Gross Adequacy

As Summer approaches, I can’t help but feel a strong sense of giddiness coming on, an...

Sat, 26 May 2012 18:38:00 -0400

As Summer approaches, I can’t help but feel a strong sense of giddiness coming on, an involuntary rush of hopefulness and adventure. I’m positively embarrassed by it, the corniness of it, the obtuse and carefree joy that only children were supposed to possess. No, I’m not disparaging this too, I’m not; It’s just, you know, something ridiculous, something to laugh at from the receding mire of self-indulgence and logical skepticism. It makes one wonder, looking down the full length of a person—from the oblivious joy of childhood, to sullen and spiteful youth, down the pragmatic spine of adulthood, finally tracing towards the contentment and refinement of old age—which one of these seemingly compulsory stages ought we regard in earnest?

I’ve never been one to see my being as one, unified, coherent whole. Yes, I see similarities throughout myself that cannot be dissolved by changes, no matter how dramatic, in my consciousness and form. I feel these, and with vain and self-affectionate sentiment, conclude that this must be my real self; my soul, my heart (if there ever was one). Perhaps some find this comfort in every piecemeal habit, throughout every chapter of life, in every word. I do not, and have never wished to. It has always seemed clear to embrace change, to slowly become a new person, and to hope to, again and again. In fact, the opposite has always been a source of terror in me; to remain dully and solemnly the same, spinning the same webs of thoughts and dreams; living in one, flat, world.

Perhaps this is the source of my giddiness, my infinite expectation. I have, would you believe it, spent the better part of two years stuck, as it were, in the same web. Spinning, and spinning but never to metamorphosis (are the analogies wearing on your with their corniness? Yes! That is exactly what that were meant to do, what I mean to). The thing is, some days you wake up, and you feel a sudden, enormous, transcendent shift. The seasons, I think, can assist in this (again, to my intense embarrassment).

And well, take this as you will, but I must insist that this isn’t a gleeful declaration of emerging from despair into the bright and welcome glow of “happiness” (although the imagery might lead one to that). No, no, I don’t believe in happiness. This shift I’m trying to corner (and dissect), it just so happens that the last time I felt it was at the height of what I can objectively call the darkest and most painful period of my life (and yet it was not!). Alright though ,so I affirm happiness too, I do, yet I can never say so because of the false images it conjures. Of everlasting peace, and love, and nothing bad happening. I say that not only does such a thing not exist, but that a life as such would be seldom worth living. Much as a movie where nothing goes wrong, no conflict arises, is seldom worth watching. So life IS a movie you see?

And here, though this long oscillating tube that is life, I can’t help but wonder if every state, every shift, is just as valuable as the next and that before it. That in every partition, down to this very second, we know something true that we have never known, nor will never know again.

Well, there you have it folks, the meaning of life.

Fyodor Dostoevsky - "Notes From Underground," Ch. 2

Mon, 26 Mar 2012 06:13:00 -0400

II

”I want now to tell you, gentlemen, whether you care to hear it or not, why I could not even become an insect. I tell you solemnly, that I have many times tried to become an insect. But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness — a real thorough-going illness. For man’s everyday needs, it would have been quite enough to have the ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a quarter of the amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated man of our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most theoretical and intentional town on the whole terrestrial globe. (There are intentional and unintentional towns.) It would have been quite enough, for instance, to have the consciousness by which all so-called direct persons and men of action live. I bet you think I am writing all this from affectation, to be witty at the expense of men of action; and what is more, that from ill-bred affectation, I am clanking a sword like my officer. But, gentlemen, whoever can pride himself on his diseases and even swagger over them?

Though, after all, everyone does do that; people do pride themselves on their diseases, and I do, may be, more than anyone. We will not dispute it; my contention was absurd. But yet I am firmly persuaded that a great deal of consciousness, every sort of consciousness, in fact, is a disease. I stick to that. Let us leave that, too, for a minute. Tell me this: why does it happen that at the very, yes, at the very moments when I am most capable of feeling every refinement of all that is “sublime and beautiful,” as they used to say at one time, it would, as though of design, happen to me not only to feel but to do such ugly things, such that … Well, in short, actions that all, perhaps, commit;

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but which, as though purposely, occurred to me at the very time when I was most conscious that they ought not to be committed. The more conscious I was of goodness and of all that was “sublime and beautiful,” the more deeply I sank into my mire and the more ready I was to sink in it altogether. But the chief point was that all this was, as it were, not accidental in me, but as though it were bound to be so. It was as though it were my most normal condition, and not in the least disease or depravity, so that at last all desire in me to struggle against this depravity passed. It ended by my almost believing (perhaps actually believing) that this was perhaps my normal condition. But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured in that struggle! I did not believe it was the same with other people, and all my life I hid this fact about myself as a secret. I was ashamed (even now, perhaps, I am ashamed): I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment in returning home to my corner on some disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last — into positive real enjoyment! Yes, into enjoyment, into enjoyment! I insist upon that. I have spoken of this because I keep wanting to know for a fact whether other people feel such enjoyment? I will explain; the enjoyment was just from the too intense consciousness of one’s own degradation; it was from feeling oneself that one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but that it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for you; that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into.

