He turned to me.
Somehow he told me he had been in the Falklands.
In their bloody war.
I made that out despite being handicapped by my fucking elementary Glaswegian.
He had been left disabled.
In their bloody war.
Somehow we connected.
Somehow there was movement...against.
Their bloody war.
Only a moment.
Our lives..... Go on.
No time left.
So many people to meet.
Choices had to be made.
Priorities, priorities...you know....life.
I left with the glasses.
I felt emptiness on leaving him so.
I felt a sort of regret.
There were more stories.
More stories.
He went back to downing his glass, alone, at the bar.
I went back to be with my present friends: a Puffin and a knitting cartoon with glasses.
We took a whole evening.
We laughed, she knitted, we spoke, she knitted, we conspired.
I spilt the beer.
There are more stories.
We hugged.
We left.
There are more stories.
You will never hear.
Not the words.
It takes time you know.
Not words.
Time.
Breathing together.
Touching or just not touching.
Speaking or just not speaking.
Knitting.
Not bloody words.
Knitting.
No.
Knitting.
Time.
Mark my words.
Not the words.
They are a distraction.
They get all the attention.
When will we ever learn?
The value of .....?
Knitting....silence....prog rock.
I am not hopeful.
Let's face it.
On line.
Who fucking notices .....
Who is really there?
On line I mean.
I know you are there.
Well one lives in hope.
Doesn't one?
After all our effort....our cheer...our flag waving.
He was on the line.
In their fucking war.
Now he is there.
At a bar.
In a fucking blog.
An object of our attention.
Disabled.
OER. an object fuck. i. him. us. her.
It hit him.
More stories.
I was reading David Riley's blog Open Content (as one does), a post entitled: Wandering through the "open pedagogy" maze.
Well one has to keep oneself occupied wot?
"What we do with tools and resources is more important than the tools and resources themselves. However, without tools and resources there is precious little we can do.
Many (e.g., Vygotsky, Leont’ev, Wertsch) have argued persuasively that learning is mediated. Some have argued (again, I think persuasively) that the primary tool that mediates learning is language. Whether learning is being supported through conversation, lecture, argument, video, adaptive courseware, plain old textbook, or Google Hangout, words are absolutely critical to supporting learning."
Now, I think I am going to scream.
"Aaaagggghhh."
Is that a word?
More stories.
More stories.
We hugged.
We said nothing.
More stories.
I am hugging you now.
Do you feel it?
Do you feel better now?
Sorry.
No worries.
Sorry.
No worries.
More stories.
"Aaagggghhh."
He screamed, as it hit his leg.
I remember a song.
A song for when there are no words.
Maybe because there are no words for their fucking war.
More stories.
I commented on David's blog.
"Language and learning is much more than words.
What you can't pick up are relationships, moments, emotion, motivation."
I commented on David's blog.
"Aren't people always objectified? Isn't content people objectified?"
I commented on David's blog.
"I agree with the problem of seeing people as simply resources."
David didn't reply.
Sometimes no words speak louder.
I saw he has defined a new term.
"OER-enabled pedagogy"
"OOER!! Blimey guv!" an invented character said in fake Cockney.
I didn't see any point in leaving comment.
I left that to the other.
Sometimes no words speak louder.
More stories.
I saw a tweet.
I think Maha shared it.
It appeared in "my stream".
Fancy that.
Someone didn't see themselves as an OER.
I couldn't see myself as an OER either.
I sometimes can see myselves as an OthER or OthERs.
I had a momentary lapse of reason.
Sorry.
No words...frankly.
"Aaagggghhh."
An OthER
More stories
You know something?
I sometimes think that selfies are insult to our many selves and yours.
People don't take selfies when they hug to say good bye.
People don't take selfies with the fucking coffin...do they?
More stories.
There are so many more stories.
I found a quote of Bell Hooks.
That's thanks to Suzan and her stories...I have never heard.
And then.
More stories.
Yes.
Yours.
What is possible?
Thanks.
Keep it in mind.
Faithfully.
Simon.
With thanks to you, my friends and a man at a bar.
