Tag: thoughts

Sagacity

Contemplation. What good is aimless thought? Does it sharpen? Does it build? What purpose or function does it serve? How do I know what I think if I can’t see what I say? Why wait for the day of judgment to see what I really think about matters? Most people keep it in. They are unknown to themselves. What do people think about in their free time? I think about too much. Far too much. Everything and anything. Mostly the abstract. I often find myself wrestling to reconcile certain paradoxes, or trying to merge dissimilar ideas into an attractive whole.

I am usually not present. I try, I try desperately to be present. I recognize that being present is happiness. Being present with the moment is being eternal. Eternity isn’t bound by feeble notions concerning infinite temporal duration. Eternity is beyond time, open to ultimate possibility, residing in some place of timelessness. Those who seek eternal life must look no farther than the present. The present is our eternal life.

The present. What is the present? This moment. Now. It is a phenomenon. It is a phenomenon that is all encompassing. Nothing escapes the now. In all of time and space, no matter how respective one point from another, there is an eternal inescapable now. We cannot escape its grip. Physically, we cannot escape the now. Nothing can. What about psychologically? Can we mentally escape the now? How would this be possible?

The now is defined by sensations- sense data and impressions- registered from the external environment. Can we escape these sensations? Can we recreate sensations and alter our consciousness so that we find ourselves attending to sensations that are not present? Surely. Any recall provides this mental escape. Memories allow us to revisit mental states. They recreate the sensations within us and allow us to inspect and judge their perceived nature according to what the present confirms.

When we imagine, or reflect, or think, I believe this is what we do.  Perhaps reason is as much of a vice as it is a gift? In that, it removes us from present demands and causes us to become preoccupied with demands that are distant and far removed from the now.

Perhaps this is why faith plays such an instrumental role in theology and religion? Living in the present requires a blind attendance to the now. It requires that we hold off judgement, criticism, analysis, and react to an intuition that embodies belief.

Belief forms the sum of man’s experience. It is the core of his being, a amalgam that wholly embodies actuality.

I was recently thinking about my life and what I want out of it. What is it that I want from life? Everything really. I wouldn’t mind money, fame, solitude, poverty, adventure- whatever. I could take it all, be it all, do it all.  I suppose I could be happy with anything really. I say that because it’s all too often that I find myself happy with nothing; the absurdity of life, the trivial nature of existence.  Life has no meaning as soon as one loses the illusion of being eternal. But how does one lose that illusion? Straying too far from the present, perhaps?

I spoke with my father and voiced my concern about continuing along with economics as a major. While the discipline fascinates me to no end, it doesn’t provide my curiosities enough stimulation. I would like to follow my passions on conviction alone. I don’t want desires transplanted from outside me as dictated from the world. I am my own master. My conclusions are my own.

So I was thinking of finishing up all my major requirements in Philosophy next semester and pursuing courses more liberally. I’d like to take some classes in English and writing, math and physics, possibly chemistry, history, anthropology, sociology and, why not, some more classes in economics. Sure I can take more philosophy classes, but as a philosopher, why stop with philosophy? Philosophy is concerned with truths, with facts and the paradigms where they reside. It is concerned with existence, meaning, and life. Any discipline of study will afford me the material to think more critically about life. Studying new disciplines will only add to my language, build my vocabulary, and allow me to think beyond my current capacity for thought.

“The limits of my language means the limits of my world.”
— Ludwig Wittgenstein

Pursuing unfamiliar domains of thought and experience provides the unique opportunity for new acquaintances and carries me to a proximity in which I can more closely engage life in general.  Repeated exposure with any unknown soon renders a familiarity that becomes known to us. We learn the idiosyncrasies, coin meaning and expectations. New language expands my world, my conception of life, my understanding of existence.

Introspection. More introspection. What is introspection? A self-examination? Personal reflection? A mediation?  –spect comes from L. spectrum “appearance, vision, apparition.Intro- comes from L. intro “on the inside, within, to the inside.”

Introspection: 1670s, from L. introspectionem, from introspectus, pp. of introspicere “to look into, look at,” from intro- “inward” + specere “to look at” (see scope (1)).

The relative nature of our world fascinates me, particularly words. We treat them as these definite building blocks and act as if they maintain a univocity. The reality is that all language, all words that comprise language, has been past down and inherited by each successive generation throughout the ages.

We rely on a semantic content that is fixed, previously agreed upon and assigned. If it were not, communication would be near impossible. The fixed semantic content we attribute to words is not inherent, rather it is borne out of normative conventions that allow for a smooth exchange of understanding.

When I write it becomes much more evident of the relative nature of words. If I understand the content of a word in which someone else lacks there will be a gap in communication. Metaphors fill this gap. Metaphors. That’s another interesting phonomenon I’d like to study in more depth. Metaphors. Hot is red. Cold is blue. Why do these seem so intuitive? We describe certain people as being ‘radiant’. Of course they don’t shine or glow, but we associate nongermane concepts to things such as personality that illustrate the particular semantics of our expressive language. Is it true or false that a person is radiant? Or that someone is blue? Nietzsche captured the relative nature of language and the misguided assumptions of their truth and falsity in this passage with beautiful simplicity:

What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we have forgotten are illusions — they are metaphors that have become worn out and have been drained of sensuous force, coins which have lost their embossing and are now considered as metal and no longer as coins.

-Friedrich Nietzsche, in On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense (1873)

As per usual, I have been giving quite a bit of thought to relativity. The relativity of life, meaning, purpose, language and the like.  Freedom as well.

If we wish to go beyond, to expand our minds and our worlds, we need to reexamine not just what language we use, but how we use it. Just as we cannot apply the same tool for every task, we cannot apply the same language for every problem. As Abraham Maslow said, “To the man who only has a hammer, everything he encounters begins to look like a nail.”

We must actively question which language tools we are apply to certain matters and situations. The unknown and unfamiliar, or anything that leaves us feeling disoriented or ‘wrong’, should never deter us from exploring the limits of our current conceptions. Learning and growth is a result of continual revision and adoption.

So long as man feigns the familiar, he will be forever trapped. If it does not occur to us to pull rather than push, we will be endlessly imprisoned in unlocked rooms that open inward. Life is open for all; seek the way with astute self reliance and courageous humility.

Anyway… need to continue writing that novel.

Curiosus

Curiosity beckons all the day, like a persistent itch, wherein scratching provides only temporary relief; were I to nurse my curiosities all the day, they should find no further relief.

Itching provides no amelioration, no mollification that delivers the attention from its incessant rapping.

The etymology is itself curious:

curious: mid-14c., “eager to know” (often in a bad sense), from O.Fr. curios “solicitous, anxious, inquisitive; odd, strange” (Mod.Fr. curieux) and directly from L. curiosus”careful, diligent; inquiring eagerly, meddlesome,” akin to cura “care” (see cure). The objective sense of “exciting curiosity” is 1715 in English. In booksellers’ catalogues, the word means “erotic, pornographic.” Curiouser and curiouser is from “Alice in Wonderland” (1865).

Me.

I love solving problems. When I’m passionate about a task, I can concentrate endlessly until completion. I am a non-skeptical realist visionary idealist who strives for perfection in the closest, most functional sense. My passions and interests have followed me unceasingly throughout my life. There is nothing so enjoyable as reading a book. I rely on my imagination to keep my world alive. I enjoy puzzles of any kind. I enjoy synthesizing non-germane concepts into novel ideas. Paradoxes intrigue me to no end. I set and maintain high standards for myself. My long term memory is impeccable. I possess a deep compassion for my fellow man. There is nothing is so irritating and so satisfying as my persistent curiosity. I believe that laughter is the closest cure all we will find.

An acute sense of awareness keeps me forever absorbed in details comprising the whole. While I am no mathematical prodigy, I appreciate the simplistic beauty of mathematics and find myself endlessly entranced by its pure description of what is.