And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all in accord with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute consciousness, and with the inertia that was the direct result of those laws, and that consequently one was not only unable to change but could do absolutely nothing. Thus it would follow, as the result of acute consciousness, that one is not to

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blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise that he actually is a scoundrel. But enough…. Ech, I have talked a lot of nonsense, but what have I explained? How is enjoyment in this to be explained? But I will explain it. I will get to the bottom of it! That is why I have taken up my pen….

I, for instance, have a great deal of amour propre [self-respect]. I am as suspicious and prone to take offence as a humpback or a dwarf. But upon my word I sometimes have had moments when if I had happened to be slapped in the face I should, perhaps, have been positively glad of it. I say, in earnest, that I should probably have been able to discover even in that a peculiar sort of enjoyment — the enjoyment, of course, of despair; but in despair there are the most intense enjoyments, especially when one is very acutely conscious of the hopelessness of one’s position. And when one is slapped in the face — why then the consciousness of being rubbed into a pulp would positively overwhelm one. The worst of it is, look at it which way one will, it still turns out that I was always the most to blame in everything. And what is most humiliating of all, to blame for no fault of my own but, so to say, through the laws of nature. In the first place, to blame because I am cleverer than any of the people surrounding me. (I have always considered myself cleverer than any of the people surrounding me, and sometimes, would you believe it, have been positively ashamed of it. At any rate, I have all my life, as it were, turned my eyes away and never could look people straight in the face.) To blame, finally, because even if I had had magnanimity, I should only have had more suffering from the sense of its uselessness. I should certainly have never been able to do anything from being magnanimous — neither to forgive, for my assailant would perhaps have slapped me from the laws of nature, and one cannot forgive the laws of nature; nor to forget, for even if it were owing to the laws of nature, it is insulting all the same. Finally, even if I had wanted to be anything but magnanimous, had desired on the contrary to revenge myself on my assailant, I could not have revenged myself on any one for anything because I should certainly never have made up my mind to do anything, even if I had been able to. Why should I not have made up my mind? About that in particular I want to say a few words.”

Actually, I have a few words to say, if I can. Let me confess that I’ve never read anything that has resonated so soundly and startlingly with the way I see myself (like when a great comedian tells a joke, and its so funny because you think to yourself “I’ve thought that!” Except, of course, they said it better). I’m always vainly curious about how others see me, but if you want to know how I conceive of me, then study the above text. Even pretend that I wrote it, if that’s possible.

nevver: Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children’s Crusade, Kurt...

Sat, 24 Mar 2012 17:44:48 -0400

nevver:

Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children’s Crusade, Kurt Vonnegut

I'll Believe In Anything

Mon, 05 Mar 2012 03:26:00 -0500

Do you ever think about the origins of what you believe? And I don’t mean your parents. Much deeper than that is a history, a thicket of opposing and complementary ideologies, all springing from what we vaguely identify as “Western Civilization.” It’s interesting to see, equipped with an especially modest understanding of some basic models of belief, how people carry ideology around so conspicuously, while apparently unaware that they espouse anything at all.

The first example that comes to mind is the set of widely held assumptions inherited from living in an advanced Global-Capitalist society; specifically that everything is naturally competitive, self-regulating, and driven by individuals. Apart from those who study and champion this position, I feel as though, simply by being a part of a society identifying itself as such, people generally reflect the stances most dominant throughout. (A friend recently told me that “all innovation is driven by competition.” We were talking about skateboarding, mind you.)

The point is, dominant ideologies become seemingly imbedded in society as a whole. What I’m mainly referring to is the notion that certain ideologies “slip behind the curtain,” or however you would put it. Exiting the stage of social scrutiny, whereby beliefs are judged in accordance with what is right and good and just—ideologies can transcend appearance, instead becoming part of the scale on which “right and good and just” are defined.

