Imagine a house. This house, as I'm sure by now you've figured out, is a metaphor for your mind.
Good work.
Your house starts out pretty much like you would imagine it to. Walls, ceiling, floors, doors, windows. Over time, people come in and put furniture in the house, slowly. Perhaps it's more like bringing in roughly furniture-shaped items, and then assembling them once the pieces are inside. Something like that.
Your house is special in that it can travel through space and time, and pick up things along the way. By 'things', I mean things. In this case, people are also things. (Some people might heartily disagree. Those people can wait outside.) Some examples of things you can pick up:
- Artwork, music albums, sculptures, books.
- Cooking utensils, Christmas lights, televisions, video games.
- Gandhi, Harry Potter, your neighbors, Jesus.
- existentialism, nihilism, idealism, perfectionism.
- Guns, feathers, sofas, fire.
This is just an assortment. Many things, and many categories of things, have been left out. Oh, and one more thing -- you don't choose what goes in your house, other people do that for you. You only get to choose where to place your house: in what location, around which people, etc. They do the rest. They fill up your house.
So, you'll get new things. Daily, actually. Broccoli here, from when you hung out around that farm for a while. Power drill there, from landing your house at a construction site. Socks, then exercise equipment, then candles, all from different places. This is the collection of things that you have to work with. If you want to fly to New York to build a bridge from Harlem to Broadway so actors and jazz musicians can mingle, you have to do it with the things already in your house. What if you can't quite do that? Well then, hopefully you have the resources in your house to get what you need. Otherwise, you're kind of stuck, I guess.
Suddenly, you need something in a hurry. You need it, like, NOW. If it's something specific, you better hope that it's somewhere you've seen it recently. Otherwise, you could be digging for a while in all the wrong places -- you may never find it.
Let's say you need to just throw something overboard, because your house is floating under a canopy of balloons and you're getting too close to the ground. Or perhaps your friend is outside, underneath your flying balloon house, and you want something quick to toss to them, as a sort of wedding gift because he or she just got married. (Hypothetically.) Well, you'll probably grab something around you, something that you've seen or used recently. All those things in your house that you actually do things with. Things, things, things. Hope that it's something good, or you could embarrass yourself. You could hurt them. It's dangerous business throwing random things out your front door.
This has consequences. Let's say you collect guns. You get guns for your house by hanging out around military bases, and around war zones, and around gun shops, from every nation and culture and price range. "You have a violent house," someone says. "Nonsense," you say. "I can be completely non-violent with my house: watch." Then, you proceed to search through a couple drawers and pull out a book of crossword puzzles that someone randomly gave you when you landed your house in a cafeteria. "It's all what you do with it," you say as you sit down to fill in two or three words, to prove how non-violent you are.
But what if, let's say, hypothetically, a friend randomly comes into your house and tinkers with something random -- chances are, that thing in your house is a gun. If your house were full of baroque sheet music, the chances of them accidentally shooting themselves would be much smaller. Your collections of things make a difference.
If your mental dictionary is full of text abbreviations, Twitter hashtags, and celebrity names, a sad writer you will be. Where in these things lies your power of expression, the beautiful and artistic creation of language that can move and shake and scream?
Nowhere. What a terrible thing to read.
Such it is with your mental catalog of ideas, of stories, of places and feelings and ways to love. How will you navigate a complex life without a breadth of knowledge at your ready command? How can you solve a multitude of problems if you have only seen one solution?
The point is, everything that you come into contact with influences you. Hanging out with bank robbers 24/7 will influence you, in some way. Perhaps not to rob banks, but it will nevertheless have an influence -- perhaps not to rob banks, because you see what it does to them. Perhaps part of that influence is winding up in jail. Is that the influence you want to expose yourself to? Having deep conversations with people of opposing ideologies will influence you. It may not change what you believe -- but it will influence you. You will learn new things, see things from other perspectives, shift your ideas and views. For myself: I would gladly take that influence, while gladly avoiding the influence of the bank robbers. It's up to each of us to decide which influences we want to affect our lives, and which we don't.
...or is it?
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
"a man is what he thinks about all day long." pt. 1
Simple enough. I'd put that on a mug and sell it at Wal-Mart to people who enjoy a close proximity to little inspirational tidbits while they drink their Diet Coke in front of the latest episode of Gossip Girl.
