Author: William

Social Mobility: Language, Influence, Power

You said it, my good knight! There ought to be laws to
protect the body of acquired knowledge.
Take one of our good pupils, for example: modest
and diligent, from his earliest grammar classes he’s
kept a little notebook full of phrases.
After hanging on the lips of his teachers for twenty
years, he’s managed to build up an intellectual stock in
trade; doesn’t it belong to him as if it were a house, or
money?
Paul Claudel, Le soulier de satin, Day III, Scene ii

 

Communication. I can’t stop thinking about communication. It’s everywhere. You can’t help it. You are conditioned to adopt certain norms and customs. The interpellation that causes identity formation through subjectification and submission to authority. Bear with me while I get this all out. It might get a little cerebral.

Pierre Bourdieu described the habitus of language. Habits form our character, our ideological world view, our identity as a subject. Using language makes you apart of a normative group whoever and whatever that might represent.

We are creatures of habits. The habituation of ideologies shapes our view of the world. Through habituation we come to embody certain symbols that mark out our ideology as a result of the environmental influences we were born and conditioned into. These habits elucidate the societal structures we find ourselves belonging to. Each societal structure contains distinct linguistic capital that defines a linguistic market or social group.  The linguistic capital we use has symbolic power or symbolic imposition. The greater linguistic capital a person possesses, the more mobile that person is within and between different linguistic markets. The accretion of habits that form linguistic capital are instrumental for the formation of identity.

The language and gestures that forms a person’s linguistic capital contains explicit or implicit symbolic power that are used to define the world.  The symbolic power of language takes the form of subliminal and non-verbal insinuations. Posture, eye contact, intonation, definitions, conventional phrases, and mannerisms all play a role in the insinuation of symbolic power.

The formation of a person’s identity arises from censorship. Ideological influences in society- family, religion, school- all facilitate this censorship. Eventually the external influences of censorship become internalized and act as self-censorship.

When we were young our parents molded our ideology by pruning our habits through assent or dissent. The process that habituates the internalization of censorship and forms the ideology that becomes our identity looks something like this:

As a child we may use the word ‘fat’ to describe someone who’s overweight, or ‘bitch’ to describe someone who’s mean. To show their disapproval of the ideology our parents initially rebuke us with a reproachful look and say “Michael, do not use that language.” In this was they are actively censoring the language that doesn’t fit into their conceptions of accepted ideology.  The next time we use that word our parents may need only say “Michael, language.” The next time only “Michael.” The next time only the reproachful look. The next time only their presence is needed to censor our language. Soon enough, as we become habituated and internalize this censorship as self-censorship,  nothing is needed to prompt our censorship.  A persons subjectivity is shaped first through language which gives rise to a subject or self.

This process habituates a complicit reaction to the symbolic domination taking place. The force of our language, the symbolic power within linguistic capital, imposes itself onto the world and others. It forms a persons identity through their subjectification. This subjectification is a result of the symbolic imposition characterizing the symbolic power of a linguistic capital.

The linguistic capital that composes a linguistic market is deemed a legitimate language. The formation of the legitimate language characterizing a linguistic market involves the consolidation of a language. This consolidation is the accumulation of distinct linguistic markers or signs that compromise the markets linguistic capital. The coalescing or consolidation of language into linguistic capital gives rise to a community. This community formation is the linguistic market in which the symbolic power and force of the linguistic capital is exchanged. In this way the community contributes to the process of forming particular individuals. This is the perpetuation of tradition, customs, trends, as a result of the communities ideological influence on the individual through censorship.

Censorship, in another name, is none other than the idea of ‘instruction’ or ‘discipline’. This occurs anytime an ideology is being imposed on an individual, be it a child, student, employee, citizen, and the like.

This emphasizes the subject-object relationship within ideologies.

It is interesting to look at the implication of this paradigm.

When someone uses a language, or employs linguistic capital, that falls outside our ideology or linguistic market, there is a misunderstanding or miscommunication, a conflict of ideologies.

The notion of ‘control’ characterizes the stability of our ‘identity’.  Our identity defines us, and we control our identity by endorsing ideologies that manifest through symbols (gestures, language, accessories that fill our life: clothes, house, and other tokens or bibelots). When someone interacts with us through a explicit, direct, conscious interpellation that conflicts with the ideology that forms our identity, there is a loss of control. This lack of control leaves one vulnerable.  These vulnerabilities are felt according to the past histories of an individual subject.

All this being said, I want to emphasize the importance of understanding this paradigm. It is life. You are shaped by your environment: family, society, education, peers. There is no way around it. You are born into a world with a space waiting for you. The moment there is knowledge that you wil be born you parents begin creating this space filled with expectations for the kind of person they wish you to be: boy or girl, smart, hardworking, handsome, polite. The extent that their ideology allows them to  understand exactly what these words or expectations mean is dictated by the linguistic capital within the linguistic market they are apart. Or, simply stated, the language they use is determined by the societal structure they willfully or unwillfully find themselves in. They censor you, discipline and instruct, according to the parameters of the symbolic force within the ideology of their language.

Leverage language. Leverage the symbolic power of linguistic capital, the semantic force of language. Leverage your identity in this way. Leverage your social mobility by being much more understanding of different ideologies and learning to adopt contrary or conflicting world views.

Do not let others impose their ideology on you. Seek to create an awareness of the influencing ideologies that shaped your current conception of self. Consider its limitations, its failures. Form a pure conception of self. While it is near impossible to escape the influences totally, you can be aware of an ideologies symbolic power and force that imposes itself on the world.

Do not be concerned with the ‘Things’ of the world. Be concerned with the ‘beliefs’ or ‘methods of interpellation’ that categorize and define the world. If you are concerned with the ‘things’ or the markers and symbols within the linguistic capital comprising your ideology, and not the underlying interpellation or beliefs, you run the risk of operating outside your ideology. This jeopardizes the control over your identity and leaves you vulnerable. This lack of control, or vulnerability, leaves one resistant to agree or engage.

When engaging with people, look at their beliefs and talk, not in terms of the right or wrongness of their language and terms and definitions, but in terms of the ideology that has formed their conceptions of that language. Look at why they use the language they use and where the symbolic force of their language lies. Adopt their language and talk as if you operated from their ideology.

It is not about being right or wrong, it is about understanding. Leaders leverage a diverse array and large quantity of linguistic capital. This allows for incredible adaptivity, influence, and social mobility within social structures and groups- linguistic markets. They are the weak ties that bind solitary communities together.

Language is capital. It is as good as gold. Actually, it is much more valuable than gold. If you possess the right language, you can do and be anything.

Never Conform

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

The objection to conforming to usages that have become dead to you is, that it scatters your force. It loses your time and blurs the impression of your character.

R. W. Emerson, Self Reliance from Essays: First Series (1841)

There was a point in my life when I aspired to change my destiny by changing my thoughts. I mediated on certain passages from books that contained uplifting inspiration. That was four years ago and I still have this quote memorized.

This essay is still a favorite that I read regularly.

Also, a soothing song: Foreground by Grizzly Bear.

Signs and Semantics: Social and Psychological

sign (n.) early 13c., “gesture or motion of the hand,” from O.Fr. signe “sign, mark, signature,” from L. signum “mark, token, indication, symbol,” from PIE base *sekw- “point out” (see ‘see’). Meaning “a mark or device having some special importance” is recorded from late 13c. Sense of “characteristic device attached to the front of an inn, shop, etc., to distinguish it from others” is first recorded mid-15c. Ousted native ‘token’.

There are a lot of fragmented thoughts swirling about my mind at the moment. I need to get them out in no particular order. Stream of consciousness:

I’ve been thinking a lot about people lately. People and social interaction. I’m surprised how many people aren’t aware of how their behavior affects the perceptions of other people. The world judges us. We judge the world. We have to. It’s a survival mechanism. First impressions go a long way, even if we train ourselves to be open, these impressions are a pretty reliable source to make evaluations.

Example: I see a guy whose clean-shaven, wearing a suit, nicely shined shoes. I can probably deduce he has a job that commands a level of respect. If I know he’s wearing a designer suit, wearing a Rolex and driving a luxury car, I don’t have to wonder if he’s a limo driver. He’s probably someone with money or important. In contrast, if you see a guy with a beard wearing a no name graphic T-shirt and tattered or dirty clothes, you’ll probably think he was a bum. Without any conversation you will form an opinion about that guy. If you are smart, you’ll wait till you have a conversation with him, but our first impressions are pretty reliable.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to communication recently. More specifically, the role of unspoken communication and appearance.

Communication is defined by the conveyance of signs, or symbols. What are signs? They are markers that convey meaning. Like a road sign. Like any sign. These signs themselves contain meaning. Gestures, symbols, noises: they all possess a normative levels of meaning. This meaning is conveyed to those who are familiar with the signs. The vast majority of signs are culturally rooted in language or social conventions. If you speak Chinese to me, I won’t be able to immediately interpret the meaning of the sign. It’ll be noise. If you speak English to me, I’ll immediately begin to interpret the meaning. Some signs traverse cultural divides, like facial gestures and body posture. The study and interpretation of these signs within a culture is called semiotic analysis.

semiotic: 1620s, of symptoms, from Gk. semeiotikos “significant,” also “observant of signs,” adj. form of semeiosis “indication,” from semeioun “to signal, to interpret a sign,” fromsema “sign.” Use in psychology dates to 1923.