Another quick, and to me sort of cryptically telling, example: the phrase “the marketplace of ideas,” used to defend the idea of freedom of speech and Democracy as a whole. The basic message here (at least by my reading) is that free ideas are analogous to a free-market: through competition and innovation, the cream always rises; in other words, Democracy is good because of the qualities it shares with Capitalism, which we know is good. Today, in our society, it makes the most sense if we use economic terminology to demonstrate the validity of democratic ideals. This is fascinating to me, even though I think it should be the other way around.

As a rule, I try very carefully not to be arrogant, or judgmental, or superior. So, “look at these lemmings, all spewing some agenda without even realizing they’re doing it”, is far from my mind. Well, not always; but I expect someone to be thinking the same thing about me, and that’s fine. When I try to think from the position of someone whose beliefs I find completely irreconcilable with my own, then maybe some of those darker, self-indulgent thoughts will surface. But let’s be honest with ourselves. Peel-back the waxy surface of vicious self-assurance, and what do we get: empty words. We can effortlessly brush away the beliefs of others, yet all we’re really saying is, “you believe what you believe because of blind conformity; I believe what I believe because of logic and morality.”

This conclusion leaves something to be desired, to say the least. Really, thinking that way (something I’ve been guilty of, to be sure) calls my beliefs into question more so than whoever was accused of mindless adherence. Here, I’m the one making the grand, universal claims—significantly, without examining how/why these “True” beliefs have made their way to me (and not others).

My first attempt to rectify this—a tear in the fabric of an objective, logical world, which though direct experience I have come to possess a valid system of knowledge (what is/isn’t real/true)—was to suggest that, being social animals, we are taught the most coherent/useful way to believe in any given physical/social/political context (i.e., the one we each grew up in). That really makes sense to me. It helps to explain, though social geographies, why some people think one way, and other people don’t (look at rural/urban worldviews, for contrast). The explanation: different environments invariably produce different beliefs.

Imagine my frustration when it occurred to me that this explanation was subject to the same kinds of ideological assumptions that it attempted to resolve. “Humans are a social animal,” might seem like a less-than-controversial claim, but is it? The imbedded-ness of ideas like “man is competitive, self-reliant, and motivated by his own profit,” would suggest otherwise. Man is social? That depends on who you’re talking to. Some would tell me that it was man’s ability to work together, reciprocate, share ideas freely, and care for one-another, that allowed the species to slowly become what “he” now is. Someone else would contend that it is man’s constant drive for survival, his mastery of competition, his will to improve on the work of others, and his unwavering self-interest that has resulted in today’s “selfish animal.” But it’s this very incongruity—reaching even the rationale we use to justify why and how we are, including our “natural” identity—that makes this seem like an unanswerable puzzle.

You can’t justify your own beliefs using any tool that you don’t believe in.

At most, you can lean on whatever consensus you find, which is certainly what we do today (the “news” as in “this is what happened in the world today,” depends on which station you watch. They’re literally selling us alternate realities.)

The alarming part, the overlooked part, is that in order to create a social-space where you are (by and large) surrounded by people you can agree with, it becomes necessary to prune-off the rest. This is nothing new, of course. Over the course of history, social affiliation was typically cemented though conflicts with other groups. This first happened though tribes; then religions; now, nations.

Of the many possible implications of this is an undoing of what many consider (through consensus, no less) to be positive and significant social achievements; the loosening of stringent group identities that continue exist in an exclusive, inequitable way. If someone ever wondered how the deeply-rooted, seemingly inflexible historical divisions among people—race, creed, gender, sexuality, country, and so on—had begun to unravel in recent years, then it would be of equal wonder that they seem to be tightening up again.

Maybe that’s not a particularly safe statement to make. Since the Civil Rights Stuff happened, it feels like further social progress is considered inevitable (continuous innovation/progress. Why does that sound familiar? Ha!). Anyways, nothing can be said to disparage the significant strides made in advancing civil liberties and social justice, some of them very recent. God, that sounded like a flyer or something.

Whatever. You get me. Things are getting better in many respects, I know. My suggestion, however, is that as we become more and more ideologically polarized (embedded, even), we grow more reliant on the conceptual “Other,” which serves to both exemplify what NOT to be/think, and create insulation for us to sit comfortably with people we like. Think about the way enemy soldiers are portrayed in just about any action movie: fucking soul-less, brainwashed, evil puppets. That’s what Others are for. “You’re not real, so neither is what you believe.” And now we’re doing that to each other, which, it’s bad enough when we do it to poor, oppressed people from other countries.

If we jettison the ideas which disrupt our calm, orderly world, we might know that they’re out there, but not having to see them is nearly as good as them never existing in the first place. Let’s face it, “the world,” to each of us, is only what registers across the relatively tiny screen of our consciousness. You know germs? They didn’t exist before the microscope.