In the morning, he thinks about how tired he is. He thinks that he's hungry, and so he thinks about what to eat. After eating, he thinks about taking a shower. He gets on the computer and thinks about hitting the 'f' key to go to Facebook, and then the 'g' key to go to Gmail. He scrolls, clicks, thinks how that article is such a shame. He scrolls, clicks, thinks about how cute those animals are. He scrolls, clicks, thinks about how funny that comedian is. He thinks about how the water is a little too cold for the shower. He turns the knob slightly counter-clockwise. He thinks that feels right. He thinks it's a little cold in the house after the shower. He picks up his phone, unlocks it, sees the time. He thinks he has an hour before he has to be at work. He puts on clothes. He gets in his car. He sees the red meter, sitting on the white line above the E. He thinks that it's about time to get gas. He thinks that his bank account is probably a little low. He turns on the radio. He thinks that he likes this song. He thinks that he doesn't like the next one, though. He turns off the radio. He gets to work. He thinks she looks funny. He thinks that guy is annoying. He thinks he's slightly hungry. He thinks his back itches. He scratches it. He thinks that joke was funny. He thinks about what he will have for dinner. He gets off work. He drives home. He thinks that he needs to cook this before that. He cooks dinner. He eats. He gets on the computer and thinks about hitting the 'f' key. He thinks about hitting the 'g' key. He thinks that it's a little cold. He scrolls, clicks, thinks that's an inspiring story about a boy. He scrolls, clicks, thinks that he's angry at his friend for being dumb. He thinks that he's tired. He yawns. He thinks that he should brush his teeth. He does. He thinks that it's a little cold. He gets under the blankets. He thinks it's warmer under there. He thinks that he should set his alarm. He does. He thinks that he's tired. He shuts his eyes. He thinks that he's tired.
He hopes that his dreams are good tonight.
In the morning, he thinks about how tired he is. He thinks that he's hungry, and so he thinks about what to eat. After eating, he thinks about taking a shower. He gets on the computer and thinks about hitting the 'f' key to go to Facebook, and then the 'g' key to go to Gmail. He scrolls, clicks, thinks how that article is such a shame. He scrolls, clicks, thinks about how cute those animals are. He scrolls, clicks, thinks about how funny that comedian is. He thinks about how the water is a little too cold for the shower. He turns the knob slightly counter-clockwise. He thinks that feels right. He thinks it's a little cold in the house after the shower. He picks up his phone, unlocks it, sees the time. He thinks he has an hour before he has to be at work. He puts on clothes. He gets in his car. He sees the red meter, sitting on the white line above the E. He thinks that it's about time to get gas. He thinks that his bank account is probably a little low. He turns on the radio. He thinks that he likes this song. He thinks that he doesn't like the next one, though. He turns off the radio. He gets to work. He thinks she looks funny. He thinks that guy is annoying. He thinks he's slightly hungry. He thinks his back itches. He scratches it. He thinks that joke was funny. He thinks about what he will have for dinner. He gets off work. He drives home. He thinks that he needs to cook this before that. He cooks dinner. He eats. He gets on the computer and thinks about hitting the 'f' key. He thinks about hitting the 'g' key. He thinks that it's a little cold. He scrolls, clicks, thinks that's an inspiring story about a boy. He scrolls, clicks, thinks that he's angry at his friend for being dumb. He thinks that he's tired. He yawns. He thinks that he should brush his teeth. He does. He thinks that it's a little cold. He gets under the blankets. He thinks it's warmer under there. He thinks that he should set his alarm. He does. He thinks that he's tired. He shuts his eyes. He thinks that he's tired.
He hopes that his dreams are good tonight.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
this is a warm up.
There is open
(in another tab, just to the left of this page)
something much more important than this.
It's amazing the power that words have. Some might argue that words are even the sole reason humanity differs from the other animals. The power of complex language to unite and grow us has led to the continuation of stories and histories through generations and generations, the advent of writing and printing, the collection of symbolic knowledge that can be retained and recovered eons after the writers have ceased to exist. From this knowledge come the greatest empires, the greatest technologies, the greatest atrocities, and the greatest mercies.
