Bizarro World

He may be mad, but there's method in madness. There nearly always is method in madness. It's what drives men mad, being methodical.
-G. K. Chesterton

A night or two ago a had a really unsettling dream/nightmare. Usually I can either make (relatively) clear sense of my dreams, or they are simply too far beyond me to even take a stab. This is the latter.

I start on a street, during some sort of event, because there are trailers and bicycles and a mix of people around. It's not an absolute throng, the kind of condensed human mass that takes a concerted effort to move through, but it clearly wasn't just the average, unoccupied street. I'm with a bunch of people, probably two or three dozen, composed of people from my home life, my school life, and kids here at the program. There's the tangible feeling of an elephant in the corner, like everyones mind is on something, the same thing, and they all are about to open their mouths to speak hushedly about it, but force themselves not to. They exchange cautious glances, and I step closer into them and they begin to speak.
It seems someone has been kidnapping and poisoning some of "us" (though its never at all clear what commonality we share). They've taken two already, and everyone seems perfectly aware of who they were, and in what order they went, but they refuse to say their names. The understanding at this point is that the person doing these things knows us, and our work, and activities, and thoughts, with disturbing intimacy and accuracy. He captures someone, injects them with a slow acting poison, one that slowly makes you sleep more and more (until you die, I presume) and releases them out into the world again. I don't understand why people can't seek help at this point, why they cannot do something or tell someone, but there seems to be a paralytic fear amongst them- there were even two of the currently infected at this streetside discussion. Apparently, exactly fourteen days prior to your death he reclaims you, locking you into a room, and allows you to write letters to your friends and family.
At this point, as we're all discussing this trend, and trying to support the two who are currently dieing (who seem somewhat resigned to their fate), one of them decides to simply go back to this person under the premise that hey, he's dieing, theres nothing worse he can do to him, and to try and understand him as best he can before he dies, and to write to everyone he knows prior to his er...shuffling of the mortal coil. After the group concedes and this person leaves, one of the remaining group says, startled and very much like she's had an epiphany "The Food!" Without saying as much, I now possess the knowledge that the food this kidnapper has will kill you instantly, and far more painfully.
We rush off on bikes to intercept our friend, but, as far as the dream is concerned, we are instantly in the foyer of a large mansion belonging to the kidnapper.
The mansion's expansive and cavernous. The floors of made of immaculately maintained white tile, patternless and pure, seamless and ongoing. The walls are made of glass and mirrors, and they almost all bent sheets. The mix of transparent and reflective seems to make the place, at once, both fold in on itself and expand infinitely outward. There is, distinctly and uniquely, a single door made of gold set into one of the glass walls, but it seems that the part of the wall within which the door lies is actually below the surface of the floor. I think we can only see it because of it's reflection, but honestly, its a dream, and if you haven't realized that it doesn't make sense yet you should probably just stop reading now. It only gets worse.
There are less of us now, about half as many as before, but we all immediately notice that our friend who left us earlier, resigning himself to this fate, is on a large glass dais. The dais is shaped like a bean and rests, unmovingly, in midair about 25 feet above the floor of the massive foyer. Smaller bean-shaped panes of glass weave around the room and up to the dais. Upon the dais he is shackled, and a large desk made of impossibly white wood sits atop it. He is writing, taking, one at a time, sheets of paper from a stack on one side of the desk, writing slowly and consistently, and then placing it atop a stack on the opposite corner.
At this point, A man in a white suit with silvering hair and a small beard walks out, adjusting a strange orange tie. He doesn't open his mouth, but gestures around as if he's saying something, and I know I'm in trouble. The rest of my friends disappear, and the one writing on top of the dais doesn't even seem to notice what's going on. I'm confused, trying to look at the man talking to me, but without his voice to hear direction and the refracting mirrors, I just end up spinning around.
I'm in a dark room, and the man is sitting at a desk, his face lit by the blue glow of a single computer monitor. Now he's speaking, in a voice that is controlled to a fault and a sound that vibrates just over a river of anger. He says "Did you not say 'and their depiction shows the newscaster in a despicable, godless light'?". I respond "Yes, but their depiction was inaccurate, and I go on to-" and at that point my ability to speak is suspended as he returns his gaze to the computer screen.
I'm in a glass room somewhere and I'm sleeping on a single pillow. As I sit up I feel a definitive soreness in my bicep that tells me my days are numbered. For some reason, I'm not outside, being allowed to exist for some period before I die, but I'm not on the dais, writing. I don't understand, but I feel the need to use the bathroom and instinct guides me. From the bathroom I'm able to escape through a window, and the bikes we used remain outside in a heap. I pick up the nearest outlier and speed off down the roads, leaving the house behind me. The mansion seems normal from the outside, and not at all composed of self-inverting glass, but who knows?
As I pedal I'm nauseous, wrestling with whatever this person *must* have over me that means I shouldn't have tried to escape and shouldn't call for help, and the throbbing power of instinct that forces my hand into my pocket and pulls out my cell phone. I call my parents, and I'm trying to explain myself while I pedal towards a police station or some safe haven. Just as begin to make headway and the people on the other line begin to understand the situation, A silver SUV drives from a copse of trees onto the lawn of the house I'm cycling past. There are stickers on it that say COMMERCIAL ABC, and I know this somehow refers to the television station. The man in the suit walks out of the passenger side door, holding a red trunk delicately between his palms. I drop the phone from my hand and fall off the bike, reaching for a loose brick in the curb.
And then I'm awake and totally shocked to find that I am, in fact, not on top of a bike, or on a lawn, or anywhere that I had recently been.