In all, belief seems like an extremely violent act. We all know, to varying degrees, where our ideological foundations lie. The question then ceases to be whether or not these foundations are sound, but to what extent these models align and coalesce in the greater world. Whose world are you living in, other than your own? Irrespective, it takes a special kind of arrogance, a kind we don’t really acknowledge, to believe in anything. Even if you’re the most wishy-washy, “everybody’s right” kind of person—to believe that, you still have to reject the entire worldview of the guy who thinks there’s just ONE right way to do everything. Right? It’s negation. And it makes us all arrogant pricks.

Equally, it’s impossible to say anything without being arrogant, in one respect or another. Who am I to write something down for other people to see? What do I think I know that you don’t, that you ought to?

Mandatory-post.

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 19:47:53 -0500

Yeah, I needed to end this dry spell of mine. Its been, I don’t know, a few months since I’ve put anything up here (longer if you exclude my last post, which was a drunken rant). Let’s count that though, because who cares if anything anyone says on here is intelligent or profound or legible? It’s not really about that. It thinks it is, but its not. Its about pouring-out some of that excess liquid in our brains, making room for more.

That’s the way I think sometimes. That every word we think/speak/write, is progress. And heck, maybe the dumbest, most cliche, completely tired and lame, things we can think to say are the things that propel us the most. This runs counter to, I guess, common sense, which tells us that if we think stupid things, we’re bound to get stuck thinking that way. Perhaps, perhaps.

But think about how we’re here, today. I can’t speak for you, but me, I grew out of ignorance, wonder, and stupid questions. The first, most obvious things we ask are from complete blindness. Gradually, we piece the world together. Is this because we’re told the answers? I don’t think so. At least I don’t feel so. It feels like there are never answers, only more questions. Or then the answers are just veiled questions beginning with an ‘if.’ So that’s how we’re here, by being a part of an endless procession of “if then, if then, if then…” Ad infinitum.

This might not be remotely true, but ‘if’ it is, ‘then’ all we can do is keep this circulation going. Never shut it down. This would be pretentious. If we stop, it means we think we’ve arrived somewhere we can sit comfortably, somewhere we can pretend to know. I don’t know anything, ok? Well, not in any fixed state. My experience with knowledge has been like watching the ebb of a stream; but when I reach out to grab it, to keep it and hold it for myself, it slips away, right back in. Corny analogy, I know. But that’s the point. That’s exactly it.

You can’t stop. When you stop, maybe out of uncertainty—or worse, certainty—you’re really forfeiting everything instead of possessing it. So let’s keep that Kool-Aid jug inside our head fresh. When it gets stale and diluted, pour it out, try some Berry Blue.

The gist (as much for me to remember than anyone else), is to stop caring if something you say, do, express, and so on—is going to be interpreted how you want it to be, is going to be taken exactly how you meant it, and, (critically) means what you think your audience wants it to mean. Forget about it. What matters is that you did it.

Once its out there, it will be taken, flipped, shoehorned, torn to pieces, and whatever anyone who reads it wants to do with it. Let it go. See if it has any legs. Not that it matters if it does.

See? I feel better, regardless. Now I can say something else.

"I wonder why I don’t go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no..."

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 05:47:06 -0500

“I wonder why I don’t go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.”

- Sylvia Plath (via parodise)

I’ve been waiting, ever so patiently, for that resounding solution, that answer which allows...

Thu, 24 Nov 2011 04:49:54 -0500

I’ve been waiting, ever so patiently, for that resounding solution, that answer which allows me to take this world in my fist. The one thing that makes it tangible, real. I mean that, real. Because I’m not sure its ever been. Its been like playing a card game you don’t know the rules of, and everyone but you seems to be catching on. That sounds too glum, doesn’t it? Not that there’s anything wrong with being glum, but that’s not what I am. I’m confused, not really morbid or depressed in the conventional sense. Just like, “what the fuck is going on here?”

Oh, and by “taking the world in my fist,” I don’t mean anything psychotic or dictator-y either. To be clear, I’m just searching for a grasp, anything. Somewhere that I feel like I know what the fuck I’m doing, for once. Doesn’t seem like a helluva lot to ask.

The solutions you’ll offer are even more discouraging, believe it or not. “You just have to pick yourself up, take reign of your life, and good things will come.” Fucking seriously? Now THAT depresses me; all these clowns who think they’ve arrived at some sort of success because they followed a yellow line on the pavement, without ever thinking about where they were going, without ever questioning why they would want to go there. I mean, Shiiiiiiit.