When you become aware of how to leverage the meaning of these signs, through appearance and language, you learn how to leverage what meaning you convey to the world. A lot of people I talk to don’t give much thought to the signs they convey to the world. They are conditioned to think that because they don’t give it much thought, that it somehow doesn’t matter. I suppose this stems from a pervasive notion that being an individual and different is a good thing and valuable, and that everyone recognizes the value of their individualism. I don’t think this is the case.

Signs point to something. They yield significance. They categorize and elucidate meaning. Certain signs- like nice cars, classy wine, fine cheese, the New Yorker, a big house on a rolling lawn, a nice neighborhood, etc- indicate higher social status. Other signs- like cheap beer, cigarettes,  trailers homes, obesity, etc- indicate lower social status. There are countless other categories and subcategories in between. What makes someone a punk? Or Scene? Or Grunge? Or a Hipster? Or Goth? Preppy? A Jock? They all are classified by the signs they convey, the language they use, and the things they surround themselves with. How well we adopt the conventions and customs of a group dictates if or how quickly we are received by them. It seems intuitive, but it’s amazing how little thought people give to the messages they send to the world.

Language is a key component for breaking into a group. If you can adopt the conventions, cultural gestures, and standard definitions of their language, you will meet much less resistance, e.g. learn the linguistic nuances of their humor, how they use words to describe things, intonation, body language, and the like. Couple this with adopting their appearance and you’ll fit right in.

Context lays a big role in how these signs are interpreted. A road sign on the street conveys a much different meaning than a road sign hanging from the wall of someone’s room. On the street it adopts to the normative conventions of navigation that allow for safe driving. In a room it can be interpreted as a gesture of rebellion to the state or other social constructs.

I’ve spoken with quite a few friends about appearance. They insist that because they don’t think about what they wear, or don’t have any intention of representing a  message in their clothing, that they are absolved from the meaning that their style conveys. They think that just because they don’t explicitly endorse a style that they aren’t conveying meaning. This seems a bit shortsighted. The interpretation of signs is left to the interlocutor. Just because you intend to communicate the meaning of something does not mean that you have successfully communicated that intention to others who perceive you. Their semantic evaluations may differ quite a bit considering their experience with the signs you convey as a result of their social, economic, and cultural status, and even age.

Everything we do conveys meaning. Our senses are constantly working to process the sense data we receive and interpret possible meanings. This sense data works to interpret environmental markers that take on various visual, haptic, gustatory, olfactory, and auditory forms that give rise to signs. All the other senses require a certain proximity to be interpreted. Sight allows the interpretation of signs from a distance.

I’m inclined to believe that appearance plays a huge role social interaction and assimilation. Doesn’t matter if you are aware of it or not. We navigate our world by sight. Our vision is usually the first indicator of meaning. Our interpretation of that meaning dictates our response to that meaning.

Appearance commands our attention to cues. It primes our cognitions before we engage with a situation or a person. It prepares us for speech. If your goal is to seek respect and acceptance within a community it is necessary that you adopt the conventions and customs that certain signs represent.

As long as we interact with people, we are judged. Like it or not. The resistance to conform is just as much a statement, and a much more obvious statement, than the adoption of conventional norms.

Just because you don’t wear brand name clothing doesn’t mean you don’t convey meaning. To some it conveys low income. To others it may convey the statement that you are counter cultural, or just above it.

Society is stratified by class no matter how you cut it. Appearance often conveys a person’s class or position in society. It elucidates a person’s tastes and perferences, and those have significant meaning.

Gestures convey an internal state about a person. It is easy to notice a person who is shy simply by the way they stand, hesitate to engage in conversation, or their reluctance to make eye contact. The same goes for people who are sad or depressed. They retain a certain lethargy that pervades their actions: their figure is slouched, their eyes are ‘downcast’, they move slowly, their expression is drawn down. A happy person is energetic, they are ‘looking up’ both figuratively and literally. They are ready to engage the world. They have a smile that is ready to curl upwards at any moment. They world looks brighter and they see things with wonder and enthusiasm. Research here .

Posture is important. Power and authority is conveyed through standing erect, chest out, feet spread. Space is dominated, through gestures, eye contact, and even the volume and bold tone of their voice. They speak with decisiveness and deliberateness. Power and authority are conveyed through this confidence. Power and authority invade space, as if to say ‘I have a right to be here’. It does not hesitate. It infringes on and engages with as much space as possible.

Eye contact is an interesting extension of this power and authority. When men stare at each other they convey their power by occupying the space within their vision. This seems to challenge their power and authority in an intimidating way. Many people become reactive and confrontational as a result of this challenge. Perhaps this is why public speaking causes people to become so anxious. It challenges their power and authority, it causes them to question themselves and doubt. It’s like public eyes sap the power and authority of their words.

Posture conveys power and authority. If you want to appear sure of yourself, of the power and authority of your being, your posture must convey steadfastness, sturdiness, dominance. It must communicate a willingness to engage without hesitation. Walking with a purpose in your step, shaking hands with firmness, eye contact that looks at the core of someones being, an erectness that elevates your stature, a stance that is squared and balanced.

Hygiene plays a role as well. We take care of the things we care about by ensuring their maintenance and cleanliness and repair. We must give ourselves the same respect.

Respect is attributive to value. We attribute respect to things we deem valuable and, more often than not, we attribute respect to things other’s deem valuable. People give us the same respect we give to ourselves. When we fail to respect ourselves, others will fail to respect us. We must respect ourselves if we wish to communicate our value to others.

It is difficult to respect things that have no or little value. If you  want others to respect you, you must respect yourself. This requires that you see yourself as valuable. You must love and appreciate that value, not in a narcissistic way, but a way that communicates a genuine respect and purpose. If you want someone to love you, you must love yourself. Cliche, yes, but nonetheless true.  You must be someone who is worth loving.

Just as our behavior conveys our internal states, it also shapes internal states. By assuming certain behaviors or postures, your psychology changes according to your physiological posture. If you smile, you can’t help but feel happy. Your brain literally generates endorphins as if it was happy. If you make yourself laugh, you can’t help but feel good. Your brain releases the happy neurotransmitters just as if you were laughing. If you stand up tall and straight, you will feel confident.  Same goes for less desirable states like depression. If you slouch, look at the ground, talk slow and in a low voice, you will literally become sadder, and your energy levels will seem to disappointed. Your body reacts to your physiological behaviors and positions. Research has continually confirmed this, as seen here and here.

The subconscious is a powerful mechanism. Our actions and reactions are primed and pre-loaded according to the our recent impressions and cogitations. There is a quote that illustrates this:

“When we change the way we look at the world, the world we look at changes.”

When we are thinking positive or optimistic thoughts, we are much more apt to interpret the world through the lens of those words. If we read a group of words like “ugly, foul, haggard, wicked, etc”, then look at photos of neutral scenes or people and report our emotional response, our reactions correlate with these words. We might take longer to assess a picture of something beautiful, or rate it less favorably than we would otherwise. The same works for positive thoughts. Surround yourself with only the most positive thoughts, people, or environmental cues and you will prime your brain to see things through that lens. Research supports this. Other research confirms this with how we interpret smells.

Not only do our ruminations and reflections prime these responses, but our environment shapes it quite a bit. The people and friends we surround ourselves’ with exposes our mind to their thoughts. These invasive thoughts shape our perception by priming our mind with their thoughts.

This is also the case with other environmental influences, like weather and landscape. Bright colors and warmth are associated with good feelings. Dark colors and cold are associated with negative feelings.  This is also confirmed with research.

So. The point of all my rambling was this: What message are you communicating? How are you being interpreted? You could make things much easier on yourself by adhering to certain customs and conventions. If you wanna make the rules, you have to first play and master the rules. If you don’t like certain customs, be a leader and change them. In order to do that, you first need to develop an affinity with people by submersing yourself in the signs of their conventions and customs. Do not overlook the details.

Also, I don’t mean be a conformist. I suppose this all needs more explaining.

Anyway. I’m done rambling.

Signs and Semantics

sign (n.) early 13c., “gesture or motion of the hand,” from O.Fr. signe “sign, mark, signature,” from L. signum “mark, token, indication, symbol,” from PIE base *sekw- “point out” (see ‘see’). Meaning “a mark or device having some special importance” is recorded from late 13c. Sense of “characteristic device attached to the front of an inn, shop, etc., to distinguish it from others” is first recorded mid-15c. Ousted native ‘token’.

There are a lot of fragmented thoughts swirling about my mind at the moment. I need to get them out in no particular order. Stream of consciousness:

I’ve been thinking a lot about people lately. People and social interaction. I’m surprised how many people aren’t aware of how their behavior affects the perceptions of other people. The world judges us. We judge the world. We have to. It’s a survival mechanism. First impressions go a long way, even if we train ourselves to be open, these impressions are a pretty reliable source to make evaluations.