So, that was weird and inexplicable and just had to be shared.
On a more realistic, but equally bizarre note, last night we had a toga party. It became infinitely clear to us why the Roman Empire fell- togas are really easy to trip over, and incredibly difficult to put together...and wear while dancing. We had a good time, even though we all wore clothes under the togas (of varying degrees). There was a bit of an inbalance as far as male-female participation (alot of the guys forced themselves to go, and all save for about four girls were touch-and-go). It was kind of irritating that the self-appointed DJs refused to let any song actually finish, but it was a good time all in all. Afterwards, we took a half hour shower break (because dancing, wrapped in bedsheets, in a relatively small room sans Air Conditioning is a recipe for such massive amounts of BO) and then came back together to watch Animal House. I'm not sure if the movie inspired our party, or the party inspired us to watch the movie, but it was a great opening to the weekend.

Continuum: Rising To The Challenge

Writing this as of my fourth academic day, and my fifth day here at the program, I have experienced most of the phenomenon of the program. I've had at least one lecture with each of the professors, some I've had two or three in a row (a pattern which provides my seminar group with an issue unique and not present amongst the other two.) My professors are:
Dr. Aja Boakye-Boaten, History and Politics
Dr. Solomon Losha, Art and Architecture
Dr. Khadiadatou Gaeye, Literature
Dr. Benjamin Neimark, Environment

