In Ireland, in the county of Clare, in the small town of Carron within the heart of the Burren rests, in the shade of some plants to short to be called trees and to tall to be called shrubs, rests a hidden place. This shady area is behind the hostel, close to a cow pasture. There are no paths in it but those made by the trees and animals who live there. It is completely unremarkable in almost every way. It is home to many small monuments, made by people, eager to leave their mark on this small piece of land. Simple stacks of rock, miniature cairn's or recreations of Stonehenge.
There is one in particular, made by a young man. He made it to honor someone he knew, in the hopes that this small deed would bring a piece of them to the land, and communicate its beauty and serenity to them across the vast distances of the ocean. They could not be with him in any way but thought and heart, so he created something for them there. It is constructed of the rocky shale common to the area. The base is a tripod of these rocks standing supporting one another, while another larger flat rock sits atop. Two more rest on this, forming a point. It, like the place, is unremarkable, and only this young man would be able to tell you why its there.
How many other places in the world have the hidden markings of people. Not the statues or pillars that typify memories laid down in metal and stone. The great hulking constructions made to enforce remembrance. The small ones, with no plaque or historian to tell you its' meaning. They were put there for one person, a symbol of something only they felt in that time and place. Are there small markers like these in every forest, every place where humanity hasn't encroached fully? Does every person have a place to go, where they have inscribed arcane runes of an indecipherable nature or created a masterpiece of their heart for no other reason than to have a secret in the land? I think people do, and it isn't a footprint in the sand, saying MAN was here. Its our desire to have a secret, a piece of solitude that only we know about, and can never be elucidated by another person. A private section of the world, devoted to our individual peace and tranquility.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Magical Intellect
"Why are you so smart?" I've heard people ask. Time and again, pepole demand to know the secret of beign smart. What makes an individual intellegent? Some people think some are born smart. Others say its hard work and dedication to learning. But everywhere I go, a common theme among those that ask the question, with wonder and mystery in their voices, is that being exceptionally intellegent is like magic. they treat it as an otherworldy power. As if there is a machine that hooks up to your brain and downloads information to it. To see and think beyond the given front, extrapolate extra information and tease out hidden implications out of data is something akin to a paranormal feat.
You can hear the same tone of voice in spectators at a magic show, or people watching for UFO's. Intellegence is alien to these people. Why is it that the process of becoming smart is seemingly linked to the unknowable or unacheivable? I have encountered people with mental abilities that I simply don't have, musicians, sports fans, chess players. All these people can do things that are near impossible for me, but it isn't unfathomable that they CAN do them, or how. They hear, see or think about the world in different ways from myself. They grew up valuing different kinds of information, filled in gaps in the world using that information in a differenc capacity from me.
Its a problem of our culture that being smart is anathama. We all know about the nerds bullied by the jocks, but its more than that. People are taught that if they aren't smart, that they won't be smart. The idea that there will always be sopmeone better than you has been perverted to mean something different than originally intended. It doens't mean not trying, or allowing yourself to be overtaken by other intellectuals. It means that there will always be someone you can turn to for help, and can help in turn. That learning is a cooperative experience, and you will always have something to offer.
And to answer the question that everyone contiually asks. What makes someone smart? It isn't genetics, or dilligence, or even books that hold the secret. Its contiually asking questions. You have to ask questions to get answers, and with enough parctice, you learn just the right question to ask. You can shape the problem your trying to solve around what you know, frame the question to yourself in a way that calls on all you know about the world. The better you become at asking questions, the easier it becomes to answer them, the more you learn. Its a cycle that is simple to perpetuate within yourself, but difficult to begin.
You can hear the same tone of voice in spectators at a magic show, or people watching for UFO's. Intellegence is alien to these people. Why is it that the process of becoming smart is seemingly linked to the unknowable or unacheivable? I have encountered people with mental abilities that I simply don't have, musicians, sports fans, chess players. All these people can do things that are near impossible for me, but it isn't unfathomable that they CAN do them, or how. They hear, see or think about the world in different ways from myself. They grew up valuing different kinds of information, filled in gaps in the world using that information in a differenc capacity from me.
Its a problem of our culture that being smart is anathama. We all know about the nerds bullied by the jocks, but its more than that. People are taught that if they aren't smart, that they won't be smart. The idea that there will always be sopmeone better than you has been perverted to mean something different than originally intended. It doens't mean not trying, or allowing yourself to be overtaken by other intellectuals. It means that there will always be someone you can turn to for help, and can help in turn. That learning is a cooperative experience, and you will always have something to offer.
And to answer the question that everyone contiually asks. What makes someone smart? It isn't genetics, or dilligence, or even books that hold the secret. Its contiually asking questions. You have to ask questions to get answers, and with enough parctice, you learn just the right question to ask. You can shape the problem your trying to solve around what you know, frame the question to yourself in a way that calls on all you know about the world. The better you become at asking questions, the easier it becomes to answer them, the more you learn. Its a cycle that is simple to perpetuate within yourself, but difficult to begin.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Fiction
In a valley, which rests at the bottom of a modest mountain, there was a village. It wasn't a place of magic. It didn't spawn legacies of heroes. It was not the seat of a great crime empire. It didn't even have vast mines or wealth. It was wholly unremarkable in every way. The people who lived there didn't think this, but ask anyone else and they'll tell you its not important. That is if they've ever heard of it.
The people who lived in this village however, knew that it was a place of magic. That heroes did live among them. And it was a wealthy place. Their children born every year, who grew up battling monsters, showed the adults the magic of their imaginations. The miller who single handed saved the village from starving by sharing his grain was one of their heroes. Or the silversmith who made the beautiful rings for handfastings at no profit to himself, just because he loved love. Their village was filled with people who knew and cared for each other.
