Well, first, allow me to update the rest of the France section. After day one, I woke up by myself and walked over to the Musee D'Orsee (I think this is the spelling). This was, overall, one of the better museums I had gone to thus far on the trip. There was good representation from many of the artists I enjoy, especially the impressionists....saw paintings by Van Gogh, Gauguin, Pissarro, Monet, Rembrandt, and a card-catalogue's worth of other painters with whom I wasn't familiar. The crowning achievement of the D'Orsee was their sculpture collection, however, which was vast. One of the the ticket packages included a sculpture garden with works by Rodin, and I was disappointed that when I attempted to purchase said package I was denied as too much time had allegedly passed in the day. Happily, however, there was a good share of Rodin as well as countless other sculptors in the regular portions of the museum.
After that I wandered around aimlessly South of the Seine river, which divides Paris into two halves. I randomly stumbled upon Notre Dame, which was fortunate because I had forgotten that it was present in Paris at this point and probably would not have seen it otherwise. This cathedral was stunning, staggering. I managed to leave there just a little before the good part of the sunset, so at least the light was dynamic for a few of my photos of the place. It's very strange though, walking along the tourist-portioned sections along the perimeters of the cathedral, all while regular Catholic services are going on for the people within the velvet rope barriers. It feels like the tourist presence is incredibly obtrusive, and I'm not quite certain how the regular church patrons (as well as diocese) put up with all the flashing lights and muffled footsteps crashing about their place of worship at all hours. Even for as majestic as that church is, the rampant tourism of the place rather cheapened the experience of going there. I stayed for a bit of the service and then left when I felt overwhelmed. It's a powerful place; there is no escaping the vibrations of their pipe organ.
The next day I wandered up to the train station to purchase my ticket to Amsterdam, because I needed to book it beforehand to reserve space. This put me up by Montmartre, so I took in some of the sights there. Sacre Coure is an amazing chapel on the pinpoint top of a steep hill, and when you get up to the top of it you not only have an amazing tour of a chapel - which, if not rivaling Notre Dame, at least comes close – but also an amazing panoramic view of all of Southern Paris. There are people littered all over the grassier parts of the hill, as well as musicians playing harps and guitars and various scammers and schemers trying to rope people in to purchasing small bits of colored string by using basic psychological principles. I'm really glad I made it to this spot. Afterwards, I walked down through Montmartre and got a coffee at the cafe in which Amelie was shot. It looked drastically different from it's representation in the movie, but they certainly capitalize on the marketing involved in being associated with a blockbuster movie~
On my last day in Paris I woke up, said goodbye to the people I had met at the hostel, and walked over to the Louvre. This museum was too much, literally. If I had a week of exploring it I would perhaps then come close to seeing the majority of their art. Instead, you have to be very selective about where and what you intend to see, because the crowds are incredibly daunting, both slowing you down in between exhibits and speeding you up to the point where you cannot comfortable observe a painting for more than ten seconds without feeling as though you are causing a bottlenecking of the crowd behind you. At least, this was the case in the Denon wing, which is where most of the famous paintings (Mona Lisa, etc) are. I hit this spot first because I knew the crowds would be smaller early in the morning...I didn't go back later but I imagine that they were daunting (at best) in the afternoon. Then I toured through various cultural sections, ending in the Louvre sculpture gardens. I had thought that the D'Orsee had an intimidating sculpture collection, but the Louvre put it to shame (mostly older pieces, but still.) I spent far too long here, and ended up leaving the museum right after in order to make it back to the train station for the Amsterdam rail.
September 14, 2010
September 9, 2010
Paris
Arriving in Paris was a shitstorm. I may have forgotten to mention that while I was in London, they decided to have a rail-strike which made traveling around the city somewhat difficult for the last two days that I was there. The train to Paris was still running luckily, but aside from that, not much. Fast forward to Paris....I arrive and the exact same thing is going on here. Basically on the same days, just pushed out perfectly to fuck with me the maximum amount. I tried to laugh about it at first, but then it became less and less funny when all the hostels and hotels within a kilometer of the rail station had either been booked up by people screwed over waiting for their trains, or other usual travelers such as myself who arrived early enough to score them. After a very frustrating march around Montmartre looking for a spot to sleep, I returned to the train station resolute to just sleep there, but even that is not allowed apparently as there is not much space for it.