Contemplation is the defining characteristic of my existence. It is where my true being, if one exists, resides. I search endlessly for meaning in life. Intuition is my guiding star, the flame the gives rise to my awareness, the source that captures all of life’s particulars into a unifying experience.

I am highly emotional and sensitive. I maintain strong moral convictions. The limits of my language dictate the limits of my world. I have a passion for words and language. I often find myself out-of-sync with others.  Perception is everything. I constantly seek out new insights. I question prescribed rules and authority and challenge the status quo. I systematize and organize various collections.

I thrive on challenge. I learn new things rapidly. I am often overwhelmed by the multitude of interests I possess. I have a great deal of energy. I stand firmly against injustice. My creativity drives me to do more, be more. Imagination, inspiration, craft and artistry compel me to develop a more colorful existence for myself and others.  I love indulging in deep fervent conversation. I have many unusual ideas and perceptions. I am complex.

Mind Dump

“The distance between you and your goal is often the length of a single idea.”   -Vic Conant

Where is my mind?

I feel ill at the moment. A stomache ache. Something that’s gripping me. Mentally and physically. It’s strangling. I have a flame. I have a god damn flame. Why doesn’t it burn? Where is my curiosity for life? Where is the vigor? Where is the heartfelt desire and drive to delve into life with a precocious can-do attitude? Why do I feel like everything is dull and lifeless? Why do I feel like I’m dull and lifeless? Why the fuck can’t I strip myself from this weight that grips and claws at my insides? Where is the wonder? The god damn wonder? Hello? Anyone?

Thanksgiving break seemed overly typical this year. Family drama. Something that usually keeps itself at bay, or at least it’s usually its managed. Maybe I’m just getting older and have grown more aware of the conflicts within the family. I don’t understand problems. Why are there problems? Why are there disagreements? If its at the expense of happiness, what the hell does it matter if you think something is wrong or right? Isn’t happiness what life’s all about? Don’t you think it’s almost better to be wrong and be happy, or at least have things work out? then to be right, or assert your position at the expense of shit hitting the fan and people getting hurt?

My god. What has happened to me? The dread. This terrible dread. My mind has grown dilatory and unresponsive. I need some genuine enthusiasm. I need something to pick me up and rivet me and hurl me over the edge. I need the adrenaline, the burst of uncontrollable joy erupting from my pores. I need to taste that richness. That life.

Is life suppose to be like this? I mull and dig, turn over the soil, churn the water, hoping for some answer. And I know that life is about attitude. It is attitude. Life is about perception. What you percieve. How you percieve. All that. It is nothing more. If you look for shit, you will find shit. Probably sooner than later. Am I looking for shit? Is that why I feel so listless and apathetic? My muses! Where have they gone? I have not exhausted my investigations. My goals have not been satisfied. They have not been acheived. They have grown distant and cold. That is the problem. I need to bring them back, wring them in. I need to focus. God. It’s the same story with me. Focus. Focus. Focus. I wish I was a computer that I could manually program, like once, so that the task and goals and aims I desperately yearn for could be realized. There’s something wrong here. I’m missing something. Something is missing. It must be deeper. What kind of deep shit are you not dealing with Michael? Hm…

Whatever it is eludes me. Action. ACTION. Action breeds all genesis. It brings forth life. Without action, there is stagnation. Life is like a garden that will grow rampant with weeds and thistles and thorns unless it is properly attended through diliberate action. I need to till my life, uproot the random bullshit, the random thoughts, the useless fascinations, and make sure that I care for only the most pressing issues of my heart and soul.

I read over journal entries from years ago when I was on the upward swing of things. I’m envious of that person. I was so resolute in body and mind to see certain goals attained. I controlled every environmental and emotional and mental factor to the utmost scrutiny.  When negative or inconsequential thoughts crept in, I immediately reacted by turning on the right thoughts. Thoughts of success, or achievement, or who I believed I was, who I believed I could be. Agh.

Life is absurd. Sometimes I wish it was easy. That. That right there is the problem. I am running from the struggle. Life was never so beautiful as when it was a struggle. The pains yielded the joys. Like spring and summer labor yields forth the fruits of the fall and sustains us through the winter. It is during those months of labor, of hot arduous painstaking labor, that lead us to happiness.

Such aphoristic speech repulses me. That. That needs to stop. Negative criticism. Where are these thoughts coming from? Who the hell cares if I speak sententiously? Do I really care? hm… no. Then why the hell do I continue chastizing myself. Anyway.

I would like to elaborate with a little more depth. That’s something that I’ll need to work on. I have been avoiding the issue of work and labor as of late. I have let the power of pain get away from me. It is no pain. These internal struggles. I can interpret them in any way I like. Work can be a pleasure, or a burden. Why one would choose the latter is beyond me. It is my duty. I need to refine my self conception. I am someone who enjoys laboring, in all things. I go the extra mile. I burn the mid night oil. I attend only to the tasks that will have direct and definite consequences for achieving my goals. All others, all other fantastical obsessions and desultory desires need to be shelved. My mind is sharp. It is not for beating. It is for slicing. Slicing through obstacles, blazing through endeavors, goal after goal.

Sometimes I think I’m mad. Indeed, I am. We’re all mad. I don’t know why I let myself believe that anyone has it figured out any more than anyone else. Sometimes I just need to let things go. This goes along with choosing my tasks wisely. Being prudent, as they say.

I went to Florida for a few days. Caught up with some great friends. Got into some mischief. Read a few chapters of philosophy of language for class; specifically Wittgensteins private language theory and Nietzsche’s theory of metaphors and truth and lies in the non-moral sense. Read a few pages of Faulkner. Read of few poems of T.S. Eliots The Wasteland. Flew remote controlled helicopters. Went on a bike ride.

My parents are religious zealots. I love them dearly, no doubt about it, but it’s difficult to engage in conversation when there are such drastic differences in worldview foundations. Sometimes I forget, and I assume that we use the same language, that we operate from an similar ideology, but then the conversations build up heat as these contrary worldviews skirt past eachother and generate a friction. To them, everything goes back to God. That’s cool and all. But that means a lot gets thrown out when it shouldn’t be.  Such as, anything related to secular science. ‘Emotions were built into us by God. That person’s emotional issue is a spiritual issue. They’re wrestling with their will and God’s will’ It seems a bit short sighted. I’m apt to believe that there are much more comprehensive models for explaining why we find ourselves in certain emotional states. You can look at environmental factors, for one. Or physiological factors. Or personality factors. Or family factors. Or a crap ton of other factors that doesn’t substitute a catch all explanation. It seems much too arbitrary. And maybe it is. Anyway. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.

It’s funny. People that are so blind that they can’t see it. Am I blind? No doubt. I’m sure I am. But I want to be wrong. I desperately want to be wrong. I am at the mercy of understanding. That is all I want. I don’t want to be right, I just want to understand. Life is too short to search for all the answers. I just want to understand how it all works. I want clairvoyance into the harmonious dynamics governing thought and action.

What else do I have on my mind? I need to buy myself another book shelf. Too many books all over my room. They are probably more of a distraction than anything, but they offer a warmth. Seeing them reminds me of their knowledge. It keeps me conscious of the obligation I have to what little knowledge I was able to glean from their pages.

I need to familiarize myself with my tasks. I need to absorb and osmose their nature, their idiosyncrasies, their facets, their personality, their character. Tasks. Goals. Aims. Aspirations. Destinations.

I am not in a rush to gain value. To grow. I must be diligent with my time. I must respect the force of the finite junctures I face. College happens but once at my age. Education and learning happens forever. Let me not forget that.

I want to be fiercly absolute in my character, who I am, who I desire to be. Do not back down. Do not fawn for other’s approbation. God. The thought sickens me. ‘Others’. Who has it figured out? Ha.

Objectification. When I see the world as objects, rather than subjects, I can maneuver with much more ease and grace. There is something about subjects that paralyzes. We give subjects too much benefit. We bestow all the working knowledge privileged to us and us alone unto them, as if they grasp and understand the unknown depths of our world with the same capacity. We are all naive souls, grasping as shadows.