Example: I see a guy whose clean-shaven, wearing a suit, nicely shined shoes. I can probably deduce he has a job that commands a level of respect. If I know he’s wearing a designer suit, wearing a Rolex and driving a luxury car, I don’t have to wonder if he’s a limo driver. He’s probably someone with money or important. In contrast, if you see a guy with a beard wearing a no name graphic T-shirt and tattered or dirty clothes, you’ll probably think he was a bum. Without any conversation you will form an opinion about that guy. If you are smart, you’ll wait till you have a conversation with him, but our first impressions are pretty reliable.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to communication recently. More specifically, the role of unspoken communication and appearance.

Communication is defined by the conveyance of signs, or symbols. What are signs? They are markers that convey meaning. Like a road sign. Like any sign. These signs themselves contain meaning. Gestures, symbols, noises: they all possess a normative levels of meaning. This meaning is conveyed to those who are familiar with the signs. The vast majority of signs are culturally rooted in language or social conventions. If you speak Chinese to me, I won’t be able to immediately interpret the meaning of the sign. It’ll be noise. If you speak English to me, I’ll immediately begin to interpret the meaning. Some signs traverse cultural divides, like facial gestures and body posture. The study and interpretation of these signs within a culture is called semiotic analysis.

semiotic: 1620s, of symptoms, from Gk. semeiotikos “significant,” also “observant of signs,” adj. form of semeiosis “indication,” from semeioun “to signal, to interpret a sign,” fromsema “sign.” Use in psychology dates to 1923.

When you become aware of how to leverage the meaning of these signs, through appearance and language, you learn how to leverage what meaning you convey to the world. A lot of people I talk to don’t give much thought to the signs they convey to the world. They are conditioned to think that because they don’t give it much thought, that it somehow doesn’t matter. I suppose this stems from a pervasive notion that being an individual and different is a good thing and valuable, and that everyone recognizes the value of their individualism. I don’t think this is the case.

Signs point to something. They yield significance. They categorize and elucidate meaning. Certain signs- like nice cars, classy wine, fine cheese, the New Yorker, a big house on a rolling lawn, a nice neighborhood, etc- indicate higher social status. Other signs- like cheap beer, cigarettes,  trailers homes, obesity, etc- indicate lower social status. There are countless other categories and subcategories in between. What makes someone a punk? Or Scene? Or Grunge? Or a Hipster? Or Goth? Preppy? A Jock? They all are classified by the signs they convey. The the language they use and the things they surround themselves with. How well we adopt the conventions and customs of a group dictates if or how quickly we are received by them. It seems intuitive, but it’s amazing how little thought people give to the messages they send to the world.

Language is a key component for breaking into a group. If you can adopt the conventions, cultural gestures, and standard definitions of their language, you will meet much less resistance, e.g. learn the linguistic nuances of their humor, how they use words to describe things, intonation, body language, and the like. Couple this with adopting their appearance and you’ll fit right in.

Context lays a big role in how these signs are interpreted. A road sign on the street conveys a much different meaning than a road sign hanging from the wall of someone’s room. On the street it adopts to the normative conventions of navigation that allow for safe driving. In a room it can be interpreted as a gesture of rebellion to the state or other social constructs.

I’ve spoken with quite a few friends about appearance. They insist that because they don’t think about what they wear, or don’t have any intention of representing a  message in their clothing, that they are absolved from the meaning that their style conveys. They think that just because they don’t explicitly endorse a style that they aren’t conveying meaning. This seems a bit shortsighted. The interpretation of signs is left to the interlocutor. Just because you intend to communicate the meaning of something does not mean that you have successfully communicated that intention to others who perceive you. Their semantic evaluations may differ quite a bit considering their experience with the signs you convey as a result of their social, economic, and cultural status, and even age.

Everything we do conveys meaning. Our senses are constantly working to process the sense data we receive and interpret possible meanings. This sense data works to interpret environmental markers that take on various visual, haptic, gustatory, olfactory, and auditory forms that give rise to signs. All the other senses require a certain proximity to be interpreted. Sight allows the interpretation of signs from a distance.

I’m inclined to believe that appearance plays a huge role social interaction and assimilation. Doesn’t matter if you are aware of it or not. We navigate our world by sight. Our vision is usually the first indicator of meaning. Our interpretation of that meaning dictates our response to that meaning.

Appearance commands our attention to cues. It primes our cognitions before we engage with a situation or a person. It prepares us for speech. If your goal is to seek respect and acceptance within a community it is necessary that you adopt the conventions and customs that certain signs represent.

As long as we interact with people, we are judged. Like it or not. The resistance to conform is just as much a statement, and a much more obvious statement, than the adoption of conventional norms.

Just because you don’t wear brand name clothing doesn’t mean you don’t convey meaning. To some it conveys low income. To others it may convey the statement that you are counter cultural, or just above it.

Society is stratified by class no matter how you cut it. Appearance often conveys a person’s class or position in society. It elucidates a person’s tastes and perferences, and those have significant meaning.

Gestures convey an internal state about a person. It is easy to notice a person who is shy simply by the way they stand, hesitate to engage in conversation, or their reluctance to make eye contact. The same goes for people who are sad or depressed. They retain a certain lethargy that pervades their actions: their figure is slouched, their eyes are ‘downcast’, they move slowly, their expression is drawn down. A happy person is energetic, they are ‘looking up’ both figuratively and literally. They are ready to engage the world. They have a smile that is ready to curl upwards at any moment. They world looks brighter and they see things with wonder and enthusiasm. Research here .

Posture is important. Power and authority is conveyed through standing erect, chest out, feet spread. Space is dominated, through gestures, eye contact, and even the volume and bold tone of their voice. They speak with decisiveness and deliberateness. Power and authority are conveyed through this confidence. Power and authority invade space, as if to say ‘I have a right to be here’. It does not hesitate. It infringes on and engages with as much space as possible.

Eye contact is an interesting extension of this power and authority. When men stare at each other they convey their power by occupying the space within their vision. This seems to challenge their power and authority in an intimidating way. Many people become reactive and confrontational as a result of this challenge. Perhaps this is why public speaking causes people to become so anxious. It challenges their power and authority, it causes them to question themselves and doubt. It’s like public eyes sap the power and authority of their words.

Posture conveys power and authority. If you want to appear sure of yourself, of the power and authority of your being, your posture must convey steadfastness, sturdiness, dominance. It must communicate a willingness to engage without hesitation. Walking with a purpose in your step, shaking hands with firmness, eye contact that looks at the core of a person, an erectness that elevates your stature, a stance that is squared and balanced.

Hygiene plays a role as well. We take care of the things we care about by ensuring their maintenance and cleanliness and repair. We must give ourselves the same respect.

Respect is attributive to value. We attribute respect to things we deem valuable and, more often than not, we attribute respect to things other’s deem valuable. People give us the same respect we give to ourselves. When we fail to respect ourselves, others will fail to respect us. We must respect ourselves if we wish to communicate our value to others.

It is difficult to respect things that have no or little value. If you  want others to respect you, you must respect yourself. This requires that you see yourself as valuable. You must love and appreciate that value, not in a narcissistic way, but a way that communicates a genuine respect and purpose. If you want someone to love you, you must love yourself. Cliche, yes, but nonetheless true.  You must be someone who is worth loving.

Just as our behavior conveys our internal states, it also shapes internal states. By assuming certain behaviors or postures, your psychology changes according to your physiological posture. If you smile, you can’t help but feel happy. Your brain literally generates endorphins as if it was happy. If you make yourself laugh, you can’t help but feel good. Your brain releases the happy neurotransmitters just as if you were laughing. If you stand up tall and straight, you will feel confident.  Same goes for less desirable states like depression. If you slouch, look at the ground, talk slow and in a low voice, you will literally become sadder, and your energy levels will seem to disappointed. Your body reactions to your physiological behaviors and positions. Research has continually confirmed this, as seen here and here.

The subconscious is a powerful mechanism. Our actions and reactions are primed and pre-load according to the our recent cogitations. There is a quote that illustrates this:

“When we change the way we look at the world, the world we look at changes.”

When we are thinking positive or optimistic thoughts, we are much more apt to interpret the world through the lens of those words. If we read a group of words like “ugly, foul, haggard, wicked, etc”, then look at photos of neutral scenes or people and report our emotional response, our reactions correlate with these words. We might take longer to assess a picture of something beautiful, or rate it less favorably than we would otherwise. The same works for positive thoughts. Surround yourself with only the most positive thoughts, people, or environmental cues and you will prime your brain to see things through that lens. Research supports this. Other research confirms this with how we interpret smells.

Not only do our ruminations and reflections prime these responses, but our environment shapes it quite a bit. The people and friends we surround ourselves’ with exposes our mind to their thoughts. These invasive thoughts shape our perception by priming our mind with their thoughts.

This is also the case with other environmental influences, like weather and landscape. Bright colors and warmth are associated with good feelings. Dark colors and cold are associated with negative feelings.  This is also confirmed with research.

So. The point of all my rambling was this: What message are you communicating? How are you being interpreted? You could make things much easier on yourself by adhering to certain customs and conventions. If you wanna make the rules, you have to first play and master the rules. If you don’t like certain customs, be a leader and change them. In order to do that, you first need to develop an affinity with people by submersing yourself in the signs of their conventions and customs. Do not overlook the details.

