Peter Peringer-Batten

Oh, Hey There

2009-12-13T06:45:07Z

Man, it has been awhile. It feels like it has been literal ages since I have posted anything here.

I'm not really sure why I decided to jump back on this site to post an update, but here it is. Looking back on the old days of my past posts, I suppose it's high time for a recap of what has changed for me in this period of time.

Where to begin? Well, I'm no longer the bright-eyed, clean-shaven, rosy cheeked fella in my profile picture, but instead an unshaven drunk with a bum shoulder who pines for the glory days. Wow, when did that happen?

I am also generally a recluse now, choosing to have no relationship be closer than "friendly acquaintance." I try to be as friendly and amiable as possible while keeping others at arm's length.

I am also excessively depressing. Did I mention I keep a flask? Yeah, fun times right over here.

So, in conclusion, I have a pretty awful story that isn't worth telling. I'm going to figure out how to delete this account soon, to get rid of an awful narrative that could easily be construed as emo.

It's been fun, kids! Stay classy.

On Pain

2009-02-18T17:50:17Z

This seems to be a topic of concern, one that many of us have experienced often lately in one form or another. My analysis may seem like cold comfort, to be sure, but I've wanted to write about it after my extensive meditation whilst recovering from surgery over the past week.

Aristotle divided all actions as those creating pleasure and those creating pain - it was a simplistic method of attempting to explain human interaction, from which he went into his lengthy discussions on virtue, and how we must train ourselves to make just actions pleasurable actions. His is a very interesting and useful theory to be sure, if adapted to more modern theories, but it simplifies pain into a purely negative thing, which I must take issue with.

Pain is not purely negative. In fact, pain is quite useful. Pain brings with it many things, and if one pays attention to all of them, the discomfort becomes quite small and insignificant. Pain brings recognition: something often sorely lacking in our lives, and something supremely important to true survival, advancement, well-being, and ethical action.

Pain brings one back into their own body, and forces one to recognize it. You are forcefully made aware of every slight movement, every creak, and muscle, and obviously every aspect of the portion of your body in pain. In a sense, pain makes one aware of the self. We often lose touch with our own bodies, our own special places and if one loses touch with one's own special place, they have little chance of identifying with any other place. Thusly, a crisis of identity occurs. Pain can bring back identity, or at least bring back recognition of it or the distance from it.

Pain brings about very clear recognition. We recognize our own suffering very clearly, and that can be a step towards recognition of many other things: When we recognize out own pain, we may recognize the pain of others who may be in the same predicament. This recognition is essential for true human achievement and advancement: when one recognizes another, that is a step towards true empathy. Being sympathetic is not, in many cases, true recognition of someone's pain. Many people of the world do not ask for sympathy: they simply want to be recognized for who they are, or what they've done. They want someone to understand their pain.

Pain is very real, and mostly an unavoidable part of life. I, for one, am glad for it. Unfortunately I can speak no further on the subject due to lack of time, but I hope it's been interesting.

The Lord of the Stuff: The Return of That Guy

2009-02-17T22:46:28Z

I return! I apologize for the lack of posts, or comments, or anything really.

I recently had surgery to remove all of my wisdom teeth, so I have been out of commission for the past week. Given that I was still recovering and had not slept or eaten in a week (still haven't really) I did not do anything for Valentine's Day, obviously. I hope everyone had a somewhat more interesting one.

My recovery is going smoothly, and I am slowly regaining strength. I hope to see everyone soon after an absence that felt so long!

To make up for a lack of posts for a full two months, here's a little something that needs editing, and that I might expand upon in a possible collection of "Conversations with a Self." Some of it is kind of inside jokes based on an exercise me and my coworkers were doing at the time: we picked random phrases and word combinations out of a jar (or in my case, a sort of easter egg-type thing) and used them in a piece of writing. Anyway, hopefully enjoy:

"This is really awful, you know."

"Shut up, Peter, I'm trying."

"No, you're not. 'The wine, obtained from Morocco, made her have all the courtesy of a highly sophisticated beast?' What the hell does that even mean? Sounds like you pulled random phrases out of a goddamned egg."

"I thought the juxtaposition of disparate images might--"

"There you go again with the high and mighty academic bullshit. All sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"There is meaning there, dude! Even if a statement is weird, and even if the reader doesn't entirely get it, if they enjoy it, there's an accomplishment right there. Even if the understanding comes later, it will come at some point as long as they enjoy the writing and it sticks in their mind, as long as they enjoy the taste of the buttermilk, so to speak."

