What is the point of poetry or of MCs bragging about how great they are? Why celebrate oneself or speak in passionate generalities?
Poetry is rap without rhythmical context – so it’s that much harder and that much more specific.
Whitman is power and the original MC. He’s Immortal Technique speaking in a different age in another culture.
Understanding the beauty and force that is one’s self, devoid of its impermanent outside influences, makes me question whether no self exists. I imagine a blue circle, a tiny notional thing that takes up no space. That circle permits me to choose and cannot be penetrated by absolutely anything.
Now take away the circle, and what changes? Everything can then be penetrated, and my power of choice disappears. But this is not the case – nothing that happens to me and no judgment passed can ever destroy my care or my beliefs or my ability to choose. No, only my own weakness in faith in myself can cloud those things.
Faith in the soul and nonchalance about its scientific existence can tackle the problem pragmatically. The question of yes or no, of existence or not, is unimportant when compared to one’s own belief. Proof is impossible and unnecessary.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
five days
How can five days go by so quickly? This calls for a discussion of what I'm learning I lack too much of: discipline and resolve.
A couple of years ago, my grandfather gave me a small piece of paper with some advice that his father gave him. "Do not be benevolent" stood out, but let's leave that aside for a moment. “Remember dates, details, and minutia” got me too, as I’ve for so long been so terrible at it. What the hell is the point of remembering little factoids, emotionally void specifics, or painfully descriptive items that distract from the big picture? I still feel that way.
But the note – I don’t have it on me at the moment, and I’m running out of the lines clearest in my head – also demanded that one think through each thought to its end. And it probably – again, I’m falling down on the details – prescribed one living up to promises and being honest.
There’s no replacement for honesty and reliability in this world. Niceness and good intentions will never match it. And one cannot be truly honest or reliable without making sacrifices and choosing discipline over spiritual ease.
But I write this knowing full well that I do lack discipline, and that knowledge is so painful as to be crushing at times. Shame leads too quickly to embarrassment, which leads far far too quickly to inaction.
The discipline I speak of is of the following type:
For example, at a dinner recently, I sat across from my friend’s girlfriend. I had no reason not to ask her the question, “what is your better job?” as she had two and I was quite curious, but probably mostly about one. Afraid of a bored response, I simply occasionally joined in the current conversation.
For a better example, I didn’t know what to do with my niece today. She doesn’t quite trust me yet, as I’ve only been around for a day. But I’d promised to help take care of her. I got up late and did little, simply because of my fear of her fear of me and my fear of her father’s potential unease.
For a more natural example, I play games or write about Bill Richardson instead of doing the work I need to get done. My brother tells me that sometimes people at his store will cut blocks of the more expensive cheese first, thinking they will eventually get around to the parmesan. But what really needs doing is the parmesan, as customers go through it like crazy. He drew this analogy, not me: we have to prioritize the parmesan.
But there is a fundamental problem. In order to improve, I must recognize and understand the root of my mistakes. In doing so I can also recognize whether indeed they are mistakes at all or good decisions with some basis. Yet also by noticing this I can become quite intensely frustrated with my own seeming inabilities. And this frustration can frighten me away from being more bold and disciplined.
Discipline requires boldness. It requires not shying away from a bad reaction or an intensely uncomfortable five minutes. It requires linking an expected result intelligently with a present action and carrying out that action with intense passion. When the goal is so far far away, when it’s uncertain, it’s easy to drop the passion and do something else. We have to be, somehow, passionately involved in cutting parmesan cheese. If we are not, we will continue to fall down.
But this brings me only 60% of the way through my past five days. So shifting gears,
Presents lie under the Christmas tree beside me, and it amazes me that I’ve been terrible at choosing presents. Me, a man so supposedly devoted to the well-being of others. What good are presents, anyway?
Maybe it’s time to bring up the benevolence thing. If one engages the world with only his own well-being in mind, he must eventually realize that hedonism in its simplest sense – pursuing corporal pleasures – has its limits. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m so repulsed by the idea in the first place, given the switching off of compassion and thought it must require – and perhaps scared of it as well – that I’ve never tried it.
So instead one would actively engage with the world and do exciting, powerful things regularly regardless of the direct consequence to others. He would make his mark and live powerfully and strongly. He would understand others’ pain but not seek to alleviate it. He would ruthlessly strike down anyone who stood in the way of his goals, given that the act of striking them down did not make him still worse off.
