jayhat

Archive for the ‘nature’ Category

The problem with many classics

In English, nature, Writing on October 12, 2010 at 10:31 pm

When people read the classics, they’re often slowed by the language, complain about the piousness of characters, etc.—when I read the classics, I often wonder how so many authors existed in linear worlds with linear characters who grow in linear ways and tell stories that unfold linearly.

The world is circular for a reason, and clouds dot the sky and merge and form bigger clouds, and rivers form deltas and twist and have things called rapids.

I’ve never met a woman who only wanted a man, and I know of no man whose only desire is money. I have friends and colleagues, but none of them exist only to my end, and they have me, and I exist to no one’s end.

And my story has little to do with their story, other than the fact that my cloud or the water in my river or—whathaveyou—happen to merge or bump or touch at some place or another.

On form

In English, nature, Writing on September 23, 2010 at 7:13 pm

I used to baffle myself thinking about artists who seemed unconcerned with form. Or rather, when I saw something that should have otherwise been a decent piece of art, I wondered why authors and painters and musicians and sculptors chose to degrade their creations by stepping out of character or—short of that—why they failed to recognize these certain things. I wondered how they could be so arrogant or blind or distasteful or ignorant. It was infuriating, really, to see such potential squandered because someone didn’t have the right eye or—short of that—someone didn’t have the right person advising them or—short of that—someone didn’t the wherewithal to recognize a good piece of advice.

Many who I quarreled this point with argued that the beauty of these works were in their imperfections, that beauty—in its nature, they argued—is only obvious because it’s so rare.

I saw such points as cop outs.

There’s so many imperfect things already, why give us one more.

* * * *

I realize now that form doesn’t exist in nature—it’s a construct and to deconstruct a construct it is to thrust oneself forth into a gaping paradoxical abyss.

I realize now that art, in its purest form, has no form because it has no nature except to be that—of nature, and nature is a formless, directionless, irrational beast. To control her, to understand her, to predict her—fruitless. To even try is as ignorant as it is stupid.

That’s the truth.

More on Gray Matter

In nature, What people are on September 16, 2010 at 8:23 pm

In the theme of grays, if there’s a line between what we deem to be sane and insane, it is both thin and blurry and—more often than not—a product of whether or not we deem action or person to be productive or counter-productive.

A counter-product, inhibition, threat, or malcontent that hears voices in his head has a severe psychological disorder, often forcibly treated with medicine. A product, story, artist that hears voices in his head is creative or inspired.

Sympathy, we believe, is intimately appreciating others’ thoughts, feelings, emotions—a sure sign of sanity. But we sympathize through inner-dialogue, questioning how we might react if in others’ shoes. This inner dialogue, no doubt, is only voices in our head.

And furthermore, sympathy is not conditional to the other—it’s only based on our own personal experience. So, if sympathy involves unadulterated understanding, it’s surely impossible unto itself, since no two people ever experience the exact same set of conditions.

So, in that sense, someone who truly believes himself to be sympathetic must lack a level of rationality that allows him to appreciate his life is different from all others’—therefore, someone who believes himself to truly be sympathetic in this sense is out of touch with reality, quite literally insane.

Selfishness, we believe, is a social disorder, not sharing toys, pushing other people around because they just so happen to be in the way. But selfishness is nothing but the expression of doing what’s best for oneself—surely an instinct in the spirit of the strongest will survive. If we do something that’s perceived as selfless—or, at very least, not selfish—we do it because we view it as ultimately good for us, because we want our progeny to live in a better world where their opportunities to better our genes are better than our chances were.

Or, more simply, we do good because it feels good.

So, truly, someone who acts selflessly in the face of good or survival is essentially going against what it must truly mean to exist.

And what is that, if it is not insanity?

…and I feel like I’ve mentioned all of this before…

A Lesson on Grammar

In English, Language, nature, What people are on December 18, 2009 at 4:22 am

In English, an obviative form of a verb is used to differentiate two otherwise ambiguous third-person pronouns.  For instance, the sentence “Melanie borrowed Linda’s car” can be expressed as “She borrowed her car,” or even more ambiguous, “Melanie likes what Linda likes” can be expressed as “She likes what she likes.”  So, an obviative form would likely be a marker—some sort of affix—used to differentiate “she” from “her” or “she” from “she.”

Of course, in English we don’t have an obviative form.  We allow for the ambiguity, relying on the speaker—or writer—to avoid using pronouns in ambiguous situations.  So, for the cost of a single, extra rule of grammar, we pay by having a limitation imposed on the language.

The reason I bring this up—other than to show that English has its limitations—is to point out that we have words in English that exist only as a means to express things we don’t do.

“Obviative” is an English word that describes something we don’t do in English.

I use this to illustrate the fact that, while there are plenty of things that we do that don’t make sense, there, too, are plenty of things we don’t do that do make sense.  But we still don’t do them.

In both cases, change comes with rationality.  Or reality.

Or a gentle prod from someone who cares.

Seven Days

In Dreams, Imagination, nature, What people are on December 11, 2009 at 9:07 pm

On the first day of July, a baby was born, beautiful blue eyes blinking before he’d even breached.  The only sound he ever made was a faint grunt, as if coming to a conclusion after ruling out a number of less likely possibilities.

On the second day of July, a toddler taught himself to walk by mimicking the sky’s clouds that galloped passed his nursery window.  His bounding gait taught others how to dance and proved to birds that it was possible to fly.

On the third day of July, a frumpish little boy walked along a black sand beach along the north fork of the Isle of Man, staring over the water at the water color, rainbow sunset.  The gentle breeze whispered sweetly a song of praise, a psalm, an anecdote, advice on how to grow up, how to be a father an uncle and a brother.  The frumpish little boy grinned and spit into the sea.

On the fourth day of July, an awkward teen fumbled through his clothes, looking for a lock or a clasp or a hinge or a knot.  Although he had never seen it with his own eyes, he knew it was there, which is why he stumbled, stammered, paused, or blushed.

On the fifth day of July, a young adult made his bed.  He folded the corners and tucked the sheets, he fluffed the pillows and replaced the comforter.  He stood back, looking upon that which had created and realized that, in reality, he had not actually made anything; rather, he had simply reorganized what had already been.

On the sixth day of July, a man sat on his couch, reflective of his life thus far.  He remembered the good times, yes, but he also considered all of the wasted hours and how fast it all seemed.  He wondered if there was something that he was missing or if this was really it.

On the seventh day of July, an octogenarian stubbed his toe, yelled a curse, and was struck down, dead by the god he swore he never believed in.

I attempt to prove the existence of reality

In Dreams, English, Imagination, Language, nature, What people are on October 8, 2009 at 5:03 pm

I think, therefore I am.

I am, therefore I do.

I do, therefore I act.

I act, therefore things happen.

Things happen, therefore things change.

Things change, therefore there exists something outside myself.

There exists something outside myself, therefore I am not alone.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.