So, I went nearby and started asking around about places to stay, finally hearing about a little youth hostel by the Louvre which had rooms available. It was over a mile away and already 11:30 PM, but fuck it, I said to myself, I'm going to walk there with the backpack and all. That went decently enough for about ten minutes, until it started to rain, and then soon after started to pour. I hate blowing money unnecessarily, but at this point I hailed a taxi to get to the spot. The driver spoke not one word of English, which was fantastic for me, as you can imagine. Also, taxi drivers in Paris? Extremely slow.
Eventually I made it to the hostel and calmed down enough to relax and fall asleep. The next day I woke up and met a few good people in the hostel...Santiago, from Argentina, and Vout, a professional-caliber pole-vaulter and track-and-field athlete from Holland. These guys were awesome, and conveniently had not yet done much in the city. We embarked first to a cemetery which Vout's father had told him to visit, the 'Cimitiere du Pere Lachaise', which was, at least as far into the Paris stay as I am currently, the coolest thing I have done here. It was ridiculously mind-blowing. First off, it is devastatingly huge. Secondly, every grave and tomb is an absolute piece of art, and about half or more are gigantic. I have somewhere on the order of 50 pictures just from the time we spent there. Lastly, there are a whole host of famous people buried there. We did not figure this out until we stumbled upon Chopin's grave, which was basically covered in fresh-cut flowers from all of his adoring contemporary fans. Later we found a map and sought out the graves of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, and Marcel Proust. Obviously I was the one making the calls on which ones we saw~
Then we hopped on a bus and rolled out across the city, seeing a bunch of landmarks just from the windows there. We got out at the Eiffel Tower, and walked all over from there, basically all the way back to our hostel by the Louvre. We saw many huge buildings with amazing architecture, as well as the Arc de Triomphe, Napoleon's Tomb, the Grand and Petite Palais(es?), and Champs Elysees (basically a street, but it has a lot of cred around here for tourists). When we got back to the hostel we relaxed a bit and then went out for food and debauchery, roping in some girls and guys as we went, and had a blast on the town although much of it was spent wandering around on drunken goose-chases for trendy bars which may or may not have existed. Overall a great time.
Today is now the next day, and I've done some stuff, but I'd rather stop writing for now and recharge a bit. Will upload some photos from this section when I get more moments. Also, these entries are going to be extremely sporadic because I am having extreme difficulty with internets out here....most places charge for it, and even when I find a free network the EeePC has serious problems when it comes to connecting. I hope this changes in the next few countries.
Au revoir~
Monsoir Mautchez
So, I went nearby and started asking around about places to stay, finally hearing about a little youth hostel by the Louvre which had rooms available. It was over a mile away and already 11:30 PM, but fuck it, I said to myself, I'm going to walk there with the backpack and all. That went decently enough for about ten minutes, until it started to rain, and then soon after started to pour. I hate blowing money unnecessarily, but at this point I hailed a taxi to get to the spot. The driver spoke not one word of English, which was fantastic for me, as you can imagine. Also, taxi drivers in Paris? Extremely slow.
Eventually I made it to the hostel and calmed down enough to relax and fall asleep. The next day I woke up and met a few good people in the hostel...Santiago, from Argentina, and Vout, a professional-caliber pole-vaulter and track-and-field athlete from Holland. These guys were awesome, and conveniently had not yet done much in the city. We embarked first to a cemetery which Vout's father had told him to visit, the 'Cimitiere du Pere Lachaise', which was, at least as far into the Paris stay as I am currently, the coolest thing I have done here. It was ridiculously mind-blowing. First off, it is devastatingly huge. Secondly, every grave and tomb is an absolute piece of art, and about half or more are gigantic. I have somewhere on the order of 50 pictures just from the time we spent there. Lastly, there are a whole host of famous people buried there. We did not figure this out until we stumbled upon Chopin's grave, which was basically covered in fresh-cut flowers from all of his adoring contemporary fans. Later we found a map and sought out the graves of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, and Marcel Proust. Obviously I was the one making the calls on which ones we saw~
Then we hopped on a bus and rolled out across the city, seeing a bunch of landmarks just from the windows there. We got out at the Eiffel Tower, and walked all over from there, basically all the way back to our hostel by the Louvre. We saw many huge buildings with amazing architecture, as well as the Arc de Triomphe, Napoleon's Tomb, the Grand and Petite Palais(es?), and Champs Elysees (basically a street, but it has a lot of cred around here for tourists). When we got back to the hostel we relaxed a bit and then went out for food and debauchery, roping in some girls and guys as we went, and had a blast on the town although much of it was spent wandering around on drunken goose-chases for trendy bars which may or may not have existed. Overall a great time.