I have to write 15,000 more words in three days. 5,000 words a day. Holy…

Tomorrow I will write a minimum of 10,000 words. All day. I will wake at 8am, and write all day long. One guy wrote 50,000 words in a single day. Wow. Many more have written 20,000 words in a day. My record so far is around 5,000. Doubling that will be taxing but, nonetheless, within the realm of achievable.

When I am finished this novel business, I will go on to write a 10 page paper for Social and Political Philosophy, probably on the role of the state regarding public education. That should turn out to be around 3000-4000 words. Ha. I scoff at such a paper. ha. anyway…

I need to sleep. Long day tomorrow.

Mind Dump

“The distance between you and your goal is often the length of a single idea.”   -Vic Conant

Where is my mind?

I feel ill at the moment. A stomache ache. Something that’s gripping me. Mentally and physically. It’s strangling. I have a flame. I have a god damn flame. Why doesn’t it burn? Where is my curiosity for life? Where is the vigor? Where is the heartfelt desire and drive to delve into life with a precocious can-do attitude? Why do I feel like everything is dull and lifeless? Why do I feel like I’m dull and lifeless? Why the fuck can’t I strip myself from this weight that grips and claws at my insides? Where is the wonder? The god damn wonder? Hello? Anyone?

Thanksgiving break seemed overly typical this year. Family drama. Something that usually keeps itself at bay, or at least it’s usually its managed. Maybe I’m just getting older and have grown more aware of the conflicts within the family. I don’t understand problems. Why are there problems? Why are there disagreements? If its at the expense of happiness, what the hell does it matter if you think something is wrong or right? Isn’t happiness what life’s all about? Don’t you think it’s almost better to be wrong and be happy, or at least have things work out? then to be right, or assert your position at the expense of shit hitting the fan and people getting hurt?

My god. What has happened to me? The dread. This terrible dread. My mind has grown dilatory and unresponsive. I need some genuine enthusiasm. I need something to pick me up and rivet me and hurl me over the edge. I need the adrenaline, the burst of uncontrollable joy erupting from my pores. I need to taste that richness. That life.

Is life suppose to be like this? I mull and dig, turn over the soil, churn the water, hoping for some answer. And I know that life is about attitude. It is attitude. Life is about perception. What you percieve. How you percieve. All that. It is nothing more. If you look for shit, you will find shit. Probably sooner than later. Am I looking for shit? Is that why I feel so listless and apathetic? My muses! Where have they gone? I have not exhausted my investigations. My goals have not been satisfied. They have not been acheived. They have grown distant and cold. That is the problem. I need to bring them back, wring them in. I need to focus. God. It’s the same story with me. Focus. Focus. Focus. I wish I was a computer that I could manually program, like once, so that the task and goals and aims I desperately yearn for could be realized. There’s something wrong here. I’m missing something. Something is missing. It must be deeper. What kind of deep shit are you not dealing with Michael? Hm…

Whatever it is eludes me. Action. ACTION. Action breeds all genesis. It brings forth life. Without action, there is stagnation. Life is like a garden that will grow rampant with weeds and thistles and thorns unless it is properly attended through diliberate action. I need to till my life, uproot the random bullshit, the random thoughts, the useless fascinations, and make sure that I care for only the most pressing issues of my heart and soul.

I read over journal entries from years ago when I was on the upward swing of things. I’m envious of that person. I was so resolute in body and mind to see certain goals attained. I controlled every environmental and emotional and mental factor to the utmost scrutiny.  When negative or inconsequential thoughts crept in, I immediately reacted by turning on the right thoughts. Thoughts of success, or achievement, or who I believed I was, who I believed I could be. Agh.

Life is absurd. Sometimes I wish it was easy. That. That right there is the problem. I am running from the struggle. Life was never so beautiful as when it was a struggle. The pains yielded the joys. Like spring and summer labor yields forth the fruits of the fall and sustains us through the winter. It is during those months of labor, of hot arduous painstaking labor, that lead us to happiness.

Such aphoristic speech repulses me. That. That needs to stop. Negative criticism. Where are these thoughts coming from? Who the hell cares if I speak sententiously? Do I really care? hm… no. Then why the hell do I continue chastizing myself. Anyway.

I would like to elaborate with a little more depth. That’s something that I’ll need to work on. I have been avoiding the issue of work and labor as of late. I have let the power of pain get away from me. It is no pain. These internal struggles. I can interpret them in any way I like. Work can be a pleasure, or a burden. Why one would choose the latter is beyond me. It is my duty. I need to refine my self conception. I am someone who enjoys laboring, in all things. I go the extra mile. I burn the mid night oil. I attend only to the tasks that will have direct and definite consequences for achieving my goals. All others, all other fantastical obsessions and desultory desires need to be shelved. My mind is sharp. It is not for beating. It is for slicing. Slicing through obstacles, blazing through endeavors, goal after goal.

Sometimes I think I’m mad. Indeed, I am. We’re all mad. I don’t know why I let myself believe that anyone has it figured out any more than anyone else. Sometimes I just need to let things go. This goes along with choosing my tasks wisely. Being prudent, as they say.

I went to Florida for a few days. Caught up with some great friends. Got into some mischief. Read a few chapters of philosophy of language for class; specifically Wittgensteins private language theory and Nietzsche’s theory of metaphors and truth and lies in the non-moral sense. Read a few pages of Faulkner. Read of few poems of T.S. Eliots The Wasteland. Flew remote controlled helicopters. Went on a bike ride.

My parents are religious zealots. I love them dearly, no doubt about it, but it’s difficult to engage in conversation when there are such drastic differences in worldview foundations. Sometimes I forget, and I assume that we use the same language, that we operate from an similar ideology, but then the conversations build up heat as these contrary worldviews skirt past eachother and generate a friction. To them, everything goes back to God. That’s cool and all. But that means a lot gets thrown out when it shouldn’t be.  Such as, anything related to secular science. ‘Emotions were built into us by God. That person’s emotional issue is a spiritual issue. They’re wrestling with their will and God’s will’ It seems a bit short sighted. I’m apt to believe that there are much more comprehensive models for explaining why we find ourselves in certain emotional states. You can look at environmental factors, for one. Or physiological factors. Or personality factors. Or family factors. Or a crap ton of other factors that doesn’t substitute a catch all explanation. It seems much too arbitrary. And maybe it is. Anyway. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.

It’s funny. People that are so blind that they can’t see it. Am I blind? No doubt. I’m sure I am. But I want to be wrong. I desperately want to be wrong. I am at the mercy of understanding. That is all I want. I don’t want to be right, I just want to understand. Life is too short to search for all the answers. I just want to understand how it all works. I want clairvoyance into the harmonious dynamics governing thought and action.

What else do I have on my mind? I need to buy myself another book shelf. Too many books all over my room. They are probably more of a distraction than anything, but they offer a warmth. Seeing them reminds me of their knowledge. It keeps me conscious of the obligation I have to what little knowledge I was able to glean from their pages.

I need to familiarize myself with my tasks. I need to absorb and osmose their nature, their idiosyncrasies, their facets, their personality, their character. Tasks. Goals. Aims. Aspirations. Destinations.

I am not in a rush to gain value. To grow. I must be diligent with my time. I must respect the force of the finite junctures I face. College happens but once at my age. Education and learning happens forever. Let me not forget that.

I want to be fiercly absolute in my character, who I am, who I desire to be. Do not back down. Do not fawn for other’s approbation. God. The thought sickens me. ‘Others’. Who has it figured out? Ha.

Objectification. When I see the world as objects, rather than subjects, I can maneuver with much more ease and grace. There is something about subjects that paralyzes. We give subjects too much benefit. We bestow all the working knowledge privileged to us and us alone unto them, as if they grasp and understand the unknown depths of our world with the same capacity. We are all naive souls, grasping as shadows.