Also, I don’t mean be a conformist. I suppose this all needs more explaining.

Anyway. I’m done rambling.

Language and Influence

I’ve found that affinity is the ruling thumb for relations. If one has an affinity for something, or someone, he is much more apt to practice the principle of charity, or the principle of rational accommodation. These principles, simply stated, constrain us towards maximal agreement of the truth or rationality of our interlocutors sayings. When we have an affinity towards our interlocutor, we extend them the same ratiocination we attribute to ourselves. Many times, depending on the content and context, we are willing to extend complete maximal agreement and suspend our rationality altogether in favor of the interlocuters reasoning. While we do not lose our ability to reason altogether, we allow our past experiences to lose the legitimate foothold they once had on our reasoning. This exchange of reasoning leads one to substitute a quasi-faith, backed by new justifications, as the topical foundation of thought.

This affinity hinges on a number of personal and societal attributions, specifically: perceived authority, perceived utility, and reciprocal value.

When we behold the words of a perceived authority figure, their words have much greater weight, and the principle of charity is extended far more maximally towards their truth and rationality. Some examples of spoken titles that confer this authority in the mind include: Professor, Mister, Doctor, Sir, Father (Priest), Mother (Nun), President, His Majesty, etc. Similarly, written titles serve in the same capacity: Phd, MD, JD, MHS, CEO, Pres, etc.  Notice that each title specifies, directly or indirectly, their area of authority. Some being more narrow, while others more encompassing. Their area of authority prompts our willingness to extend the principle of charity, and accept their reasoning as rational and true.

In many situations societal conventions fail to provide recognizable markers that identify and designate widespread belief in this authority. In these cases reputations do the work to legitimize a person’s authority.

The utility of adopting an others reasoning, or propositional attitudes, is borne out of the necessity for self preservation. One assimilates conventions, standards, and semantics according to the utility they serve one’s ends or aims. Unless these aims and ends create wholly new demands for others, they are usually left dictated by the community

The perceived reciprocal value relates to utility, but in a much more internal capacity. Human relations serve not only to aid in the maintenance of an extrinsic state, but a person’s intrinsic state. This internal state regulates all other activity in our life and deals with matters of self-esteem and emotional well being. Reciprocal value is a shared mutuality that supplements the core of relations, such as good will and trustworthiness. Reciprocity’s facilitation of trust acts as a principle support for the formation of community. This community is necessary for the feeling of place.

Death

When a person experiences death, it is not them who dies, but the world that dies to them. When we experience death, it is not that we die, it is the world, our world, that dies.  We do not stop happening to the world; the world stops happening to us.

In a moment I will continue writing my novel and finish my 1700 words for the day. This business of writing has allowed me to focus my energies by causing me to command thought and action at will. The goal to write every day, do or die, has forced me to produce without hesitation.

What I Have Lived For

Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a great ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.

I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy – ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness–that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what–at last–I have found.

With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.

Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.

This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.

Bertrand Russell -What I Have Lived For, The Prologue to Bertrand Russell’s Autobiography

Experience

Your mind is a vacuum. Don’t clog it with filth.

Well. It’s three in the morning. I’ve written close to six thousand words in two days. Not a terribly astonishing feat. This whole book writing process will prove to be a novel experience (no pun intended). It’s about the only thing on my mind at the moment. Not exactly conducive for managing studies and extracurricular commitments. Writing a book is difficult. I feel like in order to produce a single book, you have to write about three times its length, at least, in order to clarify and construct the themes and content, not to mention all the prose and poetics. I could see myself rewriting entire chapters over again. Half the process is simply getting the material out. It feels great though.

I had a long conversation with a friend this evening. We stood in the parking lot and discussed the merit of ‘new experiences’ and deriving value from these experiences. We can’t do it all, so we must choose to manage our time and our experiences wisely. What experiences do we choose? What goals? Who is setting these goals? Am I choosing, or am I letting some other force- such as peer influence, parents, or culture at large- deciding their value for me? Are all experiences equally valuable? Potentially equally valuable? Being a subjective judgement, no experience has inherent value as it’s only the value we give it (Perhaps life is valuable? But who’s or what’s? To whom?) Can we choose what we value? Where do we draw the line for experiences? Those that don’t lend to accomplishing long term goals? Short term? What is your long term goal? To be a cog in the system? (Or an intricate organism in the ecology of capitalism- more pleasing to the ears) To be more fully human? What are we trying to achieve with these goals? Happiness? Contributions to mankind? Why? Who decided that your current goal was a contribution?  Say we decided that a utilitarian approach yields the best answer, and we use a cost benefit analysis to examine the short and long term pros and cons of each experience we decided to undertake. Is experience life? Is experience a sampling of reality? A snapshot, a crude distillation of what reality is about? If life is a continual experience, and we are one perspective, one sampling of this reality, won’t more experience bring us closer to understanding the full nature of reality?  More traveling, more people, more relationships, readying, studying, reflecting, confronting, risking? Just as collecting all the worlds knowledge, past and present, will lead us to the most accurate illustration of reality? There is no reality to speak of without a mind to behold it and speak it. The more minds, the fuller picture of reality we acquire? The more we engage experience- life, perspectives- the more fully we understand reality? Or is this all wrong? Can man have faulty paradigms that taint his experience and render it useless? just as a faulty camera will not take more accurate pictures of the world no matter how many pictures it takes?

So I am interested in changing paradigms, changing the lens with which peole view the world. How is this acquired? Through new experiences? Possibly. Reflection? Possibly. Study and knowledge acquisition? Possibly.  I want to be able to understand the human condition, nature, and reality, from the objective, subjective, and inter subjective sense. I want to submerse myself with these insights, synthesize them, and disseminate them into the world.

Cafe People Watching

A man lounges, ensconced between the pillows of a kitsche floral couch. He grunts to himself. Slurps his saliva in. My eyes stare ahead, grazing over his floating figure. His erratic gesticulations break the room’s silent concentration. Out dribbles the occasional inaudible sentence, followed by intermittent hysteric giggles. Everyone ignores his presence. His face is crevassed and leathered, callous and hairy. Hairs everywhere: nestled between the overwhelming folds of his skin, protruding from under his shirt, poking from his ears. He slumps behind his laptop and fingers the corners of his simpering mouth. Just beyond the couch, prim blonde women sit at a table.

Part-E.

The tentacles of their gaze wrap around me. I look away to escape the entanglement. My thoughts are reluctant to turn with my head: they are transfixed on the motioning masses. Huddled in clusters, they divide themselves evenly throughout the room.  Every so often bodies will detach and absorb into another cluster, near or far, like a firing neuron. They maintain a hum, a gentle hum, a hum that cackles and keeps the insipid look in their eyes alive. They pour more of the intoxicant down their throats, trying to consume it with coolness, not realizing it is them being consumed.

I avoid their eyes. I don’t want to stir their mind. I want to see them as they are: complacent automatons molded and shaped by self fulfilling events. A glint of metal whirrs above me and a cool malted fragrance mists the air and settles on my brow. It smacks against the wall with an empty crack. Deep cheer and laughter erupt from one of the clusters. A boy stands with his spine erect, like a conquering hero; a rapacious smile hangs on his face as glistening liquid drips off his lips and soaks into his curling facial hair. I watch as their dull eyes reflect admiration, but I cannot make out their praises. I examine the once whirring metal, now motionless on the ground: an empty beer can. A hole punctured in its lower quarter. Shot-gunning.

I force myself to look around. My eyes return. I do my best to maintain casual eye contact. Do they see the fear in me? Are they afraid it is I that sees the fear in them? I want to be alone, but I stay. I have roles to fulfill; people to please. I pull a smile across my face. I feel my lips tighten and mimic the expression of a voluptuary. I tell myself I am pleased. I continue to scan the room. Make eye contact. My lust admires the youthful figures shifting in front of me: Boys and girls, courting one another with self-conscious precision. They have practiced this routine, this dance, these gestures: The alluring batting eyes; the coy retreats that indicate bashful vulnerability. They beg to be swooned. To be noticed. They don’t want to be taken a fool. They are ready to play this game.

The boys stand tall, proud, chests out, chin erect, like adolescent steeds. Their loud gestures fill the room, sweeping motions, legs spread, trying their best to dominate as much space as possible.

 

Part-E.

The tentacles of their gaze wrap around me. I look away to escape the entanglement. My thoughts are reluctant to turn with my head: they are transfixed on the motioning masses. Huddled in clusters, they divide themselves evenly throughout the room.  Every so often bodies will detach and absorb into another cluster, near or far, like a firing neuron. They maintain a hum, a gentle hum, a hum that cackles and keeps the insipid look in their eyes alive. They pour more of the intoxicant down their throats, trying to consume it with coolness, not realizing it is them being consumed.