"'The buttermilk?' The fucking buttermilk? Now you're not even writing, and you're still spewing shit! Even if they do understand it, it will probably take them until after you're dead just to get through bullshit like 'the buttermilk, so to speak.' Writing like that comes with the risk of a lonely, shivery death, my friend."

"Well . . . maybe it would be worth it, just to send some message - like, I don't know, the importance of non-violence."

"Well that would be pretty hypocritical, given that it's a pretty strong act of violence to make someone read your crap, Peter."

"Shut up, Peter."

Bus Stop Prophets

2008-12-22T07:57:00Z

So, I went to a friend's house for dinner for Hanukkah tonight. Given I don't drive a car, I had to take a bus over to Rohnert Park.

Hilarity ensued, as usual.

When I was sitting at the bus stop, I heard strange sounds.

"KAYOOOO FUCKYEEUUWWWW!"

I looked over to see a man standing in the middle of the street, shouting this shit over and over, making strange gestures. Everyone stared straight ahead in attempts to not make eye contact, either out of fear or extreme apathy. After doing this for a few minutes, the guy walked right over and sat on a bench not too far from me.

He launched into a discussion about Jesus, of all people. I could barely contain my laughter as he stated, "You know, all people are scum. But Jesus was cool!"

This was directly after he punctuated a sentence about how awesome Jesus was with, "I wish I was a cat."

My bus finally arrived, and much as I was amused by the crazy fucking dude and his love of Jesus, I was glad to be rid of him. Or was I?

NOPE. The guy joined us on the bus with a raucous yell of "YEEEAAAAAAHHHH BUS RIDERS!"

He continued to shout and yell and sing random bits of pop culture tunes while on the bus, until the driver literally told him, "We're gonna play the quiet game now. Let's see how long we can all stay quiet!"

When the man left the bus with a "Jesus loves you all!" the driver used the speaker system to tell everyone, "That's why we call it public transportation." Doesn't entirely work on paper, but we all got the joke anyway, and the entire bus laughed. Good times!

OH SHI

2008-12-18T18:34:23Z

Holy shiiiiiii I think my panel proposal for the NCWCA Conference just got accepted. WHAT NOW BITCHES, HEADIN' UP A SIX PERSON PANEL DISCUSSION, THE WORLD WILL KNOW THE WORD OF PETAR, BYAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

ANTS!!!!!

2008-12-17T01:09:53Z

ANTS ARE BACK AND THEY'RE CRAWLIN' ALL OVAH THE PLACE FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!

The History of Men

2008-12-15T04:06:16Z

Urgh. Everyone has been suffering a good bit lately (myself included). I suppose it's to be suspected with finals rolling around, but it still sucks. It reminds me of a story that I thought I should tell:

A long time ago, the son of a king of Persia was raised alongside the son of the grand vizier, and their friendship was legendary. When the prince ascended to the throne, he said to his friend: "While I attend to the affairs of the kingdom, will you please write me a history of men and the world, so that I can draw the necessary lessons from it and thus know the proper way to act."

The king's friend consulted with the most famous historians, the most learned scholars, and the most respected sages. Five years later he presented himself proudly at the palace.

"Sire," he said, "here are thirty-six volumes relating the entire history of the world from creation to your accession."

"Thirty-six volumes!" cried the king. "How will I ever have time to read them? I have so much work administering my kingdom and seeing to my two hundred queens. Please, friend, condense your history."

Two years later, the friend returned to the palace with ten volumes. But the king was at war with the neighboring monarch. He wa found on a mountaintop in the desert, directing the battle.

"The fate of our kingdom is being played out as we speak. Where would I find the time to read ten volumes? Abridge your history even further."

The vizier's son left and worked three years on a single volume that gave an accurate picture of the essence. The king was now caught up in legislating.

"How lucky you are to have the time to write quietly. While you've been doing that, I've been debating taxes and their collection. Bring me tenfold fewer pages - I'll spend an evening mining them."

Two years later, it was done. But when the friend returned, he found the king bedridden, in dreadful pain. The friend himself was no longer young; his wrinkled face was haloed by a mane of white hair.

"Well?" whispered the king with his dying breath. "The history of men?"

His friend gazed steadily at him and, as the king was about to die, he said:

"They suffer, Majesty."