I have to write 15,000 more words in three days. 5,000 words a day. Holy…

Tomorrow I will write a minimum of 10,000 words. All day. I will wake at 8am, and write all day long. One guy wrote 50,000 words in a single day. Wow. Many more have written 20,000 words in a day. My record so far is around 5,000. Doubling that will be taxing but, nonetheless, within the realm of achievable.

When I am finished this novel business, I will go on to write a 10 page paper for Social and Political Philosophy, probably on the role of the state regarding public education. That should turn out to be around 3000-4000 words. Ha. I scoff at such a paper. ha. anyway…

I need to sleep. Long day tomorrow.

 

Do rad.

Oh, tell me, who was it first announced, who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to do nasty things, would at once become good and noble… we all know that not one man can, consciously, act against his own interests … And what if it so happens that a man’s advantage, sometimes not only may, but even must, consists in his desiring in certain cases what is harmful to himself and not advantageous[?]

Dostoeyevski, Notes from the Underground

Interesting quote.

I don’t want to conform. I don’t want to be traditional. I don’t want average. I don’t want normal. I don’t want typical. I don’t want regular. I don’t want ordinary. I don’t want usual. I don’t want to be okay.

I want to live radically.

Radical living. What would this look like? Radicalism is characterized by extremes and the stolid allegiance to certain unalienable convictions and principles. It is a life without compromise.

The choice to live radically, live according to your convictions, is a notion lost on many. Societies have sprung and self-reliance has withered. We depend on others. For knowledge. For economy. For survival.

I’ve often thought about the costs and benefits of human relations. I believe that as one being, one life, in the world, you have access to some element of reality just as much as any other man.  I believe that this element offers a perspective wholly unique and distinct from any other. While one can argue the utility of such staunch self-reliance and the lone perspective it offers, we are no less the demiurge of our fate. It is our task to compose the melodious eminence, the sonorous song, of our spirit. We and we alone must weave the trappings of our worldly constitution into a festooning fabric for all eyes to revere or renounce. We must make it count.

Oh, tell me, who was it first announced, who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to do nasty things, would at once become good and noble… we all know that not one man can, consciously, act against his own interests … And what if it so happens that a man’s advantage, sometimes not only may, but even must, consists in his desiring in certain cases what is harmful to himself and not advantageous[?]

Dostoeyevski, Notes from the Underground

Do rad.

Oh, tell me, who was it first announced, who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to do nasty things, would at once become good and noble… we all know that not one man can, consciously, act against his own interests … And what if it so happens that a man’s advantage, sometimes not only may, but even must, consists in his desiring in certain cases what is harmful to himself and not advantageous[?]

Dostoeyevski, Notes from the Underground

Interesting quote.

I don’t want to conform. I don’t want to be traditional. I don’t want average. I don’t want normal. I don’t want typical. I don’t want regular. I don’t want ordinary. I don’t want usual. I don’t want to be okay.

I want to live radically.

Radical living. What would this look like? Radicalism is characterized by extremes and the stolid allegiance to certain unalienable  convictions and principles.

The choice to live radically, live according to your convictions, is a notion lost on many. Societies have sprung and self-reliance has withered. We depend on others. For knowledge. For economy. For survival.

I’ve often thought about the costs and benefits of human relations. I believe that as one being, one life, in the world, you have access to some element of reality just as much as any other man.  I believe the element offers a perspective wholly unique and exemplary. While one can argue the utility of a lone perspective, we are no less a demiurge. It is our task to weave the viscous textures of our worldly constitution into a festooning fabric for all eyes to revere or renounce. Make it count.

Peregrination

It’s late. I should be in bed. I figure I need to get some thoughts out.

An update. I’m growing my beard out. Not sure how I feel about it. It’s the first time in twenty-four years of my life that I’ve given my cheeks shade and let the facial hair run rampant. It’s sort of funny. Initially it was awkward having this thatching covering my face. Almost uncomfortable. But eventually I stopped giving a shit and now it’s not too bad. Not sure the ladies dig it. Maybe some Canadian women who have a thing for lumberjacks. Don’t know if I’ll find that crowd here in the south, let alone Vanderbilt. No matter.

Haven’t spent too much time pursuing the ladies. Usually that’s a question that comes up when talking with people, like it’s expected that you should have a girlfriend. ‘Any ladies?’ they say. There’s a repertoire of preloaded social inquiry. It’s necessary for communication. I do it. The question of girls is interesting. It’s on cue in the back of every guys mind. It’s a universal need that needs to be addressed and asking about it only harks back to its importance. Anyway.

I went to the library this evening and checked our four books by William Faulkner as well as a collection of poems by T.S. Eliot. I wonder what TS stands for? (Thomas Stearns)

Am I happy? Not sure. I like that I’ve been writing and thinking about writing as much as I have. It hasn’t exactly been great for keeping me focused on school. In fact, it’s prompted an insidious reaction within me to reject school altogether and revert back to my anitauthoritarian mentality. I am a free spirit, I cannot be kept like a bird in a cage. The soaring wings of imagination and passion must take flight without the constraining walls of formality. School has far too much of this formality. Can I master the system? Absolutely. But at what cost? At what cost am I willing to dampen my creative intellect? Do I have the imagination and tenacity to do both? To command myself to be a slave and master simultaneously? I think so. I should try. There’s something so stifling about expectations. They sap the damn energy out of you. They hack at the knees before the first step is taken. It’s like pushing against the sky: out of reach and unrealistic. Or maybe that’s just my self-imposed expectations.  Anyway. I’m rambling.

Honesty. Suffering. No one wants to hear about anything but the suffering. People love commiseration. It reminds us of our frailty, of our humanity. I just want to capture what the hell it means to be human. If I can do that, and relay and relate it, I will feel accomplished.

It’s getting cold. And gray. The leaves have withered away, fallen like feathery fruit from the trees. The open skies resemble gray carpets void of life and depth like a dead drafty room.  The winged rats of the air take flight in spotted contrast, arranging and rearranging their fleeting patterns. Birds. No more blue skies. No more slanted sunshine and slinking steam scudding across the open air.

Thanksgiving dinner at the house tonight. I’ll be staying here over break. Looking forward to it. I have an economic statistics test tomorrow. Hmph. Not too thrilled about that but we’ll see what happens. I need something to smack the shit outta me. Wake me up. I need something meaningful. I hate going through the motions. You have one life. ONE life. That is it. Why oh why do I feel like I waste far too much of my life! I need to do more, be more, think more, create more. ONE LIFE. To try it all, do it all, love it all, taste it all, smell it all, feel it all. One. Then, you die. No more. You cease existing and eternity disappears along with your life. Nothing. Now is the time. Am I living up to my fullest potential? Am I developing what that even means? We can’t hit a target if we can’t see it. If I am to develop my potential I desperately need to have an idea of what I’m developing and what I desire the finished product to look like.

I was thinking the other day about how many people have lived and died throughout history and no one gives their life a moments consideration. They may have had some sort of impact on history. Maybe. They left a smidge of a ripple that barely made it to the ponds perimeter, let alone churn and stir the waters. I want to create waves!

The people we read about wrote down their thoughts. I can’t imagine a life where I can’t see what I think. I don’t know how I would think about my past, my identity. It would be so trivial and left up for interpretation, my word and others. If I never wrote, never recorded my thoughts, materialized my mind into words, I may as well have never existed. In a century nothing will be left of me but some ashes. If that. Think about all the people who have lived and were never remembered. I’m sure they were great people with great ideas too, but we’ll never know. The only people we know about are the ones who had the courage to declare their being and write it down.

Anyway. It’s late. I should really get to bed. I want life!

Peregrination

It’s late. I should be in bed. I figure I need to get some thoughts out.