Today is now the next day, and I've done some stuff, but I'd rather stop writing for now and recharge a bit. Will upload some photos from this section when I get more moments. Also, these entries are going to be extremely sporadic because I am having extreme difficulty with internets out here....most places charge for it, and even when I find a free network the EeePC has serious problems when it comes to connecting. I hope this changes in the next few countries.
Au revoir~
Monsoir Mautchez
More of London
Well, how about an update on how the rest of London went? Let me start at the beginning. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Buttercup is marrying Humperdink in about chalf an hour.
To begin with, my entrance into London was somewhat remarkable, as I thought that they might throw me out the proverbial gates and send me back home without a trip under my belt. When I got in line for customs or entrance or whatever you call the passport check, I was directed to a man who would be best described as somewhere in the spectrum between mildly upset and downright surly. It was as though someone ran over his beloved dog the night before.
When I got up to the window he began drilling me with questions, most of which I had no legitimate answer for. Mind you, it is his job to look out for suspicious behavior; I don't believe that I was acting suspiciously in the least. My usual chipper self after a red-eye flight, which took some effort. He asked me where I was staying since I hadn't written it in on the card. I told him that I didn't know yet; my friends were out of town and I hadn't felt comfortable booking a hostel sight-unseen, since I knew of a few that were in the same general area. Agent did not like this. Then he asked me for proof that I was leaving his country sometime soon (what a jerk), and I told him that I was flying back from Madrid but that I didn't have a hard copy of the ticket on my person. Agent did not like this. I told him that I was taking the Eurostar to France in less than a week, which I also had not yet booked. Apparently I am a shadow with no evidence. They do not like this.
He also asked me a barrage of other uncomfortable questions, such as how much hard currency I had on me ($30 US), and how much was in the checking account which I was planning on accessing from ATM's, as well as whether or not I had any proof of the reported sum. Agent did not like that I had none of this. But, in the end, my charming demeanor won out and he let me into England with a bit of a lecture.
Jerk.
After that minor hiccup, things went much more smoothly. I found a great hostel, met some cool people from South Africa and Australia, and then proceeded to do a variety of things that normal tourists go do, and some that they do not. I visited the British Museum, which was amazing. They have the Rosetta Stone, etc, and some of the most detail-oriented recovered art and metalwork which I have ever borne witness to. I walked along some good areas: Trafalgar Sq (where I stumbled upon a very unlikely poker-event where I got to play a few free games for prizes), Piccadilly Circus (no lions or bears, just breakdancers), Hyde Park (Speaker's Corner has been bastardized and was a huge letdown, but the park is beautiful), and Camden Market which was an amazing collection of people and booths/stables/stores selling just about any item or food which you could desire.....imagine all the open-air markets in Oregon and Washington all smashed into one area~
I also went to the Science Museum, which for how general a name it has was quite good. They have a great interactive psychology exhibit which was mentally accessible and challenging for both 5-year olds and 27-year olds. I don't know where to put the hyphen when I type ages. Additionally I met up with my South African friends at the Tate Modern (art museum), which was just about the most spectacular art museum I have witnessed. They have loads of amazing surrealistic and progressive art that I had never seen before, even in photos. It was a crash-course in a whole movement of painting and sculpture. Nearby I went to the Globe Theatre (Shakespeare y'all), but refused to pay seventeen pounds to tour it's meager interior regions. Ah well.
Lastly I met up with Will and Ilana when they got back from Paris, and took a train out to Birmingham (pronounced birmin-gum) with them, which is where Will lives now while working at Oxford. I wrestled with the iPhone issue for awhile and probably just made it worse (might not even work when I get back to the states, now...), but then we went and got some astoundingly-delicious curry at an Indian restaurant close-by their art-deco apartment. We also grabbed a pint at a quaint local pub which looked more like an tea-shop than a bar...it looks like they have a good neighborhood. We played some games, and Will, who is a gentleman and a scholar, did me the favor of lending me his iPod and a phone which can make use of the SIM card which I bought. Thanks dude; they have been a big help.