All of them provide lectures (cycling), that the entire group attends. Then the group splits into three, equal, smaller seminar groups to get more specific education and discussion. Aja's seminars have been very interesting, and have had some really thought-provoking discussions (not all of which have been wholly depressing, which History and Politics can be). At this point, I really feel as if my knowledge of the complexities of the continent are expanding. Dr. Gaeye's class is also of paramount interest to me, because it alone has provided specific information on the cultural and religious atmosphere's of Africa, both pre- and post-colonization. Religion and Mysticism is very interesting. Losha's seminars provide a paradox: the diversity of the cultures of the continent is too great to really examine the specifics of art and architecture, as pertaining to empires, nations, or clans, while at the same time using only the commonalities or general understandings of the culture is what provided the Western world with an inaccurate point of view in the first place, not to mention the conscious need to avoid discussion of specific customs is boring and leads at least a third of us to fall asleep during his seminar. I also like Dr. Neimark's (who, by the way, is the only non-African professor) contribution, though he clearly has a political base in some areas. Unfortunately, when many of my classmates talk about development, its often at the conscious expense of the environment...which seems incredibly short-sighted, even for the human race. Perhaps you can trod on the environment in order to develop, but will the continent adopt sustainable practices after modernizing? Guessing by the trend in the rest of the world, not really. So, more paradoxes. At this point, I am simply going to start taking the paradoxes, and use them to build houses. Paradox bricks, paradox mortar, paradox wiring, paradox shingles...you get the picture.
One startling and disturbing characteristic I'm noticing about my classmates... The discardment of the value of the culture, especially literature, as important to the development of the society. They seem focused on modernization at the expense of all the rich cultural history created so far. Personally, the cultural facets of a civilization are the products of years and years of human achievement. If the products of individuals meeting their potential isn't worth preserving, than what is?
The work has been manageable so far, and I'm attempting to stay at least one seminar ahead of what's necessary, so that when I get visitors or an opportunity to do something fun I don't have to avoid it for the sake of work... But that's somewhat hard when you have the same seminar three days in a row, and no syllabus. You have no choice but to do the work that night, and make it your first concern... At least I will always be a head in literature, since Dr. Gaeye is the only one kind enough to give us a syllabus.
The last two nights have given us tremendous, bellowing thunderstorms. They were really rather beautiful. Coincidentally, the tallest tree on campus is about ten yards outside our dorm, so we saw lots of lightning. The rain has given way to an inexplicable smell of manure across the campus, which is somewhat troubling, but has lowered the temperature, humidity and air pressure, which is a godsend!
The past three days were like walking in a sauna everywhere you went. Good for the skin, bad for the hair and totally no fun.
I did try and take pictures of the storm last night, but did so through my window screen which seems to have..er...prohibited me from getting a real image. What I did get is cool looking though, so I'll provide it...

EDIT: So, okay, the pictures really aren't that interesting. The thumbnails looked cool but the rendered versions look like, well, screens. So I guess I'll have to take good pictures of something tonight.

As We Begin

"It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

As I write this I am currently on my third day of the New Jersey Scholar's Program, the second academic day. It remains yet to be seen exactly what our environment will become, as we get deeper into topics and our work, and spend more time together. It's hard to predict standing at the 72nd hour, what life will be like when as much has passed, or three times, and more. What can be sure is that journey will be interesting, and the company excellent.
As far as our lectures go, we've had one on pre-colonial/ancient african history and politics, which soon evolved into a discussion of what is and is not considered developed, how correct that assumption is, why the public understanding of African peoples is what is, and how that was used (or abused) for political convenience throughout history. This morning we had a lecture from our environmentalist teacher, who spoke a great deal about soil.
Seminars have been an interesting task- our first was a library orientation which lasted only thirty minutes of the alotted our and a half, which gave us some free time. Our second was with our literature professor, who outlined the somewhat demanding workload ahead and lead us through pre-colonial religion.
When I say "somewhat demanding", I mean a 200+ page book in the span of 2-3 days.
In talking with the Art & Architecture and Environmental professors we found out that we, uhh, don't have all our books yet. So the workload may become greater... I tingle with excitement.
First two days were cool, weather was nice. Today is hot, and it sucks. I'm glad I keep the light off in my room when I leave because every extra source of coolness matters at this point.
I found a nice place in the village that sells soda and actually carries the likes of Monster, Vault, and Jolt, for when the workload makes me need some Popeye-like rejuvenation. A buddy showed me the coffee machine in the cafeteria, which would be all I need if not for the fact that the cafeteria has very strict hours (to the point of a giant cage-like gate at the main entrance to prevent the oppressive swarm of tiny little sportsfans.)

Don't trust seafood from any school, no matter how much the students pay to go there.

On another note, the campus is beautiful. When I get homesick, taking a walk around the campus is my first line of defense against malaise. Its quite obvious which buildings preceded which, and you can see an almost wave-like pattern in the architecture and arrangement. The local animals (read: squirrels) have become so accustomed to humans, that they do not become skittish or aware of your presence until about four or five feet. More than that, the famous black squirrels, native to Princeton, can also be found here. I've seen one or two, and managed to catch some shots.