An update. I’m growing my beard out. Not sure how I feel about it. It’s the first time in twenty-four years of my life that I’ve given my cheeks shade and let the facial hair run rampant. It’s sort of funny. Initially it was awkward having this thatching covering my face. Almost uncomfortable. But eventually I stopped giving a shit and now it’s not too bad. Not sure the ladies dig it. Maybe some Canadian women who have a thing for lumberjacks. Don’t know if I’ll find that crowd here in the south, let alone Vanderbilt. No matter.

Haven’t spent too much time pursuing the ladies. Usually that’s a question that comes up when talking with people, like it’s expected that you should have a girlfriend. ‘Any ladies?’ they say. There’s a repertoire of preloaded social inquiry. It’s necessary for communication. I do it. The question of girls is interesting. It’s on cue in the back of every guys mind. It’s a universal need that needs to be addressed and asking about it only harks back to its importance. Anyway.

I went to the library this evening and checked our four books by William Faulkner as well as a collection of poems my T.S. Eliot. I wonder what TS stands for? (Thomas Stearns)

Am I happy? Not sure. I like that I’ve been writing and thinking about writing as much as I have. It hasn’t exactly been great for keeping me focused on school. In fact, it’s prompted an insidious reaction within me to reject school altogether and revert back to my anitauthoritarian mentality. I am a free spirit, I cannot be kept like a bird in a cage. The soaring wings of imagination and passion must take flight without the constraining walls of formality. School has far too much of this formality. Can I master the system? Absolutely. But at what cost? At what cost am I willing to dampen my creative intellect? Do I have the imagination and tenacity to do both? To command myself to be a slave and master simultaneously? I think so. I should try. There’s something so stifling about expectations. They sap the damn energy out of you. They hack at the knees before the first step is taken. It’s like pushing against the sky: out of reach and unrealistic. Or maybe that’s just my self-imposed expectations.  Anyway. I’m rambling.

Honesty. Suffering. No one wants to hear about anything but the suffering. People love commiseration. It reminds us of our frailty, of our humanity. I just want to capture what the hell it means to be human. If I can do that, and relay and relate it, I will feel accomplished.

It’s getting cold. And gray. The leaves have withered away, fallen like feathery fruit from the trees. The skies resemble gray empty carpets void of life and depth like an empty room.  The winged rats of the air take flight in spotted contrast, arranging and rearranging their fleeting patterns. Birds. No more blue skies. No more slanted sunshine and slinking steam scudding across the open air.

Thanksgiving dinner at the house tonight. I’ll be staying here over break. Looking forward to it. I have an economic statistics test tomorrow. Hmph. Not too thrilled about that but we’ll see what happens. I need something to smack the shit outta me. Wake me up. I need something meaningful. I hate going through the motions. You have one life. ONE life. That is it. Why oh why do I feel like I waste far too much of my life! I need to do more, be more, think more, create more. ONE LIFE. To try it all, do it all, love it all, taste it all, smell it all, feel it all. One. Then, you die. No more. You cease existing and eternity disappears along with your life. Nothing. Now is the time. Am I living up to my fullest potential? Am I developing what that even means? We can’t hit a target if we can’t see it. If I am to develop my potential I desperately need to have an idea of what I’m developing and what I desire the finished product to look like.

I was thinking the other day about how many people have lived and died throughout history and no one gives their life a moments consideration. They may have had some sort of impact on history. Maybe.  At best they left a smidge of a ripple that barely made it to the ponds perimeter, let alone churn and stir the waters. I want to create waves!

The people we read about wrote down their thoughts. I can’t imagine a life where I can’t see what I think. I don’t know how I would think about my past, my identity. It would be so trivial and left up for interpretation, my word and others. If I never wrote, never recorded my thoughts, materialized my mind into words, I may as well have never existed. In a century nothing will be left of me but some ashes. If that. Think about all the people who have lived and were never remembered. I’m sure they were great people with great ideas too, but we’ll never know. The only people we know about are the ones who had the courage to declare their being and write it down.

Anyway. It’s late. I should really get to bed. I want life!

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.

Ram.Bull.

Ramble.

What is attention deficit disorder? The inability to effectively repeat, mimic, or imitate.  The inability to conform to static behaviors and maintain rigid habits.

Math is broadly rigid and narrowly flexible.  Math is a process of iteration where rules are applied and cross applied until a solution is worked out. Language is broadly flexible and narrowly rigid. Language is a creative process governed by general conventions.

My theory of everything is an economic theory of mind. Central is the role of demands on equilibrium states. It holds that forces, positive or negative, interact with innate self-preservation mechanisms that result in the formation of mind.

Why language? Why am I so fascinated by language? It is an expression of my being, just like any other expression.

Dolor.

I am not running any longer. I am not fooling myself. The world looks on, the circus continues. I want real. I want a real me. Why must I be something greater than the clod of earth that I am? Somewhere I lost sense of the point. The higher calling that was my own soon became an lone empty echo. I am alone. My room seems to fall away from me. Everything is distant. I seize consciousness and my senses reach out. The floor vent releases a streaming chill that catches my pant leg; the skin tightens and my follicles erect. Air palpitates through my nostrils in soft attenuated breathes. I slouch. My eyes fixate ahead. A dyspeptic yellow emits from my lamp and sinks into the noxious green walls. I am lost in this yellow sea.

Fuck it all. I do not want to look inward any longer. Narcissism has left me nauseas.

There is no hope in ignorance. The deficiencies and flaws gather and glare with evil eyes. There is no escape from who and what I am.

I’m finding it difficult to read for class. I’ve spent far more time reading for leisure. It leaves me feeling open; accomplished. Confession number one: Class is a bore. School is boring. It is mind-numbing. Is it me? I fear it is. But I’m more than alright with that. My mind was not meant to be domesticated. It comes and goes and there is no wall or discipline that will harbor my curiosities. Such things are ineffable.

I cannot placate my anxieties with deception. My hate and ill intentions shape my nature. I am all too human. I need to embrace the quaking anger, speak my mind without remorse. Just as today will take care of itself, so will tomorrow. No need to disown whats mine. There is no illegitimate me.

numinous.

I have a tendency to sound sententious. Forgive me.

My generation, and all those proceeding mine, have me embarrassed. I have been born into a time and place where people are no longer hungry to survive, nor are they hungry to thrive. The great majority of my peers are no longer hungry. What scintilla of hunger remains is reserved for idleness. They are pathetic, passive, consumers, hungry for leisure and ease.

Daily I delve into a commotion circulating society, void of zest, void of passion, void of purpose.

Advertising, academics , entertainment, all woo the willful intellect into a lullaby, a deep slumbering recant.

Our lives are not our own. We have lost ourselves, our traditions, our roots, our history and heritage, to the media, to the experts. We are no longer fit to brave life’s excursions without a guiding figure. Uncharted territories exist in a space beyond us and our imagination. We are not fit for such adventure. So we suspend the will to live, forfeit the alms for something greater. Where bridges would be, we spend our lives building walls and cling to our emaciated dreams.

There is no personal history, no family, no origin. We are nationals, Americans, raised by television, the Internet, our schools, our jobs. Starved of new light, our conscience shirks in the penumbra. We are drones.

How do you wake up a nation cultivating and perpetuating its own poison? How do you lay claim to an intellect defined: circumscribed and standardized. What is will? what is freedom? Notions lost to the strong and gifted, a chance missed by all but a few.

In a word, Emerson said ‘A man is what he thinks about all day long.’

Given this description, what state do we find ourselves?

I talk to young minds who have never developed the ability to question. They never ask whether they are on the right path, whether their beliefs are toxic delusions, whether their behaviors and habits will reap negative consequences, or consequences at all.

What becomes of a man who does the minimum in school to get by, who watches TV in his free time, who absorbs societies prescriptions for his health, wealth, future, happiness? Four hours of TV a day? Six hours of TV? Never mind the trash, the propaganda, celebrated on television as glorified miscreants who are impoverished in spirit. Hours of mindless internet surfing? Playing mindless video-games that envelope the consciousness, sucking its attention into a digital world of no consequence?