Etc, etc; then I went to Paris which is where I write this from. I'll save that whole thing for another entry. Photos you ask? Why yes, I did take a few hundred. I might try to upload later but for now, it is le hassle.
To begin with, my entrance into London was somewhat remarkable, as I thought that they might throw me out the proverbial gates and send me back home without a trip under my belt. When I got in line for customs or entrance or whatever you call the passport check, I was directed to a man who would be best described as somewhere in the spectrum between mildly upset and downright surly. It was as though someone ran over his beloved dog the night before.
When I got up to the window he began drilling me with questions, most of which I had no legitimate answer for. Mind you, it is his job to look out for suspicious behavior; I don't believe that I was acting suspiciously in the least. My usual chipper self after a red-eye flight, which took some effort. He asked me where I was staying since I hadn't written it in on the card. I told him that I didn't know yet; my friends were out of town and I hadn't felt comfortable booking a hostel sight-unseen, since I knew of a few that were in the same general area. Agent did not like this. Then he asked me for proof that I was leaving his country sometime soon (what a jerk), and I told him that I was flying back from Madrid but that I didn't have a hard copy of the ticket on my person. Agent did not like this. I told him that I was taking the Eurostar to France in less than a week, which I also had not yet booked. Apparently I am a shadow with no evidence. They do not like this.
He also asked me a barrage of other uncomfortable questions, such as how much hard currency I had on me ($30 US), and how much was in the checking account which I was planning on accessing from ATM's, as well as whether or not I had any proof of the reported sum. Agent did not like that I had none of this. But, in the end, my charming demeanor won out and he let me into England with a bit of a lecture.
Jerk.
After that minor hiccup, things went much more smoothly. I found a great hostel, met some cool people from South Africa and Australia, and then proceeded to do a variety of things that normal tourists go do, and some that they do not. I visited the British Museum, which was amazing. They have the Rosetta Stone, etc, and some of the most detail-oriented recovered art and metalwork which I have ever borne witness to. I walked along some good areas: Trafalgar Sq (where I stumbled upon a very unlikely poker-event where I got to play a few free games for prizes), Piccadilly Circus (no lions or bears, just breakdancers), Hyde Park (Speaker's Corner has been bastardized and was a huge letdown, but the park is beautiful), and Camden Market which was an amazing collection of people and booths/stables/stores selling just about any item or food which you could desire.....imagine all the open-air markets in Oregon and Washington all smashed into one area~
I also went to the Science Museum, which for how general a name it has was quite good. They have a great interactive psychology exhibit which was mentally accessible and challenging for both 5-year olds and 27-year olds. I don't know where to put the hyphen when I type ages. Additionally I met up with my South African friends at the Tate Modern (art museum), which was just about the most spectacular art museum I have witnessed. They have loads of amazing surrealistic and progressive art that I had never seen before, even in photos. It was a crash-course in a whole movement of painting and sculpture. Nearby I went to the Globe Theatre (Shakespeare y'all), but refused to pay seventeen pounds to tour it's meager interior regions. Ah well.
Lastly I met up with Will and Ilana when they got back from Paris, and took a train out to Birmingham (pronounced birmin-gum) with them, which is where Will lives now while working at Oxford. I wrestled with the iPhone issue for awhile and probably just made it worse (might not even work when I get back to the states, now...), but then we went and got some astoundingly-delicious curry at an Indian restaurant close-by their art-deco apartment. We also grabbed a pint at a quaint local pub which looked more like an tea-shop than a bar...it looks like they have a good neighborhood. We played some games, and Will, who is a gentleman and a scholar, did me the favor of lending me his iPod and a phone which can make use of the SIM card which I bought. Thanks dude; they have been a big help.
Etc, etc; then I went to Paris which is where I write this from. I'll save that whole thing for another entry. Photos you ask? Why yes, I did take a few hundred. I might try to upload later but for now, it is le hassle.