One day, a child was born who was unlike any other child. His parents were just like the other villagers, and they loved their boy. They were no better off or worse than any other. He did not possess amazing gifts, could not conjure fire or float things with his mind. He was different, because he was bored. The monsters and villains the other children summoned for play did nothing to amuse him. So he grew up mostly alone, occasionally trying to play with the other children, but to naught. His parents figured that he was either a little simple or he would grow out of it.
The time of apprenticeship came and the boy could not decide what he wanted to learn. It was traditional for children to apprentice with their fathers, but some had in the past taken other paths. At a young age, the boy confessed to his father that he though the profession of a miller, which his father was, was boring, and his father wouldn't subject his son to that. He didn't have the temperament to stay in one place for very long, so most of the other apprenticeships were out as well. In fact, it only left the trappers, and they all said he was to loud to be any good.
Luckily, the boys family had a feeling something like this was going to happen. So, with much reluctance and shame, they gave the boy, still young though old enough to start out on his own, some money they had saved, a good pair of boots, and directions to the city. They hopped the sites and sounds would keep him entertained even as he found work. So they found him a teamster who was driving part of the way there, placed him on the wagon, and said goodbye.
The people who lived in this village however, knew that it was a place of magic. That heroes did live among them. And it was a wealthy place. Their children born every year, who grew up battling monsters, showed the adults the magic of their imaginations. The miller who single handed saved the village from starving by sharing his grain was one of their heroes. Or the silversmith who made the beautiful rings for handfastings at no profit to himself, just because he loved love. Their village was filled with people who knew and cared for each other.
One day, a child was born who was unlike any other child. His parents were just like the other villagers, and they loved their boy. They were no better off or worse than any other. He did not possess amazing gifts, could not conjure fire or float things with his mind. He was different, because he was bored. The monsters and villains the other children summoned for play did nothing to amuse him. So he grew up mostly alone, occasionally trying to play with the other children, but to naught. His parents figured that he was either a little simple or he would grow out of it.
The time of apprenticeship came and the boy could not decide what he wanted to learn. It was traditional for children to apprentice with their fathers, but some had in the past taken other paths. At a young age, the boy confessed to his father that he though the profession of a miller, which his father was, was boring, and his father wouldn't subject his son to that. He didn't have the temperament to stay in one place for very long, so most of the other apprenticeships were out as well. In fact, it only left the trappers, and they all said he was to loud to be any good.
Luckily, the boys family had a feeling something like this was going to happen. So, with much reluctance and shame, they gave the boy, still young though old enough to start out on his own, some money they had saved, a good pair of boots, and directions to the city. They hopped the sites and sounds would keep him entertained even as he found work. So they found him a teamster who was driving part of the way there, placed him on the wagon, and said goodbye.
Friday, August 19, 2011
They have pills for that now you know?
There is something about madness, insanity, crazy-people what have you, that is practically endearing to us as people. There are characters who are so crazy, they know they're insane. Their own mental instability pains them, drives them to hold on to anything that makes them seem normal. It makes the heart weep to know that they will never be healed, there is just a recursive spiral of hope and failure. They want to be right and good, but they cannot for the life of them manage it. The schizophrenic who exiles themselves, or multiple personalities that are barley contained. Or what of the one who wears their instability like a cloak, wrapped up and safe in madness, giggling and running towards the darkness. They know they go the wrong way, but it is their right way. The ones who delight in the new bazaar worlds you can see within. There is almost a magic in being able to embrace it, to see beyond to real world to the imagined and the hidden. There is even an idea, of a person who is so sane, they are crazy. Their grip on reality is so tight and unyielding that they break it into tiny fragments that can be recognized as sanity, but will never be reassembled.
Insanity. It's a well documented disease stemming from a variety of chemical imbalances, brain damage, or psychological imbalances. But it's almost as if its catching. Everyone, at one time or another, has thought to themselves, "I must be crazy." I personally prefer to be described as mad. It's said that the people who don't question their sanity are the truly crazy, but I disagree. I think everyone is crazy, you'd have to be to put up with some of the shit we do. I think the people who are to afraid to admit their imbalance are the dangerous ones, because they only grasp at the veneer of sanity and rationality without actually looking close enough to see the flaws.
I have often times toyed with loosening the hold that reality has on my mind. By depriving my mind of sleep, I am able to change everything about me, simply by changing how I perceive the world. I find it exhilarating to look out at the world from my own eyes and see something completely different and alien. People pass by as shapes of consciousness, with effable goals and drives. Trees become magical fractal constructs of life and creation. Birds fucking FLY! There are magical things and mysteries under every rock and within every bole. The world's majesty is there for us to but open our eyes. And while our eyes are surely open, and we see and navigate its tremulous corridors, we do not peek in the alcoves at its hidden arts, to busy are we at rushing through it. We run, blind to the wonders it holds, just hoping that it wont all collapse on us before we get to the end. But the end, is it. So stay a while and listen to the music the reverberations play, and watch how the birds fly. Maybe at the end of the day, we'll actually see all the real worlds.
Insanity. It's a well documented disease stemming from a variety of chemical imbalances, brain damage, or psychological imbalances. But it's almost as if its catching. Everyone, at one time or another, has thought to themselves, "I must be crazy." I personally prefer to be described as mad. It's said that the people who don't question their sanity are the truly crazy, but I disagree. I think everyone is crazy, you'd have to be to put up with some of the shit we do. I think the people who are to afraid to admit their imbalance are the dangerous ones, because they only grasp at the veneer of sanity and rationality without actually looking close enough to see the flaws.