What will become of our future leaders? Who will follow them? The zombie fascination is a prescient of our future condition.

TV, Mass media, even the beloved science community, has led us to believe a lie. Everywhere we move but rarely do we progress. We adorn our external lives with material fixtures that fade with the fads. Never to do we exercise reflection to look within, to ratiocinate about the barren pallid walls of our world, home to the human spirit, private to us. Instead we chain ourselves to the flux of the masses, the appeal and approval, and overlook the function, the utility of our laboring aims.

Time has become an inconvenience, not because we have so little time, but because we have too much.

I despise the corpulence, the venery, the stolid and dull, all foibles born out of the American malaise.

We need to grow radical. We need to act now, but within. Our fight should exist internally and should be waged endlessly in the name of freedom and imagination, of humanity.

exploding senses

Fuck my mind. Yes fuck it. I hate analyzing. i hate thinking. I hate guarding. I hate being cautious. I want to live wildly. Yes, wildly. I hate this business of looking right, talking correctly, being something. This image that I try to fill. This life I try to mold. It is driving me crazy. I want to break all molds, all conceptions of normal. I do not want to be regular. And how typical does this sound?
Continue reading “exploding senses”

Thinketh

You become what you think about.

If you can fathom the power of that concept, all that is left for you to do is decide who you want to become: Then the world is yours.

Read the book: “As a Man Thinketh” by James Allen. I am not speaking lightly when I say that we think our life into being. If you control what you put into your head, and decide what you put out, you will be the master of your destiny, the captain of your fate. You are the sum of all your thoughts- all the influences you acknowledge, knowingly or unknowingly. We are creatures of habit, in thought and action. Take control of your thoughts and you will control your life. Weed out the bad habits, the negative thoughts that strangle the good you seek to do. Plant thoughts that will lead you to your ideal life. Use discipline dwell on your thoughts and goals and plans as often as possible. Soon your thoughts and actions will become habit, and habit will in turn lead to a renewed character and a new life with new ease. We are what we think about all day long.

Where do these thoughts come from? Read the books written by the most successful of people and glean the thoughts that they held captive in their minds. They write books and are always eager to share their secrets, and yet there are so few that listen.

I have so much to say on this topic because it changed my life. thoughts are so powerful. So quiet and fleeting, yet they hold the key to this world man has constructed. it all began with thoughts.

re-

repetition. repetition is everything. it is refinement. it is perfection. it is success. it is everything. repetition. repetition.repetition. all day, every day. set your mind to a task, and repeat. night, and day. make sacrifices. devote your being to its actualization. and repeat. refine. distill. repetition. drill it into my brain. repetition. reading, writing, thinking, communicating, achieving. repetition. be better. it is the only way. repeat.

Self-recollection: Amiel

“[The] capacity for self-recollection — for withdrawal from the outward to the inward — is in fact the condition of all noble and useful activity. If the sailor did not carry with him his own temperature he could not go from the pole to the equator, and remain himself in spite of all. The man who has no refuge in himself, who lives, so to speak, in his front rooms, in the outer whirlwind of things and opinions, is not properly a personality at all. He is one of a crowd, a taxpayer, an elector, an anonymity, but not a man.

He who floats with the current, who does not guide himself according to higher principles, who has no ideal, no convictions — such a man is a mere article of the world’s furniture — a thing moved, instead of a living and moving being — an echo, not a voice. The man who has no inner life is the slave of his surroundings, as the barometer is the obedient servant of the air at rest, and the weathercock the humble servant of the air in motion.”

— Henri Frederic Amiel

Random musings.

Just some random thoughts.

I decided, not too sure when, that I am trying to advertise less, and do more. What I mean is this: Talk less, do more.

I noticed on facebook and twitter and myspace and all that social media, that people have an opportunity to selectively portray a certain person to the world. Typically a person that they feel most accurately portrays the real them. But, honestly, how accurate can that be? Our perceptions about ourselves are clearly biased and subjective. So over the years I’ve been trying to advertise less and less of myself. I won’t lie, this is difficult at times. Its so easy to throw information about our ideal self out there for others to digest with hunger. So I decided I wont. I guess this little online journal is where most of that stuff comes out but I’ve convinced myself that no one really reads this stuff- save a few livejournal friends with a curiosity others (much like my own)- so it doesn’t matter what I put.

I’ll admit though- this livejournal stuff is very therapeutic. I noticed that I sometimes catch myself censoring some entries. I do my best to make myself bad for this. If you can’t be honest with livejournal, how can you be honest with yourself?

But then again… I often tell myself lots of fanciful things so that I will come to believe them and eventually act on them. This is my thoughts, my real journal, or this online journal. I do this because I know that who I realistically think I am is not who I ever want to be. I have an ideal plateau of cognizance that I strive for. A person who lives through his deisres and goals.

O! New thought. Bye.

Eating the Fruit.

I’m in a contemplative mood tonight. I just saw the movie ‘500 days of summer’.. I highly recommend it. It has a rare quality to its story. It doesn’t seem to be sugar coated. It picks you up… but doesn’t leave you up there… nor does it slam you down abruptly. It lets you float down again and grounds you. Wonderful movie.

Life. I must’ve said that word out loud tonight a dozen times. I think about it all the time. Expectations and reality. I was thinking… I like when my expectations are unrealistic from everyone else’s standpoint. and who knows maybe they’re not. But.. as I go through life.. I like the ambitions that require major action.. major investment. I noticed that the vast majority of these ambitions don’t necessarily come to fruition… but I’m always a lot farther ahead that where I would’ve been without them. So I shall keep these lofty goals… these dreams that seem just out of reach.

Life.

I walked around my neighborhood tonight. It was beautiful. Full, glowing moon. It penetrated the clouds as they silently drifted across the sky. There was a stillness to the air. I talked to my friend Brandon tonight. He was frustrated with himself… he got a B+ in a class. He said that the grade didn’t reflect his effort or his knowledge of the subject. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about really.. how upset with himself he is. My mood was so transparent and tranquil. My attitude was looking up. His grade, that class, is behind him. Every undertaking should be done with maximum effort to ensure that we perform even greater for the next. Looking backward while trying to move forward is difficult. He was, however, the only person that was open to catching up.. about nothing.

Life.

I walked around tonight.. on the sidewalks, the grass.. I walked, balancing my steps between the yellow lines in the road.

I feel very calm at the moment.

Here is an amazing poem that keeps my head up:

“I do not choose to be a common man. It is my right to be uncommon—if I can. I seek opportunity—not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me. I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build, to fail and to succeed. I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia. I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat. It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and unafraid; to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations, and to face the world boldly and say, this I have done. All this is what it means to be an American.” Dean Alfange

That movie, 500 days of summer, made me think. It was cute. I like romantic movies. Movies about the dynamics of relationships.

I looked at myself in the mirror tonight.. with a long stare, trying to see myself as the person I am, not as I perceive myself to be. It was…

I was thinking tonight. Very much. I look forward to those times in life where you wake up, and life has a new light to it. Opportunities abound, possibilities stretch far and wide. The world at my fingertips. I love those times. Where everything has yet to cast a shadow. The world is a blank canvas… and slowly, line by line, choice by choice, it takes form. My decisions shape a lifestyle I grow to love, or hate. These opportunities, for most, seem rare. I work for them.
You know those times I speak of. Getting up in the morning is effortless. Showering and getting ready for the day is a breeze… your thoughts are elsewhere… in the realm of possibility. Its a joyous unspoken passion. You see things in their ideal state. Relationships, or making them, seems to be the easiest thing in the world. Its like finding companions for the journey. Maybe its a new job, starting at a new school, or your first day of school.. or getting involved with a new sport, or club, or organization. A new purpose. The purpose of ones life is pursuing ones purpose.

