All right, that was a gimmick.
But I was desperate looking for a way to get out of a tough period being possessed by the demons of Teacher’s Block.
Yes, Teacher’s Block, with capitals. Believe me, it’s far worse than writer’s block.
Writer’s block is not even in the same league. It should even lose the status of Block and be banned forever from the Land of Serious Blocks. No passport, no voting rights, no free cappuccino.
Bye-bye baby, to the Block dungeons, where half-ass blocks spend the rest of their lives trying to realize what being a proper Block is all about.
Yep, that’s how tough a Teacher’s Block can be. To avoid it, crap comes down to this: if a word looks good, it must be put on the whiteboard.
Kakorrhaphiophobia.
Looks good, looks weird, it’s long enough not to be trendy, won’t turn out as a tattoo on an Italian celebrity’s forearm. I could easily imagine Lemmy Kilminster singing it.
Perfect for a conversation class.
I bet you were not expecting so different a word on the screen of your computer after deciding not to facebook.
Kakorrhaphiophobia.
Writers complain about writer’s block, but they have no idea about Teacher’s Block.
It happens all the time, preparing conversation classes, drumming classes, digital video editing exercises etc. I bet even Kamasutra teacher’s run down on it. Hopefully, we will always have Ananga Ranga, so the solution is perennial and set on sexual grounds. But that’s beside the point.
Thing is, you learn how to deal with The Block (let’s be realistic and give it the respect it deserves), specially after twenty years of teaching experience.
First, you feel old, because twenty years of teaching resonate in your brain the same positive way as the wrinkles on your balls.
After that, you let the universe talk to you (Lemmy style): kakorrhaphiophobia.
The word appears. Like magic. Like a drop of water, rolling down an iceberg, magically exposed to the heat of the sun (well, it sounds like one of those forgotten b-side lyrics on an Asia or Marillion record, but let's try to keep Lemmy’s voice in our brains).
You can’t fail. You can’t lose. And you won’t. So you pick the word, and write it on the board.
What the heck does it mean? All right, let’s spit it out: it’s the fear of defeat and failure.
I am not a psychiatrist, a psychologist, I still don’t have a therapist (my Tool CDs make wonders to soothe my mind).
But when you are a hard rocking teacher heavy metal style, with feature films aspirations and a past of crappy music video directing and some weird (but interestingly artsy) short films in your resume’ (not to mention the fact of still being a drummer), well, you know that every now and then you got to flip out, go crazy and contact the most obscure forces of the Cosmos to overcome Teacher’s Block.
Not convinced? I’ll illustrate you how hard this bleached imagination condition is with a beautiful story:
Once upon a time there was a very famous Arab writer lost in the desert. He was feeling basically doomed, because not only he was lost, but he also didn’t have water, nor a camel, for transportation or (in a last desperate move) food. And worse, he had writer’s block, so he knew that if he survived, he wouldn’t be able to tell people his story with the proper style or the proper heavy dramatic strength.
A muslim, he decided to pray to Allah to enlighten his way, to help him alleviate at least one of his aforementioned problems, preferably his writer’s block.
Well, the mercy of Allah came in a very mysterious form.
On the horizon, a giant profile. A silhouette. But a very awkward silhouette of an upside-down pyramid, that approached our thirsty and desperate Arab writer... WITH writer’s block.
“HAAOOWN”!
The nearer that fuzzy, distorted dark apparition came, the louder a sad sound of lamentation, a depressive toot of a horn, something like an off-key oboe invaded the already hard-to-breathe air.
Well, that giant upside-down pyramid didn’t stop approaching. Neither that sickening depressive sound.
“HAAOOWN”- “HAAOOWN”!
Many things could be passing through our writer’s mind, but when you got writer’s block, you got writer’s block. Your mind is as white as the turban of a virgin bedouin girl.
That’s why it was so simple for him to explain it: his destiny was heading towards him.
Or vice versa. Because writer’s block also affects your style.
So it wasn’t for him to avoid the moving pyramid. Or a horn-tooting upside-down pyramid. He knew shit was coming. Or... was it?
In a blink of an eye, things got clear, and his dark approaching fate turned out to be a camel. An ordinary camel. Carrying an iceberg. A gigantic upside-down iceberg, up its anus.
“HAWOON”, cried the camel.
“What the hell...?” coughed the writer, trying to organize his thoughts. He had prayed to the Almighty. With all his faith. With all that was left of his strength. And a sodomized camel with a babilonic iceberg in its ass was THE answer.
“HAWOON”, complained the camel.
“I’m doomed”, shouted the writer _“Allah has finally abandoned me!”
“Shut up!”, replied the camel. “I got an iceberg the size of the fucking Sphinx stuck in my ass and you say YOU have been abandoned? FUCK YOU!”
Well, the camel had a point. Looking again at the dripping iceberg, and remembering that what you see from an iceberg is actually one third of the whole structure, the Arab writer smiled. Well, he almost smiled, but the camel’s constant moaning and groaning prevented him from doing such a stupid thing. He smirked, though.
It was obvious that Allah was giving him the greatest present of his life!
He had finally found food AND a story that would immortalize him, specially if he wanted to add in his tale the fact that he would be quenching his thirst from a talking camel’s butt.
Well, I’m not telling this story just for kicks.
I tell it, first, because it is a true story. Period. I heard it from the descendants of that poor camel, sacrificed in the name of Allah to turn perennial the most famous tale of one of the most famous marginal muslim Arab writers, whose name I am not authorized to bring up to disclosure due to international copyright treaties, and also because the family of the camel, the very few of the remnant Egyptian talking camels (if we don't mention the reigning Mubarak family), are planning to publish a whole book on the very same subject.
Second, and this is the moral of the story, if writer’s block can be eased by the single vision of a camel with an iceberg up its ass, well, that doesn’t apply to teacher’s block.
A teacher, to break off his block, scours the earth for ideas, in a never ending quest, through seas and mountains, through forest and ice, turning himself (or herself) into a beast, not feeling the pain and the accidents of the journey, not even the heat of a desert, no matter what had happened to him, an iceberg in his ass or whatever. And when a teacher, by thinking that he might have finally found a helping hand, starts moaning and cursing, well, winds up humiliated in a surreal story, and his butt ..., well, long story short: winds up in a hot spot.
A teacher without new ideas is THE camel with an iceberg up its ass.
So what does a camel, in such situation, should do? Be afraid? Of what?
Kakorrhaphiophobia.
You just can’t be afraid.
The word appears. Like magic. Like a drop of water, rolling down an iceberg.
You can’t fail. You can’t lose. And you won’t.
Next time, avoid the moody faithless writer facing you. And that thing that is stuck up your ass, well, take advantage of it. It might be there to soothe your pain, give you ideas, or quench your thirst.
Yep, that was a gimmick.