I have often times toyed with loosening the hold that reality has on my mind. By depriving my mind of sleep, I am able to change everything about me, simply by changing how I perceive the world. I find it exhilarating to look out at the world from my own eyes and see something completely different and alien. People pass by as shapes of consciousness, with effable goals and drives. Trees become magical fractal constructs of life and creation. Birds fucking FLY! There are magical things and mysteries under every rock and within every bole. The world's majesty is there for us to but open our eyes. And while our eyes are surely open, and we see and navigate its tremulous corridors, we do not peek in the alcoves at its hidden arts, to busy are we at rushing through it. We run, blind to the wonders it holds, just hoping that it wont all collapse on us before we get to the end. But the end, is it. So stay a while and listen to the music the reverberations play, and watch how the birds fly. Maybe at the end of the day, we'll actually see all the real worlds.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Being Human
Sometimes, figuring out how we relate to other people is difficult. We're surrounded by other people day in and out, through the magic of the Internet, our phones, even just walking out the door, we're buffeted by the morass of humanity. Socialization is truly a process that continues until death, as we have all encountered those times where we have no idea what to say or do. Another person comes, beseeching something from us; using the multi-variate tools of communication, double or triple meanings, body language, gestures and facial expressions, but never out right saying what it is that they might want. It's as if expressing it steals something from the game. We as the receiver have to guess correctly, because being given the answer cheapens the experience on both ends somehow.
We've all seen the games played. In the eyes of lovers searching your face, hoping to convey just what they are hoping for, or friends asking for help by pushing away or acting strong, but never actually asking. Its painful because you know that there is something that you can say, a panacea to assuage their grief or heartache, but it is beyond your ken at the moment. I've even seen it in reverse. The most horrible person, able to show love and kindness to a small child, to take away anothers' hurt. Con men use it all the time, their words hiding the guilt and evil, until the moment your grandmother gives them her social security number. These things aren't outside our realm of imagining, because they happen in and around us daily.
Sometimes, I equate existence to a never ending struggle to figure out my own niche. An experience that is both interwoven into the tapestry of humanity, while simultaneously being cut apart. Sometimes you know just what to say, and the people will love you. Other times you know the things NOT to say, and manage to muddle your way through the rest. Rarely, you think that you know the password to anothers' heart, but it actually locks you out forever. I think these are some of the most confusing moments, when you know there is something riding on it, celestial betting is heavy on the outcome, and you feel the pressure of the odds at your back. You take that deep breath and blow on the proverbial dice of your words, but once they're gone, you can see it's gonna land snake eyes.
We've all seen the games played. In the eyes of lovers searching your face, hoping to convey just what they are hoping for, or friends asking for help by pushing away or acting strong, but never actually asking. Its painful because you know that there is something that you can say, a panacea to assuage their grief or heartache, but it is beyond your ken at the moment. I've even seen it in reverse. The most horrible person, able to show love and kindness to a small child, to take away anothers' hurt. Con men use it all the time, their words hiding the guilt and evil, until the moment your grandmother gives them her social security number. These things aren't outside our realm of imagining, because they happen in and around us daily.
Sometimes, I equate existence to a never ending struggle to figure out my own niche. An experience that is both interwoven into the tapestry of humanity, while simultaneously being cut apart. Sometimes you know just what to say, and the people will love you. Other times you know the things NOT to say, and manage to muddle your way through the rest. Rarely, you think that you know the password to anothers' heart, but it actually locks you out forever. I think these are some of the most confusing moments, when you know there is something riding on it, celestial betting is heavy on the outcome, and you feel the pressure of the odds at your back. You take that deep breath and blow on the proverbial dice of your words, but once they're gone, you can see it's gonna land snake eyes.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Pensic
I am "home" from my vacation. Though it isn't really coming home, its leaving home. SCAdians everywhere know what I'm talking about, but most mundane people won't get it. Just imagine a place so serenely beautiful and relaxing, inviting you through its gates with open arms and massive smiles. Everyone there, from the lowest commoner to the High Kings strive to their utmost to be paragons of honor and hospitality. But more than that, all the ancient gods, Jupiter, Hephaestus, Horus, Baste, Thor and Tyr permeate the very soil. I am driven to walk barefoot so the ground can work its into my feet, so that I can walk on Pensic ground well after its over.
About midway through the first week, I returned to camp after a poor night out. I was disheartened, and dwelt to much upon past misfortunes. I reached the common area of my camp, and found it empty, the fire pit filled with coals. I took a seat, lit a cigarette, and stared into the dying fire brooding. As some minutes passed, the dying fire lifted itself, and a new flame lept among the crushed remnants of the logs. The moon, waxing in the sky, was not yet full enough to give much light, so this new flame was startlingly bright. Fire is in many myths, a gift from gods to man, so I took this as an omen. On a dark night, a dying fire reached out for more fuel. It was Loki's hand if I ever saw. A bargain was struck, I fed the fire wood from the pile, and mead from my still full mug, and promised to seek mischief this Pensic, in return for respite and some happiness.
I preformed acts of guile for which I was neither caught nor punished, plotted future pranks, and minor evils, and dallied in dark corners. It was a good Pensic War. But it is over, and I am back to the realm of technology, and I find it hard to adjust to a world of shoes and shirts, pants and PDA's. I long to spend more time in the cool shade drinking mead, or walking barefoot amongst the merchants hawking their wares. I want every War to be better than the last, and I strive to be a better SCAdian for my clan and kingdom. It is odd to talk of fealty when I have none in my more conservative life, but it is a strong pull, and hard to ignore.