September 6, 2010
9/3/10 - London
It is ridiculous how discombobulated one becomes while traveling. You never really feel 'on top' of your game, because the ground is shifting underneath you so often and you have vastly fewer resources at your disposal. It's difficult to feel 100% at a bar when you've been wearing the same clothes for the past two days, your hair is wind-tossed, and you haven't really cleaned yourself up for some hours because you've been on the go from place to place (none of them home) and all the bathrooms in the progressive country which you are in have adopted air hand-dryers - which sound like planes taking off - instead of paper towels. I never really have any privacy, either, which is annoying. I'm always feeling rushed when doing things that need done...checking the internet on the hostel computers, taking showers, using the sink in the room to brush teeth, shave, etc. Having other people around ALL the time is really a pain.
On top of that, perhaps the phone which you've taken with you and which used to work with your old SIM card in America has decided to reject the new one you've gotten for international calls, and reject it so HARD that it crashes and leaves you unable to use any of the functions which it used to perform, including being your sole source of all the music which you love and were planning on listening to in various exotic scenarios. You'd probably know how to fix it if you had your laptop here, but instead you have a little plastic one which is running an extremely obscure operating system which you haven't even come close to figuring out (I seriously can't even find a readout of how much battery is left, which is really important information to have), and which also coincidentally refuses to connect to any wi-fi networks which you instruct it to.
So that's where my day is at so far. I decided to be less upset and just take the subway to the Science Museum, which, for being as general of a museum name as possible, was actually quite well executed. Interactivity + Science = Success, at least in the museum world. The Exploratorium in SF knows what I'm talking about. Also, all the museums here are as free as watching the dingy-coloured (spelling what? it's correct here) birds which amble all over the sidewalks, so that's a nice touch. Actually, for having as expensive of a reputation as London does, I think I am doing quite well on expenditures here. 16 pounds a night for the hostel bed, and beyond that maybe 10 or 15 a day for food so far, plus 7 for transportation. Well, I thought I was doing well until I did the math on the currency conversion just now. Regardless, I'm spending significantly less than I did in New York (I think). I haven't really been drinking here, though, so I imagine that the probability of the damage approaching critical hit levels is high if I begin doing that. Luckily I have a saving throw for having a bunch of writing to accomplish.
Science Museum
On the positive side as well, my worst-snoring-from-a-roommate-ever hostel experience had me lying awake in bed for a little while, and I came up with some good progress (in my head) on my writing project. I feel like I haven't devoted practically any time to it at all so far, being busy with sightseeing and meeting people and eating, etc.
So, lately has been a series of mixed emotions about things...HOWEVER even with all this said I am still swinging with a +3 bonus on account of being in a new city, a new country, and being exposed to all the refreshing differences on large and small scales. Hopefully as I get more accustomed to being a traveler I will either develop techniques which will eliminate a lot of these discomforts, or I will just get used to them and consider them necessary evils. Although, it is TOTALLY not necessary for my iPhone to have bricked. Come on travel gods.
Oh, also, I missed my hostel's included breakfast because I don't have an alarm on account of the phone thing, but I got This instead:
Nomz.
On top of that, perhaps the phone which you've taken with you and which used to work with your old SIM card in America has decided to reject the new one you've gotten for international calls, and reject it so HARD that it crashes and leaves you unable to use any of the functions which it used to perform, including being your sole source of all the music which you love and were planning on listening to in various exotic scenarios. You'd probably know how to fix it if you had your laptop here, but instead you have a little plastic one which is running an extremely obscure operating system which you haven't even come close to figuring out (I seriously can't even find a readout of how much battery is left, which is really important information to have), and which also coincidentally refuses to connect to any wi-fi networks which you instruct it to.
So that's where my day is at so far. I decided to be less upset and just take the subway to the Science Museum, which, for being as general of a museum name as possible, was actually quite well executed. Interactivity + Science = Success, at least in the museum world. The Exploratorium in SF knows what I'm talking about. Also, all the museums here are as free as watching the dingy-coloured (spelling what? it's correct here) birds which amble all over the sidewalks, so that's a nice touch. Actually, for having as expensive of a reputation as London does, I think I am doing quite well on expenditures here. 16 pounds a night for the hostel bed, and beyond that maybe 10 or 15 a day for food so far, plus 7 for transportation. Well, I thought I was doing well until I did the math on the currency conversion just now. Regardless, I'm spending significantly less than I did in New York (I think). I haven't really been drinking here, though, so I imagine that the probability of the damage approaching critical hit levels is high if I begin doing that. Luckily I have a saving throw for having a bunch of writing to accomplish.