Its not as if I feel so blessed to think that I know something these folks don’t—its more like I see the fact that they place values on things that I, personally, am disgusted with.

And it all boils down to the sad truth that, whatever social process that led them to this empty meaning, has also led me to mine (as in whatever I place value on). If they learned theirs, I learned mine. Right? So I’m forced to believe that there’s no pot o’ gold at the end of their rainbow but for me, I’m in for a treat!

Let’s switch to a Peter Pan mentality: its only real if you BELIEVE. No, I’ve actually believed that all along, which affirms itself. I guess there wasn’t any point in fretting in the first place…

Photo

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 16:36:07 -0400

nevver: Land of Lost Content

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 19:28:35 -0400

nevver:

Land of Lost Content

This is happening.

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 15:51:00 -0400

This is happening.

climateadaptation: The 1%

Tue, 18 Oct 2011 01:25:17 -0400

climateadaptation:

The 1%

An action's worth a thousand words.

Sun, 16 Oct 2011 15:11:00 -0400

“In want of something meaningful to say.”

If I had to guess, I’d wager this is the purest, most urgent desire of the human heart. Generalizations, I know, are dangerous. But true things are often surrounded by dangerous things, I think. Sometimes a statement so simple, so final, so sweeping, has a beauty—not crude or forceful like the generalizations we’re used to—that would be lost with another word, ruined by an extra flourish. Say more by saying less, that sort of thing. (Sigh), I hate to be the gazillionth person to use this as an analogy, but E=MC2 is irresistible. The summation of so much, with so little. Five fucking characters.

Now, see here, I’m not saying that I’ve arrived at any such brilliance with that sorry little quote. Instead, this feels like the summation of so much, with so little—but in my mind, and at this particular time. Very subjective. Things can, and will, change. But for now, I feel like trying this notion on-to everything I can, and seeing where it fits, and where it doesn’t. Cinderella’s slipper.

I think the first obstacle is that we don’t typically think about purpose or achievement in terms of what we want to say, especially concerning long-term “life” goals and whatnot. We think about what we want to do. Everything is action, action, action. Thoughts and words, are for the timid, the weak. Oh yeah, and don’t forget, “actions speak louder than words.” Classic.

That was the spark that set this little rant off: that we all seem to silently agree to this ideology. But its a pretty anti-intellectual sentiment, really, and one that encourages thoughtlessness and ignorance. ”Don’t think, DO.”

My counter argument—and basic premise for describing what each and every human wants deep down—is that actions are words; and words, actions. Its a fake line we’ve drawn, in my view. There’s hardly an action that isn’t meant to be perceived by someone else; therefore, making it a statement. Sound logic, no?

It doesn’t seem that radical an idea, to just think about what you’re doing, because you’re trying to say something either way. Might as well be conscious of what it is.

Think about everything you want out of life. What makes them valuable, desirable things?

Money. Money’s easy. Sure, there are the “personal luxuries” that we enjoy hedonistic-ly. But let’s face it, wealth, and class in general, is about an individual’s position within a social hierarchy. We care what people think, we do. We define ourselves by how society defines us, so we do our best to tell them that we’re worth something.

For example, the sports car is valuable to you because it is valuable to other people. This is an outward expression, more significant, I claim, than the qualities of the object itself.

Having any doubts? Ok, then think about some blockbuster-movie-apocalypse-scenario where you’re the last person on Earth, and you’re left with every one of humanity’s left-over possessions. Would you give a fuck? I wouldn’t.

Every commodity beyond basic survival would be made arbitrary. Materialism itself would cease to exist.

Then again, so would the values of intellect, of ideas. I do like to think that ideas contain a kind of eternal resonance; that every idea that can exist already does, and that realizations are just stumbling upon things that were already “there”. That doesn’t spoil the joy for me. I don’t have to believe that I as an individual “created” something out of scratch, or some self-made man, cowboy-captain of industry bullshit. Its much more humble than that, whether we acknowledge it or not. Ideas, epiphanies, explosions of thought; these are all things to be grateful for, privileged little glimpses of the universe. That’s why, for me, knowledge is the ultimate commodity, the purpose, the end.

But, getting back to the point, knowledge too is “trying to say something.” I don’t mean this in a superficial way, as in “look how clever I am,” but more in the sense that knowledge is the product of an endless conversation. You could even say knowledge is the “saying,” the conversation itself. Look at the way we’ve evolved socially, since the onset of civilization, and try telling me that knowledge is contained in the individual. Language, the role its played in our intellectual progression, gives us the answer.