About midway through the first week, I returned to camp after a poor night out. I was disheartened, and dwelt to much upon past misfortunes. I reached the common area of my camp, and found it empty, the fire pit filled with coals. I took a seat, lit a cigarette, and stared into the dying fire brooding. As some minutes passed, the dying fire lifted itself, and a new flame lept among the crushed remnants of the logs. The moon, waxing in the sky, was not yet full enough to give much light, so this new flame was startlingly bright. Fire is in many myths, a gift from gods to man, so I took this as an omen. On a dark night, a dying fire reached out for more fuel. It was Loki's hand if I ever saw. A bargain was struck, I fed the fire wood from the pile, and mead from my still full mug, and promised to seek mischief this Pensic, in return for respite and some happiness.
I preformed acts of guile for which I was neither caught nor punished, plotted future pranks, and minor evils, and dallied in dark corners. It was a good Pensic War. But it is over, and I am back to the realm of technology, and I find it hard to adjust to a world of shoes and shirts, pants and PDA's. I long to spend more time in the cool shade drinking mead, or walking barefoot amongst the merchants hawking their wares. I want every War to be better than the last, and I strive to be a better SCAdian for my clan and kingdom. It is odd to talk of fealty when I have none in my more conservative life, but it is a strong pull, and hard to ignore.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Summer Time
It is summer. Summer is typified by laziness, excess, vacations and a time for relaxation. I have many things that I do during the summer, although "Do" implies some sort of meaning or purpose to these actions. Really, what I mean is they fill my time until something better comes along. As my chronological meter racks up the counters, I am beginning to find that these moment holders are less and less satisfying. Certainly they are useful for some minor recreation, but to waste hours and hours on them eats at the portion of my being that longs to create. I needs must find something productive that entertains.
It is within this time that I also read. I read quite frequently, but there are times when I experience a piece which is different. It is more than what I understand as writing. For me the experience isn't like reading, it is being let into a persons very existence. Their ability to communicate dwarfs mine own in such a profound way as to be beyond compare. But compare I do, and I'm filled with malaise. That there is a being in the world who possesses creative power on a plane that I cannot fathom has the power to disconnect me from the fields I do inhabit.
But in juxtaposition there are these empty chronological calories. I consume them and am bloated with them, but they do not fill me with meaning or substance. I desire more meaty means of defining myself and want no more of this black sweetness which I have inundated myself with. Despite my indolence, I want to strive onward to slimming my literary figure to a razor sharpness. I will hone my wit and strengthen the temper of my metaphor until I am at least satisfied that I will suit my seat nicely, and not be forced to squeeze into a niche to small for me.
It is within this time that I also read. I read quite frequently, but there are times when I experience a piece which is different. It is more than what I understand as writing. For me the experience isn't like reading, it is being let into a persons very existence. Their ability to communicate dwarfs mine own in such a profound way as to be beyond compare. But compare I do, and I'm filled with malaise. That there is a being in the world who possesses creative power on a plane that I cannot fathom has the power to disconnect me from the fields I do inhabit.
But in juxtaposition there are these empty chronological calories. I consume them and am bloated with them, but they do not fill me with meaning or substance. I desire more meaty means of defining myself and want no more of this black sweetness which I have inundated myself with. Despite my indolence, I want to strive onward to slimming my literary figure to a razor sharpness. I will hone my wit and strengthen the temper of my metaphor until I am at least satisfied that I will suit my seat nicely, and not be forced to squeeze into a niche to small for me.
Things people Say
With he shear volume of possible sentences and thought constructions reaching off into the infinite, I often find that people say ridiculous things. Not you garden variety ridiculous stuff that you get out of your televangelists or UFO nuts, but stuff that if people really though about it, they might reconsider the very fabric of their reality.
There is no such thing as Magic. Now, by this sentence, completely rational, well thinking people mean that every action has a determinable and obvious cause, that can be broken down into a series of forces interacting in a clear and concise manner. That there is no event that happens without cause, or is totally inexplicable. This, I believe is true. I also believe that magic is real. When I say magic, I mean those little bits of information received at such a subconscious level of thinking that they don't even register. Love at first sight, Deja Vu, recollections of only the vaguest emotions without any sights, sounds or smells. Things that you look at and don't need to wonder about, because you know within the core of your being, without explanation.
"I don't know.' I hate that one. It isn't used as an honest admission of lacking knowledge though, its used as a white flag. I hear people say this all the time, sometimes I say it, and mean; "I honestly don't want to think about this topic in depth, please just tell me what the hell your talking about." Now, in some situations, I understand, this is useful, you shouldn't go around trying to engage in rigorous mental chess with every conversation. But I even hear it in academic settings in which your supposed to be challenged. It okay to not know something. It doesn't label you inept or a moron, it shows your strength, that you can admit something beyond your ken and work to bring it in.
For me, Santa Claus exists as well. Of course I don't believe that there is a happy red suited man living in the frigged north giving toys to all good christian children, and coal to the bad ones. The physical aspects of Santa Claus are of secondary concern to me. What really matters are those thing that make this more than just a pleasant fairy tale for boring winter nights. The stuff that latches onto those human parts of us that are altruistic and giving, that want to imagine, even if just for one day, that everyone COULD get along if we just tried hard enough. That if you could make everyone, everywhere, happy for just one day, the world would change forever. And aren't those lessons we want everyone to learn no matter what? That its good to want the best for everyone, even yourself. Or that its worth fighting those impossible battles. There is more magic, because its difficult, maybe impossible to explain why we know that those fights have to be fought, even though often we lose. But whats more magical than the improbable wining out over the sum of all possible probability's to the contrary.
Statistics say it isn't magic, but our human brains don't think in statistics, they think in human terms. Long shots are miracles, the stuff of myth and legend. Magic.