I have had these opportunities more times than I can count. These are the times where you can reinvent yourself. You can choose your friends based on your new direction, not fall back on them out of convenience. You are forced to expand yourself to new ideas. Moving 13 times… attending six elementary schools, two middle schools, three high schools, and now two colleges… has given me far more of these opportunities than many people ever have. Am I fortunate? Reinvention. If I wanted to be pessimistic I could say that I’ve felt like a chameleon all these years… all this reinvention was really adaptation.. but I really don’t see it like that. Every new direction, every opportunity you have to change course, you are given the freedom to change yourself, to build on your existing character. You remove more of the chaff. Thats the goal anyway. Right?

Life.

Acceptance is a large part of life. Actually, next to change, it seems to be everything. Change happens, continually… you never step into the same river twice. Accepting that change, and seeing things as they currently are, being willing to change your conceptions, is one of the greatest dilemmas I have. It causes me to lose a brief sense of security. But thats a risk we must learn to take I suppose. If we never went out on a limb, how would we ever eat the fruit?

I have many thoughts right now. Many many. Tomorrow… I will drive to Ft Myers to drop my cousins off… and meet my grandfathers new wife. I think it will be a surprise for him 🙂 He’s resentful that I don’t visit more often. I don’t blame him. Long complicated family drama really. As I get older I see the facets of relationships and see how their roots intertwine. Face value is never too revealing.

Love Love Love. And Happiness. Isn’t that what we all want? or maybe more happiness and then there’s love.

Why do I rob myself the joy of waking up every day like its my first day alive? I want to walk around my days like its the first day of my life… like there is something to learn behind every smile, around every turn, under every rock, twig or blade of grass.

I just read this: ‘Speak with substance to the life you know; not those which you admire.’ I speaks to me.

I’ll sleep.. think more tomorrow.

🙂

cognitive diarrhea

My thoughts have been flittering lately (is that a word?). Fragmented. It’s late right now. I have nothing worthwhile to say. Nothing to describe and articulate on. I have the very average sense of whats going on. Not too much I’d like to get out of me. I feel okay not expanding on it.

I wish my thoughts were elongated (does that make sense?). I wish I had more to say or think. I haven’t always been this way. And its funny… I’m constantly cycling through these periods of inspiration and dullness. I always look back for assurance to tell myself that life’s been better or worse. I can make the best appear however I choose looking back on it. Its not static in my world. Typically I look at my past as a thing thats hard to measure up to. That many people would have a tough time living a life as exciting and risky and fun filled as mine. Ofcourse I only remember the best days, or worst days that I triumphantly overcame. The days in between filled with confusion and listlessness almost don’t exist. But I know they did. In the case that my memory starts failing in my old age I still have my daily paper journals. The journals with the black covers and blank lineless pages that I fill with updates on the mood, particular attitude for the day, hopes, vexations, daily goals and routines. All that stuff. Its my log. Not so much of a poetic archive as it is a record. A record to remind myself of my average self over the years. Like I said, I always remember the past like its an immeasurable accomplishment. Those daily logs keep me grounded in that fantasy.

I was thinking back today on a lot. Highschool specifically (I always spell high school as one word…dunno why, but i won’t correct it this time). The days in highschool where life was this weird thing that you were born into… and it happened to you. the expectations were drawn up and you just grew into them. I thought I was broken when I didn’t ever measure up. when, in my junior year of highschool I had a hard time comprehending what college was for… who the hell knew what they wanted to do the rest of their life at this age? It hadn’t hit me yet. How do all these other people know?!? My senior year was the same… but this time trying was unfathomable. I was still waiting for my life to happen to me. Somehow I would start accomplishing great things and measure up to society’s standards… or my familys expectations. I waited and it never happened… I waited so long that I became bored… and a little anxious… so anxious and bored that i began seeking out activities to fill my time. Activities such as binging of all sorts of magical substances. I thought these would jump start my perceptions. That some how these substances would provide me with a newer and clearer understanding of lifes purpose. I can now say I was wrong. And if i was still actively doing them i would still be wrong. and every time i drink I realize how wrong I am. They offer nothing. eh. Fun for the moment but thats about it. Listen to me… I sound like a pathetic recovering alcoholic. The truth was… I wasn’t messed up at all. A little confused but thats about it. And as soon as i began believing in myself… and in results… life got real easy.

so i’m pretty much amazing. no really. I am great. I mean.. as a living breathing thing… I am irreplaceable. ha… just talking like that makes me feel good. hehe. Talking like I’m some god. Though I often entertain the idea that I’m pretty much flawless and godlike. I wonder if thats normal. I wonder if other people think thoughts like that? hm… don’t care. i know I’m not but what I think gets me a little closer than the rest is knowing I will never be there. Thats when acceptance and all that comes in. I’m bein crazy again.

I read this quote…
“Most people are not really free. They are confined by the niche in the world that they carve out for themselves. They limit themselves to fewer possibilities by the narrowness of their vision.” —V.S. Naipaul.

Its pretty much amazing. Its also scary. I’m concerned I’m not living. Of course we all think we’re living it up. Doing all we can do. The truth is… YOUR NOT. I’m not. No one is. We’re all disillusioned. BUT.. we do choose the illusion. I’d like to improve it. I can. It takes will… believing… all that stuff.

I need to wake up early, go to the library… and study for like… an infinite amount of hours. I need to bang my head up against the wall and snap out of it. I want to crawl outta the niche I’ve carved for myself. Too comfortable. Thats the problem with this world.. me and you and everyone… we’re too damn comfortable (thats why i like working out). Pain means gain. I BELIEVE THAT. no pain, no gain. If your green your growin, if your red your ripe (whatever that really means.. i like it anyway). I need pain in my life… eventually.. and i know this from experience… it gets easier and less painful. Why do I second guess myself? Why do i think lifes soooo easy?… why do I always… and i mean… ALWAYS wait for it to get a little easier? All i do is cheat myself out of time… precious time.. and I only have so much… and opportunity… cause there is only so much opportunity that time can provide. UTILIZE YOUR TIME. err my time.

Depress

Depressed might not be the word for it. I’m numb. I haven’t worked out in a while.. about 3 weeks. That may be playing a significant part. Maybe its the 6 hours of daylight I see daily. Its getting colder, everything is getting grayer, and more lifeless. Schoolwork is increasing, leisure seems like a luxury. My heart has abandoned my mind, leaving it to roam where it shouldn’t. Dark corners and deep recesses, mulling and brooding over insignificant matters. Lifeless. Void of emotion. I am detached. Everything is fragmented. My thoughts are not complete. My direction is vague and irresolute. The flame that burns within me, the passion that wants to desperately devour more and more, has dwindled to a mere ember, barely thriving. Everything seems so superficial and mundane. There are no answers that I am content with. No secure direction.

Sunshine is a precious commodity. It is rare and when it shines, it’s rays coldly shine for a few brief hours before a carpet of clouds strangle its radiance. The landscape is completely pallid. People are not smiling. There is no hoping for better days. The mountains provide high walls for our imaginations. It confines and suffocates. We have the trees and our books. Together we offer no community. We are all floating islands in this sea of confusion. We aimlessly float and bump into one another before drifting off to be left with our own thoughts once again.

My schoolwork is boring. Its hallow and trivial. Classrooms are simply labs where professors try their best to impress their passions into the withered cavities once filled with colorful imagination and zeal.

It’s getting colder. Cold. Cold. Every man is my adversary. No one wants whats best for me. Their idea is skewed with their false experiences. Only I know whats best for me. And ‘best’ is my decision.

I almost feel that ungirded passion is more important that constructed logic. It ignites and flows and is satisfying. For the time being anyway. Passion is alive, but shortsighted. Logic is dry and lifeless, but it is resilient and stable.