Everything of value is generated from this interconnecting, bouncing inertia: saying (doing) things, trying to tell the world something true, something that makes us more real. Its almost as if we have to make everyone else admit that we exist, for fear of dissolving. I feel it, all the time.

For the record, I’m not trying to slam people who have different ideas about what “social value” consists of (materialism, social status), and therefore say and do different things about it. Wealth, power, admiration (though its up to each of us to define them): I operate under the same basic schema, I admit. And, I too have the mad, desperate desire to tell you all something meaningful.

The Suburbs

Thu, 13 Oct 2011 04:47:00 -0400

House-sitting for two days, for me, has been like living in some remote log-cabin for 6 months. Worse, even. At first, yeah, its nice to have to peace and quiet; and there’s real big TVs and tons of pop. Quintessential suburban lifestyle. But two days man, and I’m over it. The amenities dissolve, become empty. It just occurred to me how fucking stupid this is.

Great, there’s barely any people here, and if there are, god bless em they’re white. And guess what? We get to lock everyone out; no through-streets, and a fancy electronic gate. Wouldn’t want anything actually going on here, now would we? Just in-and-out, eat-watch TV-sleep, scared in their ticky-tacky little (not actually) houses.

But, hey look at the pretty “farm” across the road (a few horses, interrupted by a barreling pickup truck every few minutes). The funny thing is, the fact that you can see the “farm” (I refuse to type it without the quotations, so forget it) means that you’re fucking this whole shit up anyways. There probably used to be a farm (no quotations, see the difference?) right under your feet, but everything’s develop, develop, develop, so now we have to buy our produce from Fuji and New Zealand. This is here just so some smarmy asshole can sell you an over-sized cardboard box on the cheap. And yeah, you bought it just because you think it means you’ve “arrived.” Have fun driving 50 miles to work everyday in your Durango, you cunt.

realcleverscience: world-shaker: PREACH. And preach it...

Mon, 10 Oct 2011 12:02:40 -0400

realcleverscience:

world-shaker:

PREACH.

And preach it loudly!

nevver: Dream

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 20:18:08 -0400

nevver:

Dream

Writing without thinking.

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 15:44:00 -0400

Boy, do I get caught up thinking about the strangest things sometimes (all the time). Just now, I was thinking about how fun it is to play with language. Use it, abuse it, twist its meaning, make it into something new (“that’s fun?!” - Yeah. It is. You probably do it everyday on facebook, unless you’re one of those tedious people who post things like “went to the mall today”). But its also how we progress intellectually, I think. Take the stale, literal meanings of words and connect them all over the place, everywhere they wern’t meant to be. Push forward, and language evolves with us, taking on the meanings that are most useful, most relavant to that place at that time. Words are like neurons: connecting and connecting; hopfully in new and unpredictable ways that expand our imagination. That stuff really, honestly, is rad to me. Bear in mind, I’m mostly just ripping off some philsophical ideas which I haven’t really read in detail.

This is just, I don’t know, an unfiltered stream of thoughts. If someone reads it, that’s cool I guess. I don’t expect most people to want to read a basically aimless, self-indulgant, whatever this is—I probably wouldn’t if our roles were reversed. More than that though, its good to get thoughts out, spew them all over the floor. And I don’t think it works quite right unless I actually send it out there. Otherwise, I’d just write this, keep it to myself, and here it would stay, trapped on my computer. That’s the best I can explain it. I know it sounds like I’m saying that I have to publish this, for my own sake, but that I don’t care if anyone sees it, reads it, likes it, or hates it. False, I hope for all of those things, I do, I do.

Also, lately I feel a sudden urge to speak impulsively, tactlessly, and without any sort of inhibitions. Incidentally, I find this immediatly relatable to what I started out wanting to say about language: break the rules, break em, break em, break em.

What was I saying in the first place? Yeah, yeah, a little vague; contortions, neurons, reshaping…blah, blah. Examples? Yeah. No. Ok.

Hip-hop, honest to god hip-hop, hits the nail on the head. Its all about quips and puns and metaphors and new sweet-sounding combinations and uses of words—all those devices and so on—which drill holes through the brick wall that is Webster’s Dictionary. In my head, its a landscape, or a grid or something; and the second we say” he (or she, ok?) actually thought of that, noone’s said THAT like THAT ever before,” the map of language in our head gets a little more complex. Every time you hear something that uses a word/words in a completely different way than you’ve heard before, that meaning extends into you, changing the word itself, in the sense of a great sprawling web of social consciousness. I think that’s great, personally. Maybe just because I’m used to uppity-types (snobs, quite possibly race/class-ists) correcting everyone on grammer and pronounciation all the time, when, in fact ITS ALL JUST MADE UP! I MEANS WHAT WE MAKE IT MEAN!