Language is what troubles me: specifically, the construction and explanation of complex thoughts, in precisely the correct way to have the desired effect. Too little offense, and the plea is shrugged off. Too great, and the glass inside may crack. These are delicate matters decided in the mind,
(if it can get to it before the impulse)
strung together on the tip of the tongue. And these strings, these simple symbolic characters put in a row, these things that I write are going to change lives. For better and for worse -- both are connected -- and perhaps mine will be changed the most. I'm not ready, but these things must happen. Life doesn't wait for you to be ready for it.
Is life difficult? Or is it easy. Or does it make sense to even discuss it in such simple words? Shooting at the stars, that's all we do. We aim, we fire, we correct, we continue, we better ourselves, and we still are an infinite distance away from all but our own sun. It's difficult to strike infinity, when infinity doesn't want to be hit.
Words are nothing. Nothing. Electrical, breathy nothing, searing themselves into our minds and expressing themselves in the actions of our bodies. From this nothing comes everything we have created. The birth of a universe. The creation of humankind from dirt and dust.
We are the creators.
Words are our nothing.
(in another tab, just to the left of this page)
something much more important than this.
It's amazing the power that words have. Some might argue that words are even the sole reason humanity differs from the other animals. The power of complex language to unite and grow us has led to the continuation of stories and histories through generations and generations, the advent of writing and printing, the collection of symbolic knowledge that can be retained and recovered eons after the writers have ceased to exist. From this knowledge come the greatest empires, the greatest technologies, the greatest atrocities, and the greatest mercies.
Language is what troubles me: specifically, the construction and explanation of complex thoughts, in precisely the correct way to have the desired effect. Too little offense, and the plea is shrugged off. Too great, and the glass inside may crack. These are delicate matters decided in the mind,
(if it can get to it before the impulse)
strung together on the tip of the tongue. And these strings, these simple symbolic characters put in a row, these things that I write are going to change lives. For better and for worse -- both are connected -- and perhaps mine will be changed the most. I'm not ready, but these things must happen. Life doesn't wait for you to be ready for it.
Is life difficult? Or is it easy. Or does it make sense to even discuss it in such simple words? Shooting at the stars, that's all we do. We aim, we fire, we correct, we continue, we better ourselves, and we still are an infinite distance away from all but our own sun. It's difficult to strike infinity, when infinity doesn't want to be hit.
Words are nothing. Nothing. Electrical, breathy nothing, searing themselves into our minds and expressing themselves in the actions of our bodies. From this nothing comes everything we have created. The birth of a universe. The creation of humankind from dirt and dust.
We are the creators.
Words are our nothing.
Friday, December 6, 2013
The resolution of reality reaches as deeply into fathoms of infinitesimally and infinite as our mind wishes to take us.
Isn't it amazing, the things that we know? The extent of each piece gathered through years by some ones
Who were different from us, and yet they were still almost entirely the same in every way conceivable.
A tricky, sly puzzle of the universe hidden right in front of and under us and even
Inside of us. Inside. Of. Us. We look outward at the wonder of the great rocks
And the great waters, the great tides and planets and great fires of our universe.
We have looked outward so long, even our looking inward feels of peering out.
Our hearts beat on as the antiquated seats of emotions, loves, feelings,
While our minds are forced to observe, muted by our own traditions.
Twenty-three years past, my father walks with a young woman,
Their fingers intertwined, the damp air cold on their necks.
They laugh, and when they aren't laughing they smile.
When they smile, they don't think much ahead,
And when they think, it's of today.
The future is more of now,
The perfect moment they've found
Clinging to each other,
Chasing life through
Summers and
Winters.
Who were different from us, and yet they were still almost entirely the same in every way conceivable.
A tricky, sly puzzle of the universe hidden right in front of and under us and even
Inside of us. Inside. Of. Us. We look outward at the wonder of the great rocks
And the great waters, the great tides and planets and great fires of our universe.
We have looked outward so long, even our looking inward feels of peering out.
Our hearts beat on as the antiquated seats of emotions, loves, feelings,
While our minds are forced to observe, muted by our own traditions.
Twenty-three years past, my father walks with a young woman,
Their fingers intertwined, the damp air cold on their necks.
They laugh, and when they aren't laughing they smile.
When they smile, they don't think much ahead,
And when they think, it's of today.
The future is more of now,
The perfect moment they've found
Clinging to each other,
Chasing life through
Summers and
Winters.
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