I want to blaze! I want to burn like a billion of the hottest stars!

ess

I want to be happy. I want to be free. I want to be an iconoclast, breaking all the social molds. I want to free myself from the propaganda. I want to rise above the petty politics of culture. I want to see the bigger picture in everyone. I want to surmise the means to the ends. I don’t want to impress. I want to express. I want people to lick the flavor of my words with delight. I want to plant endangered seeds of thought in the minds of many. I want to watch their world change and grow unfamiliar before they let go of ideal and accept reality. I want to escape the cliche titles and stigmas. I want to transcend the norms without being labeled postmodern. I want to retain direction without being called rigid or conservative. I want to swim freely in the ideas of men without the fear of losing my own. I want to make a mark that hasn’t been seen before. I want to speak words of wisdom the appeal to everyones need for meaning and familiarity. I want to provide real sense. I want to invoke the need to listen. E pluribus Unum. Out of the many, one. I want to show people the way, the truth and the life that they oft miss.

Even realists are ideal. They expect the world to be predictable. The world is never predictable.

lissome cognition’s

The problem with the world?

People do not know what they want. You ask someone what they want out of life and they don’t know. They might give you a vague, round about answer, but they really don’t know. They have wishes but no dreams. People coast through life, expecting good fortune to come their way. Very few individuals go out and look for favorable circumstances. Those that look know what they’re looking for.

People just drift. The vast majority. They may be ‘good’ people with ‘good’ hearts, but they are totally helpless. How do people think life works? The materialists out there, fueled through the evolutionary framework that bred the notion of determinism, point to outside causality to place the blame and point the finger. People genuinely believe that certain people are born with better lives than others, endowed with better gifts and talents. This is a lie. This is avoiding the responsibility people have with the life they are given and the gifts they do have.

I watch people, in the store, the mall, the food isles- and I look upon them with disdain. They buy, buy, buy- indulging in simple satisfactions to make up for the major dissatisfaction they call their life. Some people are happy. Those people are ignorant. The ones who settle. The saying “What you don’t know can’t hurt you” is a lie. On the contrary, what you don’t know WILL hurt you. Only, you may not know it. Foolishness. We have unlimited potential. We are the only people who hold ourselves back. Most people fail to think. I suppose they fail to seek the truths and principles that lead to fulfillment. I think most people have bought into the lie that however they decide to live their life is up to them, and no one should tell them otherwise. These people miss out on the larger treasures in life. They display the greatest weakness among men: Pride. Humility reins over knowledge and power and love and goodness. “Every man I meet is my superior in some way, in that, I learn of him.” Can you imagine the positive world we’d live in if people took time to learn from others, either what to do or what not to do?

I wonder if I’m ever apart of the very masses I speak of. If those greater souls, free from being buffeted by external occurrences, all while maintaining a loyal responsibility to themselves, look upon me as a slave as I do others. Am I a slave in my own way? Have I overlooked some greater truths that may enable me to achieve greater happiness and fulfillment? I pray I am not so naive. I pray that my eyes would be open to the ostensible opportunities of life. I am still in the nascent stages of wisdom. I will never stop extending my reach, however weak I may be, however many times I may stumble and fall. I will maintain a stolid resolve toward flawless refinement.

Many people face life’s vicissitudes vehemently trying to reconfigure their external world with no success. They cogitate “If my world will be right, I will be right” but the very opposite is true. “If I am right, my world will be right.” `

Change the way you think about the world, not how the world thinks about you.

-Taphs

Libraries are nothing more than tombs filled with epitaphs and eulogies of great men. The living flock to universities to find some common truths among the confusion that can provide some unifying meaning, e pluribus unum- out of many, one. Men spent their lives entertaining fancies about their ephemeral existence and the ether in which they swim.

I rack my brain thinking about life’s questions. Just when I abandon the pursuit and turn away, I find myself faced with even more vexations. I cannot run. Its as if I am suppose to walk in the darkness and knowingly tread on unfamiliar ground. I want to be sure, but there is no security.

blah blah blah. where are my muses?? inspire me! I can’t wait to start school. I need challenge. I need some social exposure, some stimulation.

I am free. I have to remind myself of the bigger picture. Sometimes I tend to lose sight of why I’m doing what I’m doing. I have to remind myself that I am free and that the actions I’m undertaking are a result of a prior choice made on free will. My continual commitment of that choice, reflected through daily disciplines, is apart of a greater freedom I’m seeking to achieve. I cannot forget the prize. When running a marathon, or any great race with great rewards, I suppose its easy to forget why your running. I must not lose sight of the finish line, even if I cannot see it. I must visualize what it looks like to finish victoriously and strong.

**

I’m always trying to evaluate my strengths and weaknesses. Just when I think I feel that I’ve mastered progress in a particular subject, I’m humbled by the realization that I don’t know anything at all.

***

All day long I contemplate what I must do and hesitate to do it. I just want to be. Life is a choice. It’s about the moment. Its about choosing to let go of your past, consider the future, and live in the present. I choose to be content, fulfilled and joyful. I appreciate the current situation. I am grateful for who I am and what I have.
***

Why do i consider so much? Why can’t just let go. Forge ahead and blaze new thoughts, relationships, realities.

thinking things

I need to write more. I use to write so much. Just to get it out of my mind. To extrapolate the little whispers and bright ideas I conjure up. I love life. I’ve realized a lot of things recently. Firstly… don’t underestimate the power of a thought or a single word. Secondly, don’t overestimate your understanding.

I should focus and fix my eyes on my desires and never mind the distractions of details that show up all around or on the side.

Something I realized that changed my life tremendously is the idea that I am in control of my thoughts. What that means to me has vastly different impacts than it does on most people. I know that circumstances are temporary. I realize that who I am is a collection of years and years of choices and habits and decisions. I’ve molded myself through my decisions. People let circumstances, opinions, people, feelings, mold them…or they mold their circumstances based on deciding how they choose to perceieve them… aka.. their attitude.

So beautiful today. The gentle rolling zephyr. The pristine blue sky.

I gotta learn not to get ahead of myself. I always try convincing myself of the ideal situation.
I always focus on the positive. I try my best not to use words like ‘always’ and ‘never’. When I do I’m trying to emphasize the firm conviction I have towards the ideal.

I’ve been too busy to think recently. I miss my journal and my books and my philosophers and authors and curiosity and imagination. Everything is rote. Going through the motions. I guess I’m getting good at making habits and staying consistent. I’m good at maximizing my time management and doing what I can to test the limits of my physical and mental capabilities. I miss feelings.

I’ve done what I can to take time for myself and relax and contemplate and reflect. i think its important for the soul. You let the neurons run free. No constructs, expectations, deadlines, goals…. just for a few moments a day I like to stare off into space, watch the sun set over the big burly mountains, listen to the delicate conversations between the birds, watch the blue sky melt into a black landscape strewn with sparkling diamond like stars. I watch the moon take shape and creep towards its apex in the sky. I admire the gold and orange and pink and purple tinge soaking upward on the horizon as the sun sets. I like trees. Big green trees. I lose myself looking at the intricacy of life. When I look at a tree, I imagine its broad and deep root system, its thick trunk sucking up water and nutrients like a straw, feeding its branches and leaves. Bare, the tree looks like its sinewy veins are gasping to reach for sunlight and air.

People. There is a universal condition. I see through the psycho babble we’re brought up to believe. Cultural clashes and genetical abnormalities. I believe there is a universal language in love. No matter who you are, you know and feel love. Whether you are receptive or not is another matter but everyone knows it when they feel it. No matter how broken and bruised. No matter how high the walls protecting their bruised and mishandled heart. People need to trust. They need consistency and stability. They need love that is forever. It hurts to give that up or have it thrown in your face.

livid lambent

the world is getting a little grayer. The appeal of things once held in esteem now seem jaded. My thoughts keep taking me further, brightening new worlds and instilling me with new feelings. The parallels sketch on wonderful new meaning, coloring life like never before. I feel less apart of the crowd though. A shift in paradigms has left me with a new appreciation. Wherever I end up I’ll be happy so long I seek the passions that convict me most.