Science Museum
On the positive side as well, my worst-snoring-from-a-roommate-ever hostel experience had me lying awake in bed for a little while, and I came up with some good progress (in my head) on my writing project. I feel like I haven't devoted practically any time to it at all so far, being busy with sightseeing and meeting people and eating, etc.
So, lately has been a series of mixed emotions about things...HOWEVER even with all this said I am still swinging with a +3 bonus on account of being in a new city, a new country, and being exposed to all the refreshing differences on large and small scales. Hopefully as I get more accustomed to being a traveler I will either develop techniques which will eliminate a lot of these discomforts, or I will just get used to them and consider them necessary evils. Although, it is TOTALLY not necessary for my iPhone to have bricked. Come on travel gods.
Oh, also, I missed my hostel's included breakfast because I don't have an alarm on account of the phone thing, but I got This instead:
Nomz.
July 24, 2010
Dissolve
I am sitting at the Rocking Frog, knowing that I should sit here and write yet desirous (after listening again to the Tai Chi interview) of moving my body throughout the world, just to experience the connection with my motions and explore my awareness of them on various levels. Also, however, I begin to realize, to have dawn upon me, the importance of sitting still. When motionless, your body has less to focus on, and the movements of your mind become more accessible to you. The tendrils of thought, reaching out and feeling/filtering the world and your experience of it. I say not that static is necessary for attainment of mind-presence, but that meditative thought can be a tool to help you acknowledge which directions your mind gravitates towards, and how forcefully or stubbornly it travels. This can also be the state for slight adjustments, using your presence within this usually-shrouded process to tweak your own neural pathways and reactions.
Additionally, this helps me to grasp something which I have had some curiosity about for some time now, which is ritual motions and sounds. Beta waves, caressing the brain; tribal chants, unlocking depths of perception; walking and running meditations, pacing your thoughts differently than they might have drummed upon you before. These are all....unusual...for lack of a better. They, like drugs, remove you from the stagnant tar-pits of routine into which we all sink for majorities of our time. Challenging the mind...taking it out of expectation – from solid ground to quicksand. When you are displaced, you must think on your feet....and what better way to prepare for any possible future than displacing yourself as much as possible, adapting to all terrains?
Something about a tribal chant...removing the individual from himself, removing accountability and identity, unshackling from the body and expanding into the far-reaching pulses of sound, and beyond them even the silent world. When one's self is already dissolved into sound, you see, a significant portion of the bridge between self and nothingness has already been traversed. Can you imagine what that is like? What a liberating, frightening experience that must be?
Hopefully we all experience something so liberating, by degrees, in our own lifetimes. But with society as fractured as it currently is, I find it hard to believe that we could experience it with the same authenticity as a tribe might have. Being a part of that movement, of that sound-generation, in which the barriers between individuals completely dissipate and you become a singular unity...I can't for the life of me imagine what that would be like. I want to.
Additionally, this helps me to grasp something which I have had some curiosity about for some time now, which is ritual motions and sounds. Beta waves, caressing the brain; tribal chants, unlocking depths of perception; walking and running meditations, pacing your thoughts differently than they might have drummed upon you before. These are all....unusual...for lack of a better. They, like drugs, remove you from the stagnant tar-pits of routine into which we all sink for majorities of our time. Challenging the mind...taking it out of expectation – from solid ground to quicksand. When you are displaced, you must think on your feet....and what better way to prepare for any possible future than displacing yourself as much as possible, adapting to all terrains?
Something about a tribal chant...removing the individual from himself, removing accountability and identity, unshackling from the body and expanding into the far-reaching pulses of sound, and beyond them even the silent world. When one's self is already dissolved into sound, you see, a significant portion of the bridge between self and nothingness has already been traversed. Can you imagine what that is like? What a liberating, frightening experience that must be?
Hopefully we all experience something so liberating, by degrees, in our own lifetimes. But with society as fractured as it currently is, I find it hard to believe that we could experience it with the same authenticity as a tribe might have. Being a part of that movement, of that sound-generation, in which the barriers between individuals completely dissipate and you become a singular unity...I can't for the life of me imagine what that would be like. I want to.
