiting and watching,
Eyes wide open and a tender heart.

How can a person only know another person for a week, and feel like they've known them for years?
What is the probability of this happening more than once?
Probably more probable than you might think...

Lost hours of practice

Tripping all over the guitar strings,
notes ringing out in disharmony.

Halting and hesitant,
Dip you toe carefully in and then tumble into the water,
After all, what is life without imperfection,
What is life without enthusiasm?
What is life without trying? 

theory of relativity

The things around me that
I cannot immediately see
exist almost entirely,
merely in my head.

The surrounding world,
The universe,
and how these things work.

Winter Morning (A transcript for a Public Speaking Assignment)

I would like to describe a morning spent at the house I watched with my sister last week. The house is studded all around with large windows, allowing an excellent view in all four directions.

Wintery Eastern Mountains slowly lighten from the dark blue of dawn. This is where the horizon is first touched with color, going from deep black to light blue over the course of the morning.

The early light brushes the white top of Mt. Nebo with soft pink, and then tints the deserty West Mountains a dark saffron from top to bottom, going on to illuminate the towns, hills, and ponds below.

Finally, the light slowly creeps across the valley. It’s almost imperceptible when it reaches this house. First the juniper hill at the Western fence line is illuminated, then the closely shorn hayfield, and suddenly there is no line of light, no shadow of the mountain to block out the sun.

After the sun has risen over the mountains ringing this valley, everything is bathed in light, and most people are already going about their short day in this warm winter.

Science and Wonderment

We ridicule the ancient ones for
bestowing the names and titles of "God" and "Goddess"
on the spaces between the things they thought they knew
and the things they didn't even wonder at yet.
But I believe we will find
that "modern man" is the one
who is truly mistaken.
Snuffing out magic and wonder
when "science" could be so much more
than a cardboard box
neatly stacked on the shelf
of things we "know"...

Is this strange, or merely natural? (Written many weeks ago)

I do not feel that I can effectively communicate how I feel after this long day of exposure and new corners of the world and other people's minds.

"If you want a better job," I paraphrase my Business Teacher's advice this afternoon, "Don't take to the streets and protest, better yourself by going to school, getting an education and work hard to climb the ladder of corporate success." Paraphrased, but the meaning is there. Work flipping burgers because you, too, may have the chance (one in a million) of succeeding as Herman Cain did. God forbid you don't want to, god forbid you don't even believe you have that chance. And most of all, God forbid we work to change everything we can for the betterment of our children's children's future, our neighbors lives tomorrow, and our lives next week. 

2,000 men, women, and children, all members of my human family, with their own distinct lives, their own memories of last moments, their own potential in this world, cut short by other people who I am also related to, but can't begin to understand or condone. 

More human beings slaughtered for a purpose, in a war I still do not condone in Mexico. Meals uneaten, beds unmade, children lost in existence for the sake of money and power. Bodies, the building blocks under a tower of corruption. 

People crushed under a yoke of oppression and discontent in Russia, ruled over by a man brave enough to stand up to the megalith of Monsanto (if only in image), but too cowardly to give up his own games of status and wealth. 

Status and wealth, sought after by most of the young adults, just like me, but nothing like me. I wrote that I do not crave wealth and status, those are not my ambitions, but is this strange, or merely natural?

Tres

Three is the perfect number

For holding

Nestled in your own two hands,

Or cupped on your living tongue.

One being a point,

Converging with the other two

In a triangle,

The perfect number,

Filling, completely,

The senses,

And the ribcage;

Three. 

Pent up Rebellion

My brain is on fire. 

My hair is perfectly fine. 

How to express all? 

Anchor in this World of Uncertaintly

I am warm, I am 

Safe. I am surrounded by 

My family's love.  

Research paper for my art majors orientation class last semester

Photography as a Flexible Career

9/25/14

Art Orientation

I see photography as a potential link through my many art interests, including land art, painting, and textile art. Photography is definitely an asset in recording and sharing a variety of artworks with other people.

To gain more insight on the field I chose to research, I interviewed Larry O. Campbell, a retiree nature photographer. Photography isn’t a professional career for him, he came upon it after twenty years in the air force, and ten years raising cattle and operating a resort. After he retired, he picked up a camera to document a cross-country trip, and in his own words “…The rest, as you say, is history.”

Larry enjoys photography because it gets him out of doors, something that has kept him in great shape, and keeps him connected to the natural world’s cycles and seasons. He has also connected his photography with his writing, publishing books full of his work along with the work of his friends and colleagues.

I like how photography so easily interfaces with natural world. I enjoy working outside and incorporating nature into my art. As an artistic genre, land art is very connected to the outdoors, even when confined to gallery spaces. Photography is important in the land art process, both in its documentation, and its availability to other people.

The only thing Larry says he doesn’t like about being a photographer is the art’s “Restrictive nature; not being able to get out when I want to sometimes.” Nature and wildlife photography, and by extension, land art and its documentation, are often dependent on fair weather. Many artists in the areas persist right through miserable and harsh conditions, sometimes even embracing them for their unique beauty.

I’m not really interested in photography as a solo or specific career, but I feel it is suitable for me because of its flexibility in subject matter, and its application to many different interests and forms in art. Many artists come upon their chosen styles in a progression or a roundabout exploration of many different fields of art. Brian Usher, for example started as a ceramic artist before discovering glass sculpture. This is why I think the skill of photography would be particularly suitable; an artist trained in photography can more effectively compose images of their work for documentation or distribution purposes. In addition, photography is an elegant and communicative field of art intrinsically.