I avoid their eyes. I don’t want to stir their mind. I want to see them as they are: complacent automatons molded and shaped by self fulfilling events. A glint of metal whirrs above me and a cool malted fragrance mists the air and settles on my brow. It smacks against the wall with an empty crack. Deep cheer and laughter erupt from one of the clusters. A boy stands with his spine erect, like a conquering hero; a rapacious smile hangs on his face as glistening liquid drips off his lips and soaks into his curling facial hair. I watch as their dull eyes reflect admiration, but I cannot make out their praises. I examine the once whirring metal, now motionless on the ground: an empty beer can. A hole punctured in its lower quarter. Shot-gunning.

I force myself to look around. My eyes return. I do my best to maintain casual eye contact. Do they see the fear in me? Are they afraid it is I that sees the fear in them? I want to be alone, but I stay. I have roles to fulfill; people to please. I pull a smile across my face. I feel my lips tighten and mimic the expression of a voluptuary. I tell myself I am pleased. I continue to scan the room. Make eye contact. My lust admires the youthful figures shifting in front of me: Boys and girls, courting one another with self-conscious precision. They have practiced this routine, this dance, these gestures: The alluring batting eyes; the coy retreats that indicate bashful vulnerability. They beg to be swooned. To be noticed. They don’t want to be taken a fool. They are ready to play this game.

The boys stand tall, proud, chests out, chin erect, like adolescent steeds. Their loud gestures fill the room, sweeping motions, legs spread, trying their best to dominate as much space as possible.

Novel

There’s nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.  ~Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith

In five days time I’ll be pounding away at my keyboard constructing my first novel. I’m extremely anxious to get started. While I have a general plot with a twelve page outline to refer to, I am overwhelmed by the possibilities of capturing everything. I’ve decided that my first and foremost priority will be to expunge thoughts. Expunge and expel every last iota of thought I can muster. While it may be true that I can’t write, I know for a fact that I can rewrite: and rewrite I will. I have to remind myself that this process will serve only as the initial draft. It is the gathering of amorphous clay before adroit hands give it form; the faint black and white outline that dons the canvas before it is filled with the melodies of color. Nevermind perfection. I need material to shape and mold and hew and hone.

While I have a friend who has decided to join me in this undertaking by writing his own novel in a months time, I know that I will need much than his support if I’m going to see this endeavor through. I’ve been cogitating some strategies for aiding the writing process: outlines, character sketches, perusing old journals for quaint situations and duologue I hope to recapitulate with necessary and profound precision. I’m thankful I’ve journaled consistently over the past decade. With 1700 words a day, translating to three single spaced pages of writing, I can’t be naive to think I won’t hit a wall. When I do, I know I have a trove of notes over the years to draw inspiration from.

So this novel. Writing, every day, hours a day, for thirty days. The very idea gets me giddy.

So I’ve thought about my plot quite a bit. I have concluded that I might very well go mad trying to come up with the perfect plot. Instead, my plot will be internal, and revolve around a boy’s development of his consciousness. Essentially: “The story of a boy’s pursuit to reconcile existence and meaning in the 21st century. Born with a burning curiosity to garner experience and uncover truth, he embarks on a mission to shake free from the familiar foundations that vie for his mind and explore foreign and unknown worlds filled with new adventure.”

I’ll be honest, as someone who has never written a book before, the task is a little daunting. I figured the best way for me to achieve my goal of fifty-thousand words in a month is to write about what’s most familiar. I just so happen to be most familiar with myself. My life has been less than normal, and my childhood progressed with almost predictable unpredictability. I remember thinking at various times in my life, “When will I get a break?”. Problems seemed to afflict me like the plague. Thankfully, I rebounded time after time, and with a new perspective. My goal is to some how weave those transformative experiences into characters and a story that appeals to the universality of humanity.

Whatever happens, I will write, I will finish, I will see it through, 1700 words a day, everyday for the upcoming month. When the deadline comes, I will be proudly fit to call myself a novelist.

I am a man, and alive…. For this reason I am a novelist.  And being a novelist, I consider myself superior to the saint, the scientist, the philosopher, and the poet, who are all great masters of different bits of man alive, but never get the whole hog.  ~D.H. Lawrence, preface to Shestov, All Things Are Possible, 1938

Novel

There’s nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.  ~Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith

In five days time I’ll be pounding away at my keyboard constructing my first novel. I’m extremely anxious to get started. While I have a general plot with a twelve page outline to refer to, I am overwhelmed by the possibilities of capturing everything. I’ve decided that my first and foremost priority with be to expunge. Expunge and expel every last iota of thought I can muster. While it may be true that I can’t write, I know for a fact that I can rewrite: and rewrite I will. I have to remind myself that this process will serve only as the initial draft. It is the gathering of amorphous clay before adroit hands it form; the faint black and white outline that dons the canvas before it is filled with the melodies of color. Nevermind perfection. I need material to shape and mold and hew and hone.

While I have a friend who has decided to join me in this undertaking by writing his own novel in a months time, I know that I will need much than his support if I’m going to see this endeavor through. I’ve been cogitating some strategies for aiding the writing process: outlines, character sketches, perusing old journals for quaint situations and duologue I hope to recapitulate with necessary and profound precision. I’m thankful I’ve journaled consistently over the past decade. With 1700 words a day, translating to three single spaced pages of writing, I can’t be naive to think I won’t hit a wall. When I do, I know I have a trove of notes over the years to draw inspiration from.

So this novel. Writing, every day, hours a day, for thirty days. The thought gets me giddy.

So I’ve thought about my plot quite a bit. I concluded that I would will go mad trying to come up with the perfect plot. Instead, my plot will be internal, and revolve around a boy’s development of conscience. Essentially: “The story of a boy’s pursuit to reconcile existence and meaning in the 21st century. Born with a burning curiosity to garner experience and uncover truth, he embarks on a mission to shake free from the familiar foundations that vie for his mind and explore foreign and unknown worlds filled with new adventure.”

I’ll be honest, as someone who has never written a book before, the task is a little daunting. I figured the best way for me to achieve my goal of fifty-thousand words in a month is to write about what’s most familiar. I just so happen to be most familiar with myself. My life has been less than normal, and my childhood progressed almost predictably unpredictable. I remember thinking at various times in my life, “When will I get a break?”. Problems seemed to afflict me like the plague. Thankfully, I rebounded time after time, and with a new perspective. My goal is to some home weave those transformative experiences into characters and a story that appeals to the universality of humanity.

Whatever happens, I will write, I will finish, I will see it through, 1700 words a day, everyday for the upcoming month. When the deadline comes, I will be proudly fit to call myself a novelist.

I am a man, and alive…. For this reason I am a novelist.  And being a novelist, I consider myself superior to the saint, the scientist, the philosopher, and the poet, who are all great masters of different bits of man alive, but never get the whole hog.  ~D.H. Lawrence, preface to Shestov, All Things Are Possible, 1938

Homecoming Weekend.

Thursday night began the onslaught of abuse that my body endured for the next several days. The past week I had restrained impulsive thoughts and focused my energies on my studies.

I drank at the house Thursday. I can’t seem to remember that night very well. Thursday and Friday seemed to have blurred together. I do recall going down town with some alumni. I didn’t go out very late. I was back by two. I remember I stayed up, as usual and against my better judgement, till three before going to bed. I believe we went to rippey’s. I had class that morning so I didn’t stay very long. It was a decent night.

Friday night I raged. I got to the house relatively late, I believe 1045, and caught up with all the alumni. I brought about ten beers. I remember thinking that was probably way too much, but decided that I could always give them away. We headed downtown around one in the morning. Paradise park was on the agenda but after finally waiting thirty minutes to get in, it turned out the scene was pretty lame. Drunk musicians equal poor music. Additionally, it was packed beyond measure. I decided to dip out so I found a friend and we walked across the street to second fiddle. More friends were there, and you could actually breath, which was comfortable. Somehow I managed to find the group of guys I rode downtown with. We commiserated and decided to go to a strip club. Classy.

We tell the cabby to take us to the best club in down. Bad idea. He takes us to probably the shittest place we could possible stumble into. These scenes are always less than becoming. The girls were probably all post 40 years old and most had several kids, at best.

One girl was particularly memorable. She was on stage, acting like a maniac, not a sensual performer. Completely out of her mind, she made comments like “can you see my tampon”. Completely foul. She was pretty hung up on me, continually batting her eyes, and trying to play these bizzare flirtatious games. I was just nauseas. She was literally dancing and jumping on stage, naked, like some one who just freebased several hits of angel dust. Totally out of her mind. when we was done she came down and began assaulting us. I kept to myself, but my friend was having a ball. She kept telling me how handsome I was, and how she had a kid my age. Not quite the turn on. She also confessed she was a grandmother. I’m not sure where they learned to turn guys on, but that’s typically not how you do it.  At that point she asked if we wanted to hang out afterwards. My friend was all about it. I was less than enthusiastic. She took my phone out of my hand and proceeded to insert her cell number. Wow. Anyway. The place shut down at three and made up pay an extra ten bucks cover to go next door where they shows resumed, but ladies remained clothed. My friend had a buddy come into town and he pulled out a few hundred. He was making it rain. At one point a group of them got this girl to give them lap dances. I vaguely remember one making out with this girl, and witnessed another getting his genitals massaged under his pants. So lovely.