There is no such thing as Magic. Now, by this sentence, completely rational, well thinking people mean that every action has a determinable and obvious cause, that can be broken down into a series of forces interacting in a clear and concise manner. That there is no event that happens without cause, or is totally inexplicable. This, I believe is true. I also believe that magic is real. When I say magic, I mean those little bits of information received at such a subconscious level of thinking that they don't even register. Love at first sight, Deja Vu, recollections of only the vaguest emotions without any sights, sounds or smells. Things that you look at and don't need to wonder about, because you know within the core of your being, without explanation.
"I don't know.' I hate that one. It isn't used as an honest admission of lacking knowledge though, its used as a white flag. I hear people say this all the time, sometimes I say it, and mean; "I honestly don't want to think about this topic in depth, please just tell me what the hell your talking about." Now, in some situations, I understand, this is useful, you shouldn't go around trying to engage in rigorous mental chess with every conversation. But I even hear it in academic settings in which your supposed to be challenged. It okay to not know something. It doesn't label you inept or a moron, it shows your strength, that you can admit something beyond your ken and work to bring it in.
For me, Santa Claus exists as well. Of course I don't believe that there is a happy red suited man living in the frigged north giving toys to all good christian children, and coal to the bad ones. The physical aspects of Santa Claus are of secondary concern to me. What really matters are those thing that make this more than just a pleasant fairy tale for boring winter nights. The stuff that latches onto those human parts of us that are altruistic and giving, that want to imagine, even if just for one day, that everyone COULD get along if we just tried hard enough. That if you could make everyone, everywhere, happy for just one day, the world would change forever. And aren't those lessons we want everyone to learn no matter what? That its good to want the best for everyone, even yourself. Or that its worth fighting those impossible battles. There is more magic, because its difficult, maybe impossible to explain why we know that those fights have to be fought, even though often we lose. But whats more magical than the improbable wining out over the sum of all possible probability's to the contrary.
Statistics say it isn't magic, but our human brains don't think in statistics, they think in human terms. Long shots are miracles, the stuff of myth and legend. Magic.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
An Analysis
Music is cyclical. Setting aside the compositional aspects of repeating rhythms and themes which conclude within the arch of the song, we are left with the design of it all. It invokes our emotions and is made from them. Did the earliest people whistle while they worked? Did their mothers sing them to sleep before language? When one of their own died, did they wail out the grief, or was it a melodic recitation of their life and the pain the hole their existence leaves behind? These are some interesting questions, but I will be looking at music, as I interpret its effects on myself, without actual music. Seeing as how I have no musical talent to speak of (I sing in the key of off), I will be using words, which are still a powerful aspect of the process sometimes.
At a broad view, music is designed to entertain and communicate. What and how it does this is as varried as the aspects of the human condition. But there are certain aspects that are consistent, which ply on our feelings. When I listen to music, it draws out feelings that I have. Brings them to the light without diluting them. When I'm angry, songs that have an alien quality to them, something which sets aside humanity is a commonality. The best ones also use a human voice to counterpoint this, and the lyrics will cut through the pseudo-psychic bullshit to whats pricking at my anger. It pierces the shell and pulls out the pain, bringing it to the fore of my consciousness. The pain envelops me and drowns everything in a white-hot rage. It burns cold and bright, leaving a core of logic and calm, and I can move through it without fear.
I have also found, that in depression, music can accentuate it to a point. The sadness that I feel is nothing when compared to the simple joy of being alive to hear this wonderfully apt song. My hurting is real, so real that I relish the chance to feel even that. I am able to grab some fucking happiness out of the black, and push back the fear and melancholy with the knowledge that just feeling, even torment, is more powerful than anything. I find euphoria within it, and I'm just happy to know I can feel.
Love songs. To write about love songs, is like drawing stick figures for the ceiling of the Sistine chapel, or seeing a sunset through purple glass. It is inadequate in every way, though I am compelled. Even the ones about unrequited love bring a swelling of the heart, and an insane happiness with them. I wish ever so fervently that I could write something that could move someone as much as music can move me. I dream of love in terms of love songs, and sonnets, beautiful and whole, their composition a masterwork of longing and fantasies. It isn't that music creates these flights of feeling, but they are always there, nestled in the deeps, just waiting the right touch to let them free. I will forever quest for the proper string of characters to convey who I am, and though my quest may be fruitless, I will never quit.
At a broad view, music is designed to entertain and communicate. What and how it does this is as varried as the aspects of the human condition. But there are certain aspects that are consistent, which ply on our feelings. When I listen to music, it draws out feelings that I have. Brings them to the light without diluting them. When I'm angry, songs that have an alien quality to them, something which sets aside humanity is a commonality. The best ones also use a human voice to counterpoint this, and the lyrics will cut through the pseudo-psychic bullshit to whats pricking at my anger. It pierces the shell and pulls out the pain, bringing it to the fore of my consciousness. The pain envelops me and drowns everything in a white-hot rage. It burns cold and bright, leaving a core of logic and calm, and I can move through it without fear.
I have also found, that in depression, music can accentuate it to a point. The sadness that I feel is nothing when compared to the simple joy of being alive to hear this wonderfully apt song. My hurting is real, so real that I relish the chance to feel even that. I am able to grab some fucking happiness out of the black, and push back the fear and melancholy with the knowledge that just feeling, even torment, is more powerful than anything. I find euphoria within it, and I'm just happy to know I can feel.