That’s its for the caps, swear. I’m not mad. NOT!

Now think of a relavent lyric or they’ll think you’re a fake. THINK OF ONE! Oh, ok, I was just talking about this:

“Like a green red blue reindeer, dead lying down with a fawn, Copulating having sex.” Okokok, a pretty goofy, good tune; you don’t have to like it to appreciate the creativity (recommended though, “I’m destructive” - Dr. Octagon). This whole song is outrageous (the chorus is just him repeating “I’m destructive” in his best butt-rock voice). But the main, small, clever-as-hell line I wanted to point out was “copulating having sex.” See, he says it in the conversational tone that you’ve probably heard someone say “contemplating having sex” (at at first, your head kind of just fills in the “mistake,” because that’s what our brains do). But that’s not what he’s saying. I can’t decide if its a double meaning, but copulating means to have sex, so he’s literally saying “having sex, having sex” while saying it like “thinking about having sex.” Am I the only one who thinks that’s neat-o? Basically, he tricks you at first, then you realize he’s making an obsurd, redundant statement. And the fact that the first time you hear it, you actually hear “contemplating”, really underscores the force that linguistic habits have on the way we interact (and also how languages inevitably evolve and break those habits, making new ones over and over and over again and until the oceans dry-up and we all die).

Big surprise, I’m not an obsessive hip-hop-head, I can’t lie. I like hip-hop, really like it, but i find myself chasing pretty, strange melodies too often (I can’t explain it. Sometimes you don’t know why you gravitate towards what you gravitate towards, I guess). Also, I think its gotten less and less relevant over the years—from a racial social justice movment, to pure shock value (which counts as social commentary nonetheless), to what a lot of it is now: fluffy, commercialized, watered-down pop-music. Sorry. And that’s not a blanket statement, thanks. Just saying, a lot of rappers talk more like Donald Trump than Gil-Scott Heron (by the way, great sample Kanye). Maybe its where I’m at poltically, but I think hip-hop is at its best when it indites mainstream society for all of its bullshit. But now it kind of is mainstream society, so there you have it.

Back to the point, I think hip-hop/rap makes up about 15% of my total music. And no fucking autotune. Not bad? Reguardless In terms of rewriting the invisible book that tells us what words mean, though, it outstrippes every other genre, and its that sort of thing that gets me. I think of rap as having replaced the influence that poety used to have in reshaping language, which it IS a kind of poety, really.

Phweeew, Do I sound way out of my element talking about this? Or, no, I’m ruining hip-hop for everyone by analyzing it to death. Hey, that’s what I know how to do. There’s got to be some use for that, please?

Well, as far as what I’m writing, this, I’m not trying to go crazy or anything; practice, really, is what I’m playing at. Looking for that spontaneous flow, you know.

But hey, by all means, if you want crazy, humbling word-wizardry, try reading the first page (or any page) of Finnegan’s Wake, by James Joyce. Its fucking apeshit, but to literatary scholars—or whoever has an extra lifetime on their hands to learn every obscure reference and nuance— its considered a masterpiece. Hold on, I think the book is around here somewhere. Ok, I’ll type a sentence of madness or two:

(pg.1) “riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings up by a commodious vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Amorica on this side the scragy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggurated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thauartpeatrick: not yeat, though all’s fair in vanessy, where sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathanjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt and Jhem of Shen brewed by archlight and rory end to the reginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.”

HOLYFUCKINGSHIT right?! That’s English (for the most part) folks. I couldn’t glean a thought from any of it. Thanks, Joyce. You like making people feel small and stupid? At the same time, if Joyce listened to rap, he’d be just as stumped as I am (and hopefully you are).

In two different contexts, the “same” language is made utterly unintelligible to itself. That contrast, I find it fascinating (maybe you do too, if you’ve read to here. Naaaw.) OH, not that I’m EVER going to try to read that abomination; I do intend on reading Ulysses soon though, I keep seeing it near the top on numerous “best books of all time” lists. Its The Godfather of books. Whoops, The Godfather was a book first huh? The movie. Movies are to books as The Godfather is to Ulysses. Uh. Ratings wise. The stories have nothing in common. Should I delete this?

My talented friend Kyle made this, but since I’m in it, I...