We headed home but stopped at cafe coco on the way. I remember going to bed around six a.m. or so. Long night. I woke on the couch at my friends a few hours later around eleven.  A friend rallied my atrophied enthusiasm and reminded me that homecoming festivities were underway. I pulled myself up and we walked to the house. I quickly regained my strength after downing some orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a few beers. It was game on from there on out.

It was a great day. Parades, bands, music, girls. I enjoyed it. I caught up with a lot of brothers and got significantly intoxicated. I was feeling happy and wonderful.  Considering how drunk I got, there isn’t much to say about it all. I encouraged a brother of my to shotgun a four loco, which he did with his usual aggressive frat-like zeal. I witnessed him several minutes later consume several more beers in the same shotgun fashion, which astounded me. He later told me we blacked out within the hour, which didn’t leave me surprised in the least.

At one point a group of us ventured to chili’s to get some much needed food. I spent time with two girls who I know am fond of. We ate, joked, carried on, drank some more. I ended up getting a ride home and passing out for an hour. I was woken by my room mates who were declaring their excitement for the night. I needed to get up, they said, the party is just getting started. I managed to get dressed and pull myself together. The house was empty when I arrived. I wasn’t feeling the same energy I was when the night began. A 90’s band played. An impressive crowd of people showed up despite it not being a dance party. Some alumni verbally accosted my sister a few times, as well as other girls and brothers, and it got me enraged. I wanted to rip his throat out, simply on grounds of principle and justice. I didn’t and my good friends assuaged the aggression. They communicated to him that I was about to lose my shit if he continued acting like a fool and treating people like shit. He came up and apologized. I explained how I felt, pretty bluntly, and thanked him for taking the effort to see me before I received his apology.

It was late and by the time that entire thing unfolded it was already pretty late and I was feeling the sleep deprivation take hold. I ended up going home around two, and passing out around three while watching ninja assassin.

Anyway.

Homecoming Weekend.

Thursday night began the onslaught of abuse that my body endured for the next several days. The past week I had restrained impulsive thoughts and focused my energies on my studies.

I drank at the house Thursday. I can’t seem to remember that night very well. Thursday and Friday seemed to have blurred together. I do recall going down town with some alumni. I didn’t go out very late. I was back by two. I remember I stayed up, as usual and against my better judgement, till three before going to bed. I believe we went to rippey’s. I had class that morning so I didn’t stay very long. It was a decent night.

Friday night I raged. I got to the house relatively late, I believe 1045, and caught up with all the alumni. I brought about ten beers. I remember thinking that was probably way too much, but decided that I could always give them away. We headed downtown around one in the morning. Paradise park was on the agenda but after finally waiting thirty minutes to get in, it turned out the scene was pretty lame. Drunk musicians equal poor music. Additionally, it was packed beyond measure. I decided to dip out so I found a friend and we walked across the street to second fiddle. More friends were there, and you could actually breath, which was comfortable. Somehow I managed to find the group of guys I rode downtown with. We commiserated and decided to go to a strip club. Classy. We tell the cabby to take us to the best club in down. Bad idea. He takes us to probably the shittest place we could possible stumble into. These scenes are always less than becoming. The girls were probably all post 40 years old and most had several kids, at best. One girl was particularly memorable. She was on stage, acting like a maniac, not a sensual performer. Completely out of her mind, she made comments like “can you see my tampon”. Completely foul. She was pretty hung up on me, continually batting her eyes, and trying to play these bizzare flirtatious games. I was just nauseas. She was literally dancing and jumping on stage, naked, like some one who just freebased several hits of angel dust. Totally out of her mind. when we was done she came down and began assaulting us. I kept to myself, but my friend was having a ball. She kept telling me how handsome I was, and how she had a kid my age. Not quite the turn on. She also confessed she was a grandmother. I’m not sure where they learned to turn guys on, but that’s typically not how you do it.  At that point she asked if we wanted to hang out afterwards. My friend was all about it. I was less than enthusiastic. She took my phone out of my hand and proceeded to insert her cell number. Wow. Anyway. The place shut down at three and made up pay an extra ten bucks cover to go next door where they shows resumed, but ladies remained clothed. My friend had a buddy come into town and he pulled out a few hundred. He was making it rain. At one point a group of them got this girl to give them lap dances. I vaguely remember one making out with this girl, and witnessed another getting his genitals massaged under his pants. So lovely.

We headed home but stopped at cafe coco on the way. I remember going to bed around six a.m. or so. Long night. I woke on the couch at my friends a few hours later around eleven.  A friend rallied my atrophied enthusiasm and reminded me that homecoming festivities were underway. I pulled myself up and we walked to the house. I quickly regained my strength after downing some orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a few beers. It was game on from there on out.

It was a great day. Parades, bands, music, girls. I enjoyed it. I caught up with a lot of brothers and got significantly intoxicated. I was feeling happy and wonderful.  Considering how drunk I got, there isn’t much to say about it all. I encouraged a brother of my to shotgun a four loco, which he did with his usual aggressive frat-like zeal. I witnessed him several minutes later consume several more beers in the same shotgun fashion, which astounded me. He later told me we blacked out within the hour, which didn’t leave me surprised in the least.

At one point a group of us ventured to chili’s to get some much needed food. I spent time with two girls who I know am fond of. We ate, joked, carried on, drank some more. I ended up getting a ride home and passing out for an hour. I was woken by my room mates who were declaring their excitement for the night. I needed to get up, they said, the party is just getting started. I managed to get dressed and pull myself together. The house was empty when I arrived. I wasn’t feeling the same energy I was when the night began. A 90′s band played. An impressive crowd of people showed up despite it not being a dance party. Some alumni verbally accosted my sister a few times, as well as other girls and brothers, and it got me enraged. I wanted to rip his throat out, simply on grounds of principle and justice. I didn’t and my good friends assuaged the aggression. They communicated to him that I was about to lose my shit if he continued acting like a fool and treating people like shit. He came up and apologized. I explained how I felt, pretty bluntly, and thanked him for taking the effort to see me before I received his apology.

It was late and by the time that entire thing unfolded it was already pretty late and I was feeling the sleep deprivation take hold. I ended up going home around two, and passing out around three while watching ninja assassin.

Anyway.

 

Girl

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Last week I ran an errand for the office to deliver some time-sheets to the medical payroll office. My director told me to make sure they were time stamped before I submitted them. When I arrived, there was no one at the window so I was a little confused as to how to do this. I lingered for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant by time-stamping. The next moment a girl walked up with a stack of envelopes. With my attention was elsewhere, I watched as she began processing her documents. I casually asked her if she knew how to time-stamp a time sheet. She showed me with thoughtful instruction and I proceeded to process and submit the time sheets before walking away. As I walked, my thoughts returned and it struck me: that girl was breathtaking. Although I didn’t take time to appreciate it in my busied state, her beauty was instantly apparent the moment I looked into her eyes. I walked down the hall and reflected. Beauty moves. It tugs at something deep inside you. Whether it’s art, nature, complexity or simplicity, it transports you to a better place. Her physiognomy held a child like innocence. Her blonde hair was wispy and pure, streaming and sun kissed. She was tall, but not overwhelmingly so. There was a delicacy in her figure, womanly yet youthful. Her eyes seemed to capture the simplicity of life. As I was reflecting, I felt compelled to do something, to obey those unwieldy passions. Her presence incited an irrational passion within me. I wanted to recapture that. I had the urge to turn, walk up to her with a decisive confidence, and ask for her name. I wanted to revel in another moment of her presence and ask if she was free that evening for dinner. While my reserved judgement told me to tame such responses, my youthful zeal demanded that I act now, that the opportunities of love beg not to be overlooked. Hume said that reason must be a slave to the passions. Since when did I begin believing otherwise?

As I walked, I continued to think about our exchange. I held her image in mind and let the pleasant and uplifting emotions it generated pour over me. I told myself that I would see her again, that I would not forget such a face and that I would work to find her again. I believe, and life has taught me truly, that we attract what we think about. I know from experience that what the heart desires most, if we act honestly, it attains. As predicted, I did find her again.

I write this because it’s not often that a girl has this kind of affect on me. I admit that there are many beautiful girls out there, but it’s rare that I’m left with a longing that lingers after such an encounter.

Focus. Manage.

Focus. You are what you think. Where ever you cast your gaze, that’s what you’ll see. When we see, we can make better judgements about our situations, surroundings, what we want, and where we want to go. We don’t travel to destinations with our eyes closed. We have them open, aware, alert, surveying, looking for signs that indicate we’re going the right way.

It works the same way for your thoughts and goals. You must concentrate and visualize and preoccupy your mind with where you want to be- and then act on those thoughts. When opportunities present themselves to carry you there, you will see them as signs that point to your end goals, and you will seize them up. You will take notice and they will not be overlooked.

There is a principle called the 80/20 rule. It says that 20% of our efforts achieve 80% of our results, and the other 80% of our efforts accomplish 20% of our results. Most people (like myself) can’t seem to find enough time in a day, but the truth is, the time is there, it’s just how they are using it. Rearrange your priorities so that you are spending your efforts accomplishing the results of only the most important activities and tasks. How you spend your time defines who you are. Manage it well.