Love songs. To write about love songs, is like drawing stick figures for the ceiling of the Sistine chapel, or seeing a sunset through purple glass. It is inadequate in every way, though I am compelled. Even the ones about unrequited love bring a swelling of the heart, and an insane happiness with them. I wish ever so fervently that I could write something that could move someone as much as music can move me. I dream of love in terms of love songs, and sonnets, beautiful and whole, their composition a masterwork of longing and fantasies. It isn't that music creates these flights of feeling, but they are always there, nestled in the deeps, just waiting the right touch to let them free. I will forever quest for the proper string of characters to convey who I am, and though my quest may be fruitless, I will never quit.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Even More Random
I haven't written anything in a while. This is a blatant lie. I've written lots of things, but they all seem to short, or not coherent enough to actually post up. There are ideas within that I want to manifest further, connect more deeply and clearly. There are things missing that I can't quite put my finger on, so their on hold. The Following, are a collection of thoughts and questions which, while having deeper connectivity issues, are able to stand alone for the time being. Also, forgive me as I do not have a full, working knowledge of all of these subjects, these are merely musings.
On Quantum Mechanics:
Anti-matter is the section within specific atomic reactions that moves backwards through time, then the emitter-absorber phenomenon in Wheeler-Feynman electrodynamics might be explained by non-linear time. The interaction between the two electrons is mathematically uncertain, as the force being exerted by the first electron, depends on the strength of the reaction of the second. Could this not be explained by particles of anti-matter interacting with the now?
In Quantum Mechanics, what is the "Moment in time" used to measure? What is the quantity of a fraction of a second? Aren't you simply measuring the change in the particles from T1 to T2? A change in velocity, position, charge, mass, even if there is no change from T1 to Tn, is a measured change of 0.
If the Laws of Conservation are correct, the interaction of matter and anti-matter doesn't eliminate the two particles. More likely is that the interaction causes either the formation of one or possibly two new particles which we have yet to measure, or they move into a different time.
On History:
There is, as far as I can tell, no evidence to support the idea that history, or events within time, repeat themselves in a regular, predictable way, which through knowledge and understanding, some pattern might be divined. I see two possible explanations for this logic. First, that peoples inherent desire to see patterns where none exist, formed this idea that because similar events happened twice, history is repetitive. Second, is based on a closed universe. That at some point, the gravitational forces at the center of the universe will overcome the velocity and all motion, both physical and temporal will reverse itself. But this only occurs in a closed universe, which ours is not.
On The Human Mind:
I have said before that emotions are capable of being rational responses to stimuli, going against the grand theory that emotion does not equal rationality. But there is more to it than simple stimuli response. The idea, that your friend, a sentient being, no longer thinks or feels, elicits real and measurable chemical reactions in your brain. The human brain, combines molecular chemistry, to create not just logic, but feeling. It takes a very specific reaction of molecules and ions to produce the right reaction, but on average, the human brain gets it right every time.
On Psychology:
The psychoanalytic theory seems fatally flawed to me. The basic assumption is that our behavior is subtly influenced by our subconscious motives. These motives were pushed into the subconscious in early childhood by parents and society. If they aren't dealt with, they can cause severe emotional problems. The question is, How did this happen? Humans created society yes, but human beings came first. How and why would a human society have evolved with this trait? It had to start some where, there had to be some biological motive for suppressing primary drives. The 'What' of the theory is well established, but it doesn't answer any other questions. And if it is 'society' which helps suppress these desires, then a different society would have them to greater or lesser degrees, which isn't evident.
How is psychology even a science. It's results aren't reproducible 100% of the time. When a result comes back outside the bounds of a theory, the theory isn't discarded as being incorrect, it is modified to accommodate, or the result is dismissed. Its acceptable to dismiss statistical outliers, but psychology doesn't have statistical norms for there to be outliers against.
On Music:
When I listen to music, I realized I'm not even listening to a persons voice, or real instruments. The closest thing my Ipod gets to real music is when it plays electronica, or some other digital medium. All I really hear is the product of converted digital information into precise audio wavelengths generated electronically.
On Quantum Mechanics:
Anti-matter is the section within specific atomic reactions that moves backwards through time, then the emitter-absorber phenomenon in Wheeler-Feynman electrodynamics might be explained by non-linear time. The interaction between the two electrons is mathematically uncertain, as the force being exerted by the first electron, depends on the strength of the reaction of the second. Could this not be explained by particles of anti-matter interacting with the now?
In Quantum Mechanics, what is the "Moment in time" used to measure? What is the quantity of a fraction of a second? Aren't you simply measuring the change in the particles from T1 to T2? A change in velocity, position, charge, mass, even if there is no change from T1 to Tn, is a measured change of 0.
If the Laws of Conservation are correct, the interaction of matter and anti-matter doesn't eliminate the two particles. More likely is that the interaction causes either the formation of one or possibly two new particles which we have yet to measure, or they move into a different time.
On History:
There is, as far as I can tell, no evidence to support the idea that history, or events within time, repeat themselves in a regular, predictable way, which through knowledge and understanding, some pattern might be divined. I see two possible explanations for this logic. First, that peoples inherent desire to see patterns where none exist, formed this idea that because similar events happened twice, history is repetitive. Second, is based on a closed universe. That at some point, the gravitational forces at the center of the universe will overcome the velocity and all motion, both physical and temporal will reverse itself. But this only occurs in a closed universe, which ours is not.
On The Human Mind:
I have said before that emotions are capable of being rational responses to stimuli, going against the grand theory that emotion does not equal rationality. But there is more to it than simple stimuli response. The idea, that your friend, a sentient being, no longer thinks or feels, elicits real and measurable chemical reactions in your brain. The human brain, combines molecular chemistry, to create not just logic, but feeling. It takes a very specific reaction of molecules and ions to produce the right reaction, but on average, the human brain gets it right every time.
On Psychology:
The psychoanalytic theory seems fatally flawed to me. The basic assumption is that our behavior is subtly influenced by our subconscious motives. These motives were pushed into the subconscious in early childhood by parents and society. If they aren't dealt with, they can cause severe emotional problems. The question is, How did this happen? Humans created society yes, but human beings came first. How and why would a human society have evolved with this trait? It had to start some where, there had to be some biological motive for suppressing primary drives. The 'What' of the theory is well established, but it doesn't answer any other questions. And if it is 'society' which helps suppress these desires, then a different society would have them to greater or lesser degrees, which isn't evident.