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 15:41:20 -0400

My talented friend Kyle made this, but since I’m in it, I reserve the right…

An Original Blog (originally posted to Facebook)

Tue, 04 Oct 2011 18:38:00 -0400

Its funny. I’ve been digging all of these artsy-fartsy blogs, but recently, I got this odd, sort of ripped-off feeling. I kept seeing the same shit. They’re all copying each other. Go to any tumblr, chances are, you’ll find something on it on something else. Its all recycled (reblogged, as we call it). And to think, this was all supposed to be some sort of “revolution, man”. And to think, we’re just trading postcards around to get recognition. I kind of expected people to come up with their own ideas/pictures/etc. But. But. But, then I did start to think. Trading post-cards, sharing funny quotes, swapping ideas. Isn’t that what we (the human race) have been doing all along? Long before we spoke to screens that spoke to other screens that spoke to other people? So why are we all so hung-up on originality?

There’s this great Vonnegut quote (I know what you’re thinking. Reading Kurt Vonnegut fits snugly in-between obscure and ultrasaurated. So uncool. The Burmuda Triangle of hipness. The point at which trends are flushed down the toilet by people who noticed that too many other people, just like them, decided to like them; but equally, it isn’t quite mainstream enough. Well fuck you. If you think that, everything you like is contingent upon whether you can impress people with it. That proves that you don’t like “IT” ((whatever it is)), but you like the image that it awards you. You’re full of shit, go to bed. Let’s move on.)

It just occured to me that YOU probably weren’t thinking that at all, I just jump at the chance to get a chance to rant at a few pretentious, art-murdering asswipes who do. So I’m sorry. But hopefully someone reads this, realizes that it describes them perfectly, and promptly shoots him or herself in the head with a very powerful [paintball] gun (I couldn’t go though with it, not even hypothetically. Total puss.)

Then again, why did that thought even pop into my head? Why do I care? My guess, my most self-flattering guess, is that I’m over trying to connect with people, only to get a big-fat-eye-roll. Seriously? You’re that fucking awesome? Sorry, I didn’t know. I was sort of under the impression that we were all just people, and that people are into different shit. I didn’t realize that I’m an utter cliche and that you’re the messiah of originality and bohemian eccentricy. Thanks for setting me straight.

Anyways, this quote, it kinda hit me over the head. It said: “Hey dummy! get a grip! You aren’t original, or unique. And neither is him or her or him or her or him or her or her or her. But that’s what makes us great. I know it seems terrifying. Sometimes you get all meloncholy and irrational, and feel like you’re a helpless robot, programmed by preexisting social conditions. And then you pretend you’re a replcant from Blade Runner. You’re not. None of us are (as far as you’re aware). But that’s also the beauty of it. There’s this DRASTICALLY (hope I spelled that right, being the one word I cap locked) underutilized quality that humans have: commonality, togetherness. So let’s be honest, in a universe that you also like to pretend is a meaningless void, a vast expanse of soulless machinery, of which you only get a quick glimpse before you are stuffed into a box with everyone else (hardly enough time to figure out what the hell anything really is), doesn’t it make sense to just shut the fuck up and hold hands. I know. Totall cornball. Whatever, but its the capital-t Truth.”

Shit, I was saying something. OH YEAH, the actual quote: …can’t seem to find it. Actually, it was on my facebook page, but I deleted it for some reason. Oh, admitting this puts me in an even less-original postion than before if you think about it (which I will now force you to do). You see, I’m trying to defend unoringinality, to an extent, and my primary source is something that I already had on my profile. Not a very deep well, i’m drawing out of. I guess. I’m just kidding. Who cares. Also, I have the book right next to me. But, you know…

Alright, can I just paraphrase without anyone busting my balloons? Melons? Taters? I’m getting silly. Probably an attempt to confince myself that I AM NOT A ROBOT!!!! aahhhh!

Here, before I get sidetracked again: “I cannot find an idea that I hadn’t swiped and annunciated plunkingly by the time I reached the 7th grade.”

Gold. Right? Its all there, minus the crazy andriod monolougue. And probably much more. But you get what I’m saying. You do, I can tell that you do.

I’m not really going to wrap this up in any coherent way. This isn’t a master’s thesis. Great excuse if you ever half-ass anything, bytheway. I just wanted the chance to put down these little thoughts on “paper,” and see if anybody had anything to say. I’m always looking for that. Also, for insurance puposes, I wrote this in about 20 minutes, while drinking some pretty medicore Pinot Grigio. ”Blame the wine”, another GofJFC.

Video

Mon, 03 Oct 2011 23:49:16 -0400

Photo

Mon, 03 Oct 2011 16:26:00 -0400