EPIC

2008-12-08T08:19:47Z

Alright, what if . . . WHAT IF . . . what if Prospero from The Tempest fought Gandalf from Lord of the Rings in a duel?

Things to consider: whether Prospero's spirits get to join in the brawl, whether it's book Gandalf or movie Gandalf, would Gandalf's crazy staff flashlight thing work on Ariel or those brutal spirit dog things?

Discuss.

Oh Noz Red Rings n' Jesus

2008-12-07T19:40:39Z

Argh. My Xbox has been red ring'd. The good ol' three red lights of death. I think my warranty expired a few months ago, and given I already had to spend $600 on one goddamn pointless class over the break, looks like a new shittily crafted game machine will have to wait a bit. Anyone know if there's anything that could be possibly done to fix this thing's shitty, probably melted and fused cooling system (lookin' at you Shelbster)?

Also, I just went to a beautiful choir performance at a Catholic Church. Has anyone else felt like they're sneaking into somebody's secret club house? All the symbols and banners and decoder rings kind of gave me the vibe, I dunno. I found out they have made these nifty pad thingies for when they kneel, so their knees aren't bleeding by the end of a service! Neat.

Mo' Poemz

2008-12-01T06:32:23Z

Wow, it's been a hell of a long time since I posted anything other than responses to others' posts. Shows how interesting I think my own life is, eh?

If anyone really cared, (I wouldn't) things go as they have for a while now, nothing very exciting. I've studied up a lot more on the ethical theories of Aristotle and Buddhism, and on modern lifespan developmental psychology. Fun stuff. I've made great headway in my job at the Writing Center: One of the Lead Tutors mentioned (half-jokingly, of course, but still) that they should change the policy of only allowing grad students into the position of Lead Tutor for me. UUUNNNGGH.

Anyway. On to (hopefully) more interesting things. I have written more poetry! It follows. If you didn't know I posted poetry before, I posted some a long time ago, I think on my very first post actually (being that narcissistic). Anyway, here they are: most of them are pretty much unfinished, and shitty, but enjoy nonetheless.

Writer’s Block

Aw shit I cannot think of what to write

And if I write, a piece of shit will come:

Some crap I’d never want to bring to light

The likes of which would make one say, “It’s dumb,

A piece of shit, a terribad and gross

Assumption that a fool could even try

Attempting anything I would not toss…”

Oh what the fuck, that didn’t rhyme! I’ll cry

And scream before this slanted crap is written,

And don’t forget a messed up meter,

Trochees that never get the ladies smitten

With fools who penned them like sad Peter.

Oh. Wait a tick. This isn’t all that bad.

The poem’s done! I guess I should be glad.

Convalescence

I walked from bright sunlight into the stillness,

Staleness, silence, hanging in the air where,

Overwhelmed by sights of a thousand lifetimes

A cacophony of emotions screamed within me, without me

The strangest mix of unknown dread and happiness

Of sublime fear and love untold was felt

The pallid, sunken faces of the abandoned looked up at me

Those who are given the utmost care stared

A dog approached, pacing the halls

Known by all – he is lord and master of this place

His lion’s mane shifted with a regal air

As he surveyed his kingdom of peace and love

Of death and order

He is not long for this world, nor are his subjects

They have lived life most lively, seen terrors most terrible

They have known much, and have much to tell

They’ve had enough. They are done.

These people will die in heaven, rather than live in hell.

Untitled

This strange, unknown sound…

What is it? Where is it? Why do I hear it?

I cannot know: it drones behind closed doors,

Pours from some unknown source

Amidst a cacophony of cackling people’s

Unconscious chatter on unknown subjects.

I try, I try, I try to hear! I try to know!

I fail. It drones on. It makes me sick.

Its inexplicability rises in my gullet,

Swims in my head, filling it to bursting,

Making it pulse; I want to hurl upward, outward

This strange, unknown sound…

The Tree

A great tree lies in the center of a courtyard.

There, the stillness is infinite.

The silence is omnipresent, the serenity absolute.

Nothing will stir, nothing will make a sound.

One’s voice is taken away in the full, empty air.

It is ultimate order.

It is chaos all-consuming.

No birds chirp, no frogs call out,

No people scream in terror, anger, ecstasy,

Madness like this devouring stillness

That eats up all movement, all sound,

All chaos, all life consumed by

The outstretched boughs of this saintly monument to

Order.

The Wind and the Rain

I see my birth in the morning,

With beloved family beside,