How is psychology even a science. It's results aren't reproducible 100% of the time. When a result comes back outside the bounds of a theory, the theory isn't discarded as being incorrect, it is modified to accommodate, or the result is dismissed. Its acceptable to dismiss statistical outliers, but psychology doesn't have statistical norms for there to be outliers against.
On Music:
When I listen to music, I realized I'm not even listening to a persons voice, or real instruments. The closest thing my Ipod gets to real music is when it plays electronica, or some other digital medium. All I really hear is the product of converted digital information into precise audio wavelengths generated electronically.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Things I Hate
1. Reality T.V. shows about preppy up beat little 'starlets' whom no one has ever heard of.
2. People who move to the big city with their giant dog and then refuse to clean up after them because they never had to clean up their parents back yard when the dog took a dump back there.
3. Words ending in '-izzle.'
4. People who end words in '-izzle.'
5. Ipads, PDA's, I-Phones, Kindles, Nooks, EReaders, tablets, anything and everything ever made by apple, because its just so user friendly that any dumb schmuck at the apple store can fix it for 250 bucks by hitting the reset button.
6. Computer technicians who's primary method of "customer support", is repeatedly telling you to try power cycling your computer.
7. Canned Air. (Yes it is real).
8. Every single business that has you add their club card to your key chain until you have more bar codes attached to it than keys.
9. The word "Post-Modern".
10. Parents who push around empty strollers.
11. Parents who push around full strollers while ignoring their children for their cell phones.
12. Parents who push around full strollers while ignoring their children for their cell phones, right up until their phone reception dies, and then appear to be driven to interact with their children because of only this fact.
13. People who end words in '-izzle.' (I REALLY HATE THAT).
14. Fruit sellers in France. Ask Eddie Izzard.
15. Printers that seem to 'think' that they're out of ink, when really, you know you just refilled the bastard.
16. Republicans.
17. Democrats.
18. People who say their communist/socialist because they think that's the ONLY OTHER ALTERNATIVE to either of the a fore mentioned parties.
19. Fat people who feel that they are entitled to extra room in elevators, train cars, airplanes, because that was the way 'god' made them. Fat is a burden, not a right or privilege, and your eating habits made you fat, not your god.
20. Unsolicited advice.
21. People who say "I accept you for who you are, no matter what," because we all know their lying.
22. Gentrification, because its made every Black person in my neighborhood look at me like an outsider, when I've lived there longer than ANY OF THEM!
23. People who argue semantics.
24. People who insist that "Intelligent Design" is a valid theory even though at some point in the scientific process of that theory, it breaks down into "Cause...it did."
25. The word 'Hate'.
2. People who move to the big city with their giant dog and then refuse to clean up after them because they never had to clean up their parents back yard when the dog took a dump back there.
3. Words ending in '-izzle.'
4. People who end words in '-izzle.'
5. Ipads, PDA's, I-Phones, Kindles, Nooks, EReaders, tablets, anything and everything ever made by apple, because its just so user friendly that any dumb schmuck at the apple store can fix it for 250 bucks by hitting the reset button.
6. Computer technicians who's primary method of "customer support", is repeatedly telling you to try power cycling your computer.
7. Canned Air. (Yes it is real).
8. Every single business that has you add their club card to your key chain until you have more bar codes attached to it than keys.
9. The word "Post-Modern".
10. Parents who push around empty strollers.
11. Parents who push around full strollers while ignoring their children for their cell phones.
12. Parents who push around full strollers while ignoring their children for their cell phones, right up until their phone reception dies, and then appear to be driven to interact with their children because of only this fact.
13. People who end words in '-izzle.' (I REALLY HATE THAT).
14. Fruit sellers in France. Ask Eddie Izzard.
15. Printers that seem to 'think' that they're out of ink, when really, you know you just refilled the bastard.
16. Republicans.
17. Democrats.
18. People who say their communist/socialist because they think that's the ONLY OTHER ALTERNATIVE to either of the a fore mentioned parties.
19. Fat people who feel that they are entitled to extra room in elevators, train cars, airplanes, because that was the way 'god' made them. Fat is a burden, not a right or privilege, and your eating habits made you fat, not your god.
20. Unsolicited advice.
21. People who say "I accept you for who you are, no matter what," because we all know their lying.
22. Gentrification, because its made every Black person in my neighborhood look at me like an outsider, when I've lived there longer than ANY OF THEM!
23. People who argue semantics.
24. People who insist that "Intelligent Design" is a valid theory even though at some point in the scientific process of that theory, it breaks down into "Cause...it did."
25. The word 'Hate'.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Book's
I've been reading for a long time. It's a useful skill, and its interesting that our brains have adapted the ability to preform this skill without conscious thought. I read everything I move my eyes to, regardless of whether it was my intention or not. It is a reflexive motion, like breathing. Over the years, my tastes have changed gravitation's slightly. At eleven or so I started reading novels, there wasn't any of this "Teen Fiction" crap we have today, so I was reading, well, real books. Stuff that probably shouldn't have been given to a small child. But I read them. When I was sixteen, I started reading more philosophical work and was very interested in Shakespeare (not for the whiny teen angsty crap, but because the verse is really quite amazing). Stuff having to deal with the tiny thoughts people have. Love, hate, need, greed, want, lust, apathy, revenge, anger, vengeance, justice, sadness, melancholy, depression, repression, inception, and every other subconscious mental meandering that someone thinks they might have an insight to.