And as I know, compassion, bravery, and honesty make up the best and strongest bridge to this kind of life. That’s fun to imagine in the abstract, but rather tough when faced with a group conversation about disease prevention or architecture.
But the boiling passionate care doesn’t seem to subside, no matter how often I fail it. Something is lit and has been for a little while now. I’ve doused it with money and with pretend knowledge of water policy and with lots and lots and lots of food, but it’s here and I feel it getting stronger.
I’ve channeled it towards people I know. I’ve given people more time and more patience and more respect and more questioning. I’ve channeled it towards a fucking presidential candidate of all things. I’ve yet to channel it towards myself as the prospect both frightens and confuses me.
My presents are meant to challenge as that’s all I think I can really provide. I’ve never wanted to satisfy base urges or to give people what they already know they want. If Christmas is about love, which it should be, I should give challenging gifts in a loving, attention-paying spirit. Gone will be the days now when I mass-buy and decide later. I will choose specifically and with care. Next are the parents’ birthdays and then the brother’s.
A couple of years ago, my grandfather gave me a small piece of paper with some advice that his father gave him. "Do not be benevolent" stood out, but let's leave that aside for a moment. “Remember dates, details, and minutia” got me too, as I’ve for so long been so terrible at it. What the hell is the point of remembering little factoids, emotionally void specifics, or painfully descriptive items that distract from the big picture? I still feel that way.
But the note – I don’t have it on me at the moment, and I’m running out of the lines clearest in my head – also demanded that one think through each thought to its end. And it probably – again, I’m falling down on the details – prescribed one living up to promises and being honest.
There’s no replacement for honesty and reliability in this world. Niceness and good intentions will never match it. And one cannot be truly honest or reliable without making sacrifices and choosing discipline over spiritual ease.
But I write this knowing full well that I do lack discipline, and that knowledge is so painful as to be crushing at times. Shame leads too quickly to embarrassment, which leads far far too quickly to inaction.
The discipline I speak of is of the following type:
For example, at a dinner recently, I sat across from my friend’s girlfriend. I had no reason not to ask her the question, “what is your better job?” as she had two and I was quite curious, but probably mostly about one. Afraid of a bored response, I simply occasionally joined in the current conversation.
For a better example, I didn’t know what to do with my niece today. She doesn’t quite trust me yet, as I’ve only been around for a day. But I’d promised to help take care of her. I got up late and did little, simply because of my fear of her fear of me and my fear of her father’s potential unease.
For a more natural example, I play games or write about Bill Richardson instead of doing the work I need to get done. My brother tells me that sometimes people at his store will cut blocks of the more expensive cheese first, thinking they will eventually get around to the parmesan. But what really needs doing is the parmesan, as customers go through it like crazy. He drew this analogy, not me: we have to prioritize the parmesan.
But there is a fundamental problem. In order to improve, I must recognize and understand the root of my mistakes. In doing so I can also recognize whether indeed they are mistakes at all or good decisions with some basis. Yet also by noticing this I can become quite intensely frustrated with my own seeming inabilities. And this frustration can frighten me away from being more bold and disciplined.
Discipline requires boldness. It requires not shying away from a bad reaction or an intensely uncomfortable five minutes. It requires linking an expected result intelligently with a present action and carrying out that action with intense passion. When the goal is so far far away, when it’s uncertain, it’s easy to drop the passion and do something else. We have to be, somehow, passionately involved in cutting parmesan cheese. If we are not, we will continue to fall down.
But this brings me only 60% of the way through my past five days. So shifting gears,
Presents lie under the Christmas tree beside me, and it amazes me that I’ve been terrible at choosing presents. Me, a man so supposedly devoted to the well-being of others. What good are presents, anyway?
Maybe it’s time to bring up the benevolence thing. If one engages the world with only his own well-being in mind, he must eventually realize that hedonism in its simplest sense – pursuing corporal pleasures – has its limits. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m so repulsed by the idea in the first place, given the switching off of compassion and thought it must require – and perhaps scared of it as well – that I’ve never tried it.