Will.Power.

The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack in will.

-Vince Lombardi

I just read an article in the New York Times that delineated the qualities of mental prowess possessed by elite athletes. Their mental stamina, their ability to push beyond the mental limits where physical pain and psychological torture reside, is a hallmark of every successful person.

I believe that the principles of success are learned and acquired through any undertaking that requires a great deal of struggle. Without the struggle, without embracing the hardship, there is no virtue to be gleaned. As an athlete, there is no way around this struggle. When the time comes for competition, the corollary of your daily perseverance will shine for all to see. Whereas one can get by doing the minimum and appearing to excel in more relative matters such as business and school, there is no escaping the public eyes of the arena in athletic competition. You cannot hide the deficiencies you failed to confront and develop. Come time for competition, all your short-cuts, all your breaks, all your excuses and rational for stopping short are exposed for all to see. When the competition is over, a competitor can look on his performance in one of two ways: they can hold their head high, proud of their unfailing allegiance to the will;  or they can shirk and shrink inward and displace the blame, not on their own failures and lack of will, but on things outside their control. Only one of these two competitors will continue succeeding.

“I was given a body that could train every single day.” Tom said, “and a mind, a mentality, that believed that if I trained every day — and I could train every day — I’ll beat you.”

“The mentality was I will do whatever it takes to win,” he added. “I was totally willing to have the worst pain. I was totally willing to do whatever it takes to win the race.”

This is why elite athletes have such a developed sense of will. They recognize that there is no escaping responsibility. They refuse to make excuses. Their only refuge is knowing that will conquers all. It is the starting point for all capacities of human development.

The article discussed visualization. As a firm believer in visualization, I was intrigued by the contrast between amateur competitors and elite athletes.

In studies of college runners, [Raglin] found that less accomplished athletes tended to dissociate, to think of something other than their running to distract themselves.“Sometimes dissociation allows runners to speed up, because they are not attending to their pain and effort,” he said. “But what often happens is they hit a sort of physiological wall that forces them to slow down, so they end up racing inefficiently in a sort of oscillating pace.” But association, Dr. Raglin says, is difficult, which may be why most don’t do it.

When I read this, I think of a responsibility avoidance. There is a fear that prevents these athletes from embracing the pain and struggle. They fail to size-up the challenge and accept the burden of responsibility for its attainment. By contrast:

“Our hypothesis is that elite athletes are able to motivate themselves continuously and are able to run the gantlet between pushing too hard — and failing to finish — and underperforming,” Dr. Swart said

To find this motivation, the athletes must resist the feeling that they are too tired and have to slow down, he added. Instead, they have to concentrate on increasing the intensity of their effort. That, Dr. Swart said, takes “mental strength,” but “allows them to perform close to their maximal ability.”

Elite athletes find the boundary where their limitations reside. They practice reaching that boundary, that fluid limitation, on a routine basis. They know it well by inspecting its character and uncovering its various strongholds on potential. They become comfortable and familiar with its discomforts, continually dancing the line of what their current capacities can handle, and what their will demands of potential and possibility. When the time for competition arrives, this boundary of limitation will whiz by in the periphery, acting as nothing more than a reminder that all boundaries are meant to be crossed. Success, and traversing the limits that lead you there, are a matter of will.

Conceive. Believe. Achieve.

You must see where you want to be, visualize its nature, its pains and joys. You must conceive a world where you are already there, a world of possibility where time is your only enemy. You must believe that your potential is limitless, that you will win, that you will not lose. Only then will you gravitate toward this vision of success and achieve your ends. If you cannot conceive possibility, if you cannot believe in yourself and your ability to inevitably succeed, you will never achieve.

Idea.

I’ve been feeling inspired lately. There are a few goals I’ve been thinking about lately (as if I don’t have enough to think about).

Writing. I want to write more often. Not necessarily thoughts and musings, but story, journalism, and other types of descriptive narrative. This November I’ve decided to compete in the National Novel Writing Month’s competition to author a 50,000 word novel. It’s not as much a competition as much as it’s an opportunity to force myself to write copiously and every day for a month straight. Research indicates that it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Well now I’ll have thirty. 50,000 words in month comes out to roughly 1,667 words per day. I’m estimating that will come out to be about 200 pages of writing in a months time.

I also want to come up with twenty-five ideas per day. Preferably business ideas, or technological ideas, or design ideas. Ideas that improve upon the world in some way. Or ideas that allow us to engage with the world differently, be it in mind or matter. It doesn’t matter what they are, how they work, or if it’s technologically reasonable or feasible. The point is to exercise the mind’s imaginative faculties. I want to explore the realm of possibility. Twenty-five ideas a day, for a year straight, comes out to 9125 ideas in a years time. Even if 1% of them are worthy to pursue, that’s 91 ideas! Even if .1% were reasonable, that almost 10 ideas!

If you’ve read anything about intelligence, genius, nature, and genetics the past decade, you would know by now that genetics is a marginal factor for developing a person’s potential.

The people who succeed are the people who do the small things, day in and day out, when no one’s looking. It’s repetition. Repetition. Over and over. Writers write all day long, on any subject, whenever the opportunity presents itself. Inventors think ideas incessantly. Musicians practice perpetually. Olympians train the mind and body longer, harder, and more regularly than any other competitor.

Greatness is trained in the wee hours of the morning, and late hours of the evening, whatever the inclement might be. Greatness locates the limits, the ramparts where discomfort lives, only so it might push itself beyond familiar mediocrity. It elevates the conscious and transports its mind where it longs to be. When it wakes from the racing struggle, with the pain and exhaustion still gripping its senses, it finds that the world has become exactly what it was envisioned to be, and the pain becomes a marginal price when compared to the infinite joy of truly being.

Exclaim

Hark! Inspiration! Where art thou? Hast thy muses departed? Lend your gracious gift of peace! Rescue me from the hollow echo of my timid thoughts! From the empty reverberations that beat against my insides! Save me from the dry, contemptuous familiarity that desiccates my vision! Offer me your warm embrace! Engulf me with the fiery flames of passion! Alight the heart, swallow me whole! Save nothing! I would forfeit the world to savor the sweet allure, the bleeding refuge, of passion!

Swoon my desires! Capture the innocence of dreams! Instill in me once more the care of possibility! Let the wanderlust of worldly wonderings take flight! Seize courage! Outstretch my clasps! Spread my gaze onto the world! Lift my crown! Beckon me to the horizon of now! Let the fusion of possibility and moment give rise to my true being! I will leap onward into the unknown depths where opportunity awaits! I will catch the rushing currents of time! Let it fill my sails, envelope my wings, and elevate the majesties of my mind!

Gravity tightens its grip. Silence falls. The candle hesitates and draws its light in, holding the wick ever so gently. The world is feeling this weight. I will not draw in. I will not succumb to the deafening quietude of a trembling conscious. Fear will not keep me bound in slumbering shackles. I will bear life’s lacerations with dignity, wring pain from this corporeal body, from all its bones and brawn, and wake every last breath of freedom within me.

Anywho.

Thinking about the next big thing

To make significant headway towards a legitimate start-up idea, I need to think about the next big, up-and-coming demands of future industries.

To distill the gyst of this post, I want to consider business ideas that leverage and cater to:
1) the creation of social capital
2) the redesign of necessary goods that could use a great emotional appeal
3)  increasing the userability of products and technology that are currently too difficult to use, but would only improve the lives if it weren’t so complicated.

So,
I was giving some thought to the progression of past big-industry booms in an effort to project future industry needs and demands.

If we just look at the past twenty five years or so, and just off the top of my mind, a couple booms come to mind:
Late 70’s airline industry
Early 80’s the computer industry
Mid 80’s financial industry and investment banking
Mid-late 90’s internet and *.com boom
Mid 90’s early 00’s health and wellness industry
Early 00’s web 2.0 and social networking platforms
Early 00’s Genetic engineering and GMO’s
Early 00’s nano-technology
Early 00’s Green technology
Early 00’s- Current Microfinancing and Social entrepreneurship
Currently- Healthcare

And I’m sure we can find plenty of other booms within specific industries.
So,I was online digging around and doing some research and this article struck me, particularly because I did an independent research project last spring: Social Capital

It deals with this elusive term “social capital’ which was recently coined, and still being understood and defined, as a type of capital that forms as a result of trust between individuals. The definition I recall that most accurately describes social capital is: An instantiated informal norm that promotes cooperation between two or more individuals; or the good-will/ trust between individuals that fosters cooperative exchanges. Some examples of social entrepreneurs actively leveraging social capital include companies such as Tom’s shoes, socialvibe.com, and other businesses that emphasize the fostering of social relations within communities, be it local or oversees.

For his marketing class, a friend visited a social entrepreneurial startup called the Nashville Entrepreneur Center that provides a location for fledgling entrepreneurs to share and develop ideas for a small price. This business provides a location in the community where entrepreneurs can get their start-ups off the ground. They make money off a premium they charge for the use of their facilities and resources, and by taking a percentage of ownership in the company. This is a perfect example of businesses leveraging social capital as a means to generate profit because it is a win-win for everyone involved.