Then (I'd say finally, but it isn't really an end, just another page break), I started reading things on science. NeuroLinguistics, Rationality, Logic, Chemistry, Physics, Astronomy (Never Never Never astrology) Sociology, Psychology, Anthropology, Statistics, Economics. All of this stuff is still interesting to me, even the stuff from my teen years. Through it all though, has been an unhealthy smattering of fantasy and science fiction books. I say unhealthy because I realized something, starring at my bookshelves the other day.
I realized that these book lie to you. They're all the same, there is your hero, and your "Bad Guys". Some of them maybe have the misunderstood guys, or the 'they-might-be-good-if-we-had-just' guys. There is the crew of supportive friends, maybe a few role models. And while there is some horrible battle or confrontation to be done, at the end, everything is fine and everyone is happy, and deep down, even the bad guys are basically good people. This is a load of shit. We all know full well that there are some people in the world, and actual percentage of people, who are not good and decent. But lets forget about that 2% (yes ladies and gentlemen 2% of the male population are psychopaths) who have no concept of pain, fear or any other emotions outside of themselves. What about the politicians, the spin doctors, the advertising executives, the C.E.O's, the Stock Jockeys, professional sports players, big business owners, small business owners, drug addicts, drug pushers, dirty cops, dirty judges, racists, bigots, hypocrites, abusers, movie producers, movie stars, all the self involved self important nincompoops? That's a huge list of people that at one point or another, we've all looked at and said to ourselves "How can they/we live like/with them(selves)?"
Well, lets face it, its really really easy to be a terrible person to someone. We're rude to people all the time, we plot and scheme, talk about people behind their backs, work out ways to cut out the competition at work or in a love life. It's just a fact that people don't get along all the time. We don't feel shame about these things, or beat ourselves up. It isn't in our nature. The only difference between most evils we hear about is scale, or possibly inventiveness, but the base motivation is the same. We all have them, the desire to do well, to out do others, to be the best, be recognized, honored and remembered. There are no people who are wholly good, every level of a persons behavior is really motivated by one thing, to be human. So yes, there is shame in kicking a man who's down, or pushing an old grandma, but most every evil we face isn't some amorphous controlling entity, its just humanity.
Its our humanity that makes us great as a species, but its also our greatest flaw. There is good and bad in everyone, that's the rub. It's easy to look at a person who defrauded us and assign them evil status, and to look at our own 'unselfish' deeds and proclaim ourselves good. But I've found, the best of people are the ones who accept their own flaws. They're the ones who are most comfortable with themselves, but atypically, cannot fit into society. They see all people as human, not one thing or another, not a singular persistent trait, but a collection of mutable, changing ideas, feelings, and actions. Being human isn't just altruism, courage, selflessness, and all the other good things we can be, its also being some of the worst. Self-serving, jealous, hording our time and feelings. You can't grow as a person if you cannot accept the fact that sometimes, things have to be about you.
Then (I'd say finally, but it isn't really an end, just another page break), I started reading things on science. NeuroLinguistics, Rationality, Logic, Chemistry, Physics, Astronomy (Never Never Never astrology) Sociology, Psychology, Anthropology, Statistics, Economics. All of this stuff is still interesting to me, even the stuff from my teen years. Through it all though, has been an unhealthy smattering of fantasy and science fiction books. I say unhealthy because I realized something, starring at my bookshelves the other day.
I realized that these book lie to you. They're all the same, there is your hero, and your "Bad Guys". Some of them maybe have the misunderstood guys, or the 'they-might-be-good-if-we-had-just' guys. There is the crew of supportive friends, maybe a few role models. And while there is some horrible battle or confrontation to be done, at the end, everything is fine and everyone is happy, and deep down, even the bad guys are basically good people. This is a load of shit. We all know full well that there are some people in the world, and actual percentage of people, who are not good and decent. But lets forget about that 2% (yes ladies and gentlemen 2% of the male population are psychopaths) who have no concept of pain, fear or any other emotions outside of themselves. What about the politicians, the spin doctors, the advertising executives, the C.E.O's, the Stock Jockeys, professional sports players, big business owners, small business owners, drug addicts, drug pushers, dirty cops, dirty judges, racists, bigots, hypocrites, abusers, movie producers, movie stars, all the self involved self important nincompoops? That's a huge list of people that at one point or another, we've all looked at and said to ourselves "How can they/we live like/with them(selves)?"
Well, lets face it, its really really easy to be a terrible person to someone. We're rude to people all the time, we plot and scheme, talk about people behind their backs, work out ways to cut out the competition at work or in a love life. It's just a fact that people don't get along all the time. We don't feel shame about these things, or beat ourselves up. It isn't in our nature. The only difference between most evils we hear about is scale, or possibly inventiveness, but the base motivation is the same. We all have them, the desire to do well, to out do others, to be the best, be recognized, honored and remembered. There are no people who are wholly good, every level of a persons behavior is really motivated by one thing, to be human. So yes, there is shame in kicking a man who's down, or pushing an old grandma, but most every evil we face isn't some amorphous controlling entity, its just humanity.
Its our humanity that makes us great as a species, but its also our greatest flaw. There is good and bad in everyone, that's the rub. It's easy to look at a person who defrauded us and assign them evil status, and to look at our own 'unselfish' deeds and proclaim ourselves good. But I've found, the best of people are the ones who accept their own flaws. They're the ones who are most comfortable with themselves, but atypically, cannot fit into society. They see all people as human, not one thing or another, not a singular persistent trait, but a collection of mutable, changing ideas, feelings, and actions. Being human isn't just altruism, courage, selflessness, and all the other good things we can be, its also being some of the worst. Self-serving, jealous, hording our time and feelings. You can't grow as a person if you cannot accept the fact that sometimes, things have to be about you.
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