So instead one would actively engage with the world and do exciting, powerful things regularly regardless of the direct consequence to others. He would make his mark and live powerfully and strongly. He would understand others’ pain but not seek to alleviate it. He would ruthlessly strike down anyone who stood in the way of his goals, given that the act of striking them down did not make him still worse off.
And as I know, compassion, bravery, and honesty make up the best and strongest bridge to this kind of life. That’s fun to imagine in the abstract, but rather tough when faced with a group conversation about disease prevention or architecture.
But the boiling passionate care doesn’t seem to subside, no matter how often I fail it. Something is lit and has been for a little while now. I’ve doused it with money and with pretend knowledge of water policy and with lots and lots and lots of food, but it’s here and I feel it getting stronger.
I’ve channeled it towards people I know. I’ve given people more time and more patience and more respect and more questioning. I’ve channeled it towards a fucking presidential candidate of all things. I’ve yet to channel it towards myself as the prospect both frightens and confuses me.
My presents are meant to challenge as that’s all I think I can really provide. I’ve never wanted to satisfy base urges or to give people what they already know they want. If Christmas is about love, which it should be, I should give challenging gifts in a loving, attention-paying spirit. Gone will be the days now when I mass-buy and decide later. I will choose specifically and with care. Next are the parents’ birthdays and then the brother’s.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
i'm searching with j spence
I don’t understand what to make of things like eunuchs and elaborate bureaucracies. What is so great about all this structure and all this rule?
Europe used to oppress people. Now things have changed and many many more can enjoy the fruits of that continent. Yet plenty, mainly recent immigrants, don’t today.
And China with all its rules cares about processing things and being moral and correct. At the end of the day, where does that take you? Where do all my “interesting” discussions of morality and art and beauty and love and sex and fakeness and spice and change and calm and care and discipline lead either? Are they fundamentally different? No! Not at all; they’re great and they’re just as discussed according to this dude. All the fucking bigwigs were doing it.
What do I think will be missing in China? Philosophy? They’ve had philosophy for so long…art? Patience? Eye contact?
I want to sit around and have an intellectual – in the sense of the word that puts it in the best light possible – conversation with someone as often as I can.
Listening to two of my relatives discuss China, I heard about the amazing change, about the smells and sights, about the place cleaning up, and I didn’t hear anything about the art or about the things that I know those particular people really care about. One’s an actor what did he think of the depth of theatre in China? At least one actor friend of mine seems to think it’s pretty decent, even (or perhaps especially?) in Shanghai.
And of course there’s the question of how much time and energy I can really give this search (or even the search of what it is the search is for).
Europe used to oppress people. Now things have changed and many many more can enjoy the fruits of that continent. Yet plenty, mainly recent immigrants, don’t today.
And China with all its rules cares about processing things and being moral and correct. At the end of the day, where does that take you? Where do all my “interesting” discussions of morality and art and beauty and love and sex and fakeness and spice and change and calm and care and discipline lead either? Are they fundamentally different? No! Not at all; they’re great and they’re just as discussed according to this dude. All the fucking bigwigs were doing it.
What do I think will be missing in China? Philosophy? They’ve had philosophy for so long…art? Patience? Eye contact?
I want to sit around and have an intellectual – in the sense of the word that puts it in the best light possible – conversation with someone as often as I can.
Listening to two of my relatives discuss China, I heard about the amazing change, about the smells and sights, about the place cleaning up, and I didn’t hear anything about the art or about the things that I know those particular people really care about. One’s an actor what did he think of the depth of theatre in China? At least one actor friend of mine seems to think it’s pretty decent, even (or perhaps especially?) in Shanghai.
And of course there’s the question of how much time and energy I can really give this search (or even the search of what it is the search is for).
Monday, December 24, 2007
nyc
It looks like today will be double.
The trees in New York were the lightest shade of brown, and I saw yellow-brown reeds in front of dark washed out green water in Central Park. Three buildings on that pond were all cold and closed. Why do I love the city I grew up near?
The stereotypes are accurate, in that saying hi for the hell of it is kind of stupid. And if you’re not part of the city, you’re kind of not welcome. But I think those commercials that showed New Yorkers ignoring everything that went by no matter how outlandish might have only been half-right. Sure, if something is of no consequence, people may pay it no mind. When people really get in trouble, though, I wonder how long that indifference lasts. All I have to go on is 9/11, when people truly and totally shared.