Another possible emerging market is the design and userability industry.
I’ve read a few books that discuss a trend towards connecting people emotionally to the vast quantities of information generated the past two dozen years as a result of the information age. Most notable, “A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future”  by Daniel Pink and “The 8th Habit” by Stephen Covey. They discuss the various technological ages and industry revolutions throughout the past two hundred years, mentioning the scientific revolution, the industrial, the green (Advances in agriculture which eliminated food shortages), the current information age. The trend points to connecting people with the most recent information age which has left people overwhelmed and detached from the enormous amount of technology and information it generated. They argue what we need more of is not necessarily more lawyers, accountants, engineers and the like, but people who create meaning from the mass of information they generate. What we need are Artists and designers: innovative people with vision.

They highlight a current trend that points to connecting people with this technology.  It means making sense of the new technology and information by making it easy to use and understand, and creating an emotional component that people can identify and relate to. Web 2.0 and social networking is an example of satisfying that demand. Apple has does this geniusly with its products that are designed to emotionally appeal to people and are easy to use, not just in their design (Apple’s product designs are hypnotically beautiful), but in their products. What appeals more to the emotions than music? IPod? Target has also recognized this demand by innovating even the simplest products with designs that appeal to people (just look at their toilet scrubbers. They scream sensuality).

Anyway. To recap on the gyst of all this:
Lets consider business ideas that leverage and cater to:
1) the creation of social capital
2) the redesign of necessary goods that could use a great emotional appeal
3)  increasing the userability of products and technology that are currently too difficult to use, but would only improve the lives if it weren’t so complicated.

Lost Love

10-10-10

This is one of those letters that you send only because the unwieldy passions of youth come back to get the better of you.

Six years ago I looked you in the eye, and with all the earnest zeal in my body, I swore that I would come back for you on October 10th 2010, and we would reconvene no matter where we were in life. Do you remember that? Since then we’ve fallen distant over the years and lead vastly different lives. I figured I could commemorate that pact, at least with myself, in a letter.  I hope you receive it well.

I’d like you to know that you’ve had an enormous impact on my life. You found me at a moment when my life had picked up only briefly, only before spiraling downward and out of control once more. During our tryst you provided me with some powerful memories, feelings, and experiences that afforded me with some of the most precious fuel for my recovery. When I was homeless and strung out and bitter with the world, which I often was, I could recall few glimmers of joy in the world that were powerful enough to lift my spirits and thoughts to loftier dreams. What joys I do remember, however puerile they seem now, were the memories of an indescribable, irrational, brilliant love for you. What pained me most was the thought of damaging that love, which I most definitely and often did.

There was a day that I made a decision to put the past behind me, embrace responsibility for my success and failures, and dream brilliantly. I made a commitment to become someone who was worthy of the love I had for you. I told myself, ‘I know I will love someone like this again, and when I find them, I want to love them with all that I am, with all that I am capable of being.’ From then on I began to see life in possibility and I began to dream wildly. While there were other motivators that I chose to lift me up, such as a renewed appreciation for my family and all the people who believed in me, I specifically remembered my acute feelings for you. They provided the fuel for action. When difficulties and hardship arose, I thought of the love I once felt for you and the pain I believe I caused you. Slowly, I have brought myself closer to my ideals.

It’s not often that I think of our time together anymore. Every once and awhile I’ll catch myself reminiscing with nostalgia, and look back on our teenage love; it is then that all its private joys come to mind. I can still manage to seek solace in such superannuated memories. While I like to think I’ll always know you, I know that we’re different people now. We haven’t talked in years. When we do talk it seems the intimacy I believed we once knew so deeply has been lost to time.

I’d like to say I never knew how to apologize for any pain I caused you. I was too ashamed and guilty. Most of all I didn’t want to rehash any pain, any memories or resentment I may have caused you. I want you to know now, that I am truly sorry for my reckless years. I pained many people, and it still pains me. I seek every day to overcome the demons of the past.

I also want to thank you. If I hadn’t met you, if you hadn’t found me, I may have never known a love so powerful as ours. I attribute it as a large part of my success as a person today.

I recall an evening on the phone with you, late 2006. It was late in the evening, and you phoned me on a random chance occurrence. Who knows why? I remember telling you, against my biting conscience, that I was going to be successful, and that I was going to do it as a tribute you, not as an attempt to recapture what was lost, but as a tribute to the power of love.

I could go on with stories or thoughts, but I’m afraid I have been overly sentimental as it is. I do hope the absolute best for you, ******. I once told you I’d always love you. I still do.

Love always,

Michael

Jenn

A message I sent to Jennifer:

Hey Jen,

I was going to send you a letter, but you’ve fallen off the map recently and I haven’t a clue where I’d mail it. For all it’s worth, I decided to send it via facebook. My intention is only to say hello and thank you. I hope it finds you well.

Michael

10-10-10

This is one of those letters that you send only because the unwieldy passions of youth come back to get the better of you.

Six years ago I looked you in the eye, and with all the earnest zeal in my body, I swore that I would come back for you on October 10th 2010, and we would reconvene no matter where we were in life. Do you remember that? Since then, we have fallen distant over the years, and lead vastly different lives. I figured I could commemorate that pact, at least with myself, in a letter.  I hope you receive it well.

I’d like you to know that you’ve had an enormous impact on my life. You found me at a moment when my life had picked up only briefly, only before spiraling downward and out of control once more. During our tryst, you provided me with some powerful memories, feelings, and experiences that afforded me with some of the most precious fuel for my recovery. When I was homeless and strung out and bitter with the world, which I often was, I could recall few glimmers of joy in the world that were powerful enough to lift my spirits and thoughts to loftier dreams. What joys I do remember, however puerile they seem now, were the memories of an indescribable, irrational, brilliant love for you. What pained me most was the thought of damaging that love, which I most definitely and often did.

There was a day that I made a decision to put the past behind me, embrace responsibility for my success and failures, and dream brilliantly. I made a commitment to become someone who was worthy of the love I had for you. I told myself, ‘I know I will love someone like this again, and when I find them, I want to love them with all that I am, with all that I am capable of being.’ From then on, I began to see life in possibility, and I began to dream wildly. While there were other motivators that I chose to lift me up, such as a renewed appreciation for my family and all the people who believed in me, I specifically remembered my acute feelings for you. They provided the fuel for action. When difficulties and hardship arose, I thought of the love I once felt for you and the pain I believe I caused you. Slowly, I have brought myself closer to my ideals.

It’s not often that I think of our time together anymore. Every once and awhile I’ll catch myself reminiscing with nostalgia, and look back on our teenage love; it is then that all its private joys come to mind. I can still manage to seek solace in such superannuated memories. While I like to think I’ll always know you, I know that we’re different people now. We haven’t talked in years. When we do talk, it seems the intimacy I believed we once knew so deeply has been lost to time.

I’d like to say, I never knew how to apologize for any pain I caused you. I was too ashamed and guilty. Most of all, I didn’t want to rehash any pain, any memories or resentment I may have caused you. I want you to know now, that I am truly sorry for my reckless years. I pained many people, and it still pains me. I seek every day to overcome the demons of the past.

I also want to thank you. If I hadn’t met you, if you hadn’t found me, I may have never known a love so powerful as ours. I attribute it as a large part of my success as a person today.

I recall an evening on the phone with you, late 2006. It was late in the evening, and you phoned me on a random chance occurrence. Who knows why? I remember telling you, against my biting conscience, that I was going to be successful, and that I was going to do it as a tribute you, not as an attempt to recapture what was lost, but as a tribute to the power of love.

I could go on with stories or thoughts, but I’m afraid I have been overly sentimental as it is. I do hope the absolute best for you, Jennifer. I once told you I’d always love you. I still do.

Love always,

Michael

Expunging thoughts

I studied philosophy of language all day.  Prior to today I had only a vague understanding of the material. It seemed too abstract and intuitive to take seriously. I’m looking forward to learning about the significant consequences that the philosophy of language has on the subjects of metaphysics, hermeneutics, phenomenology, and logic made by the contributions of these philosophers.

I’m pretty fried at the moment. While I went out briefly last night, I didn’t drink. I also stayed in all day today and missed out on tailgating and partying with all the families that came to visit for parents weekend.

My mind is hypersensitive. Whatever stimulation I throw at it inevitably consumes me; I get lost in preoccupation and lose sight of anything that isn’t immediate. Juggling too many tasks and responsibilities causes me to lose focus of the significance of each priority.  I have a problem saying no to commitments, be it people or other perceived or real responsibilities. As a result, I have to limit my exposure to  multifarious demands. That typically means locking myself away for awhile to attend to only the most pressing obligations so the demands and stimulation are concentrated and consistent.

If I stimulate myself with enough specific information, I become consumed in its depth. I hyperfocus. Pulling me out of that state is almost impossible. It becomes my all engrossing world. It could be lifting, or a specific discipline or even a person. I spend my attention and energy exploring the limits of the object or subject until it is exhausted, or I am exhausted. I have to remind myself that college was a choice to focus my attention on cultivating my knowledge and skills in specific areas that would leave me more valuable than before. If I fail to give it my all I would be no better than when I started.