Today is my first day of summer school classes (I'm taking two), and this professor is already proving himself to be a good time.
At the start of class he dramatically opens and walks through the door before flashing a smile to the class (he's clearly gay), he then pulls out his computer and does a dramatic reading of "Introduction to Poetry" by Billy Collins before putting on some early house music..
about halfway through the song he turns it down and pulls up the syllabus to go over as a class.
This is his course description (copied right from the syllabus):
The Madness:
What if existence is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to contemplate?
What if the story of life has no clear beginning, middle, and end—no narrative
arc? What if, instead, that story percolates out of a roiling cauldron of
chaos? Perhaps, then, fiction and science are not separate enterprises but twin
disciplines, conjoined by theories and probabilities instead of rules and
resolutions. In that case, the writing workshop must be a laboratory of
ceaseless experimentation where anything is possible and nothing is permitted.
If you’re ready to embrace the paradox within that statement, then you’re ready
for all the ambiguity inherent in English 408. First item in the Petri dish:
must fiction make “sense” in order to create “meaning?”
I'm excited for this next 6 weeks.
Happy Summer!
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