Interpol says that New York cares, and I’m not even sure if they’re being sarcastic. I don’t think they are, because I wouldn’t be if I said something like that. Why do I feel the need to redeem this city? I’ve never lived there, and I’ve only skimmed some of its benefits without paying any real price beyond what Metro North costs. I love the way people dress here and I love the city’s feel in winter. Yet all the live-it-up-ers get me down, and the people who are openly proud of walking quickly without turning do too. I look around in the subway, and I see everything – very little is New York-specific. Perhaps the only thing that they have in common is pride, or for some, courage.
My thoughts are in generalities because they come that way before experience solidifies them. This frustrates almost everyone, but if I don’t start in the generalities, I’ll never get where I need to be. People somehow think that just by being specific they are being more precise. I disagree.
I could live in New York now because I’d find a few people somehow. Those people would introduce me to others, and I might not be scared of meeting them. The only way I know to destroy fear or loneliness is to embrace the excitement and opportunity. And that in of itself is better than losing the fear.
Instead of sticking with New York, I’m bailing and hoping that the city will be here when I get back.
The trees in New York were the lightest shade of brown, and I saw yellow-brown reeds in front of dark washed out green water in Central Park. Three buildings on that pond were all cold and closed. Why do I love the city I grew up near?
The stereotypes are accurate, in that saying hi for the hell of it is kind of stupid. And if you’re not part of the city, you’re kind of not welcome. But I think those commercials that showed New Yorkers ignoring everything that went by no matter how outlandish might have only been half-right. Sure, if something is of no consequence, people may pay it no mind. When people really get in trouble, though, I wonder how long that indifference lasts. All I have to go on is 9/11, when people truly and totally shared.
Interpol says that New York cares, and I’m not even sure if they’re being sarcastic. I don’t think they are, because I wouldn’t be if I said something like that. Why do I feel the need to redeem this city? I’ve never lived there, and I’ve only skimmed some of its benefits without paying any real price beyond what Metro North costs. I love the way people dress here and I love the city’s feel in winter. Yet all the live-it-up-ers get me down, and the people who are openly proud of walking quickly without turning do too. I look around in the subway, and I see everything – very little is New York-specific. Perhaps the only thing that they have in common is pride, or for some, courage.
My thoughts are in generalities because they come that way before experience solidifies them. This frustrates almost everyone, but if I don’t start in the generalities, I’ll never get where I need to be. People somehow think that just by being specific they are being more precise. I disagree.
I could live in New York now because I’d find a few people somehow. Those people would introduce me to others, and I might not be scared of meeting them. The only way I know to destroy fear or loneliness is to embrace the excitement and opportunity. And that in of itself is better than losing the fear.
Instead of sticking with New York, I’m bailing and hoping that the city will be here when I get back.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
why and what
The biggest challenge may be using Microsoft Word and pasting it into blogger. I know that resolutions rarely succeed, but this one may be a test of my commitment to writing. I’ve said recently that I believe in it, and this is a good opportunity to see if I’m telling the truth.
My dad said that writing a book is easy: it’s 200 words a day. If I’m ever going to write a book, I will need to write consistently.
Actually, I don’t believe that. The point of 200 words/day is to write when one is out doing other things during the day, and I’m considering being serious about writing one day.
I noticed in my most recent paper that the writing isn’t the hard part – it’s coming up with a solid concept. Perhaps this concept is flawed from the start, in that it’s really just a dump of ideas without any forethought. I will use it as something different, then – I will use it as a collection of un-polished ideas that are going through a mill and yet deserve to be shared with anyone interested in reading. The posts will not be about what I did today – they may reference events, but only briefly.
My dad said that writing a book is easy: it’s 200 words a day. If I’m ever going to write a book, I will need to write consistently.
Actually, I don’t believe that. The point of 200 words/day is to write when one is out doing other things during the day, and I’m considering being serious about writing one day.
I noticed in my most recent paper that the writing isn’t the hard part – it’s coming up with a solid concept. Perhaps this concept is flawed from the start, in that it’s really just a dump of ideas without any forethought. I will use it as something different, then – I will use it as a collection of un-polished ideas that are going through a mill and yet deserve to be shared with anyone interested in reading. The posts will not be about what I did today – they may reference events, but only briefly.
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