July 14, 2010
Neutral Jing
What has been on my mind lately? I've become so distanced from the process of writing...I used to have such a reign of what my mind was processing from day to day, recording, remembering. But now, on the brink of this trip, I feel like I have been exercising the privileges of being social, blowing off my own creative work in an effort to spend time with people before leaving them for an indeterminate portion of time. I'm having thoughts, certainly, but somehow they become shattered by the frantic schedule I'm keeping...not having a good sit to sift through them, they become so pummeled by the constant flood of sensations that they are unrecognizable when I come back around to thinking about them, and I forget where I might have left off. What I was headed toward. What emotions I was spun up in when I first pioneered them. Without vigilance regarding these things, it becomes very difficult to trace a thread throughout one's thoughts...to keep a procession, instead of slipping in rank. I follow my thoughts from A to G, but then distance myself from them for a time. When I come back to them, I have a vague semblance of what G might have entailed, but it loses all context and meaning if I don't have the foundations of E and F still firm underneath it. Thus I regress back beyond the last achievement, resting perhaps at C, and must push forth again towards the distances. In the meantime, though, all my motivations have changed, and the G which I may reach is distinctly different from the G which I previously excavated. A troubling business, this 'thought'.
Overall, I'm pleased with how whimsical the world and my mind are when they orbit one another. Things come up which I could not have foreseen; any moment can occasion an explosion of personality or philosophy. It is bothersome, however, to acknowledge that I have no idea what a particular trigger might be or look like. There are such moments when I am caught up in a social circle, and something strikes offhanded, some flash or coincidence on my peripheral vision. I thoughtlessly acknowledge it, but being social requires a constant 'group' presence, a mask, and in pursuit of this I abandon the distinct subjectivity of such glimmers. I may club and drag them back to my tribe, but in doing so I alter them differently than if I were to be alone observing them...I turn them on their head for comedic effect, I dilute them for the masses and exploit some simplicity of what might have been a great concept had I pursued it on my own or in the company of genuine discourse. Occasionally I feel the charlatanry of this process, and I feel somewhat shamed, diminished by it.
Lately I have been running in packs. This is an oddity for me...I'm used to being around a single other person, or perhaps two. The dynamics of these situations are notably dintinct...the broachable topics being drastically different in varying degrees of severity. With a lone companion, one can talk about anything one wants...still the topic will find itself fair game. It may be shot down, evaded for the purposes of comfort, but it will at least find attention and acknowledgment. I miss having an intelligent girlfriend. It's too hard to bring such things up in group discussion, or especially in party-scenarios where one must constantly keep pace with the fluid dance of many partners, many conversations which ideally should be so simple (yet clever!) that others can easily drift in and out of them at their moment's pleasure. I've never been tops at this simplistic cleverness. I am somewhat in awe of those who are~ I lack those razor-sharp, caustic, fervent tendencies...I gravitate, generate, slowly roll into presence like a timpani. I'm beginning to think it has to do with different dispersals of energy...separate and chosen (if unconsciously) types of expression. I am learning from these quick-witted types; I can switch this on if I need to. It feels inauthentic, to me, and I doubt that I could keep it up for long stretches....this conversational sprint. But it is there, a tool at my disposal, and I notice how it alters situations, how it commands. I feel the heat and the power of this clearly incendiary technique. I could not burn like this for long - my hourglass turns - I require respite, shelter. I am mostly sorcerer, but augmented with warrior tendencies at my reserve.
Overall, I'm pleased with how whimsical the world and my mind are when they orbit one another. Things come up which I could not have foreseen; any moment can occasion an explosion of personality or philosophy. It is bothersome, however, to acknowledge that I have no idea what a particular trigger might be or look like. There are such moments when I am caught up in a social circle, and something strikes offhanded, some flash or coincidence on my peripheral vision. I thoughtlessly acknowledge it, but being social requires a constant 'group' presence, a mask, and in pursuit of this I abandon the distinct subjectivity of such glimmers. I may club and drag them back to my tribe, but in doing so I alter them differently than if I were to be alone observing them...I turn them on their head for comedic effect, I dilute them for the masses and exploit some simplicity of what might have been a great concept had I pursued it on my own or in the company of genuine discourse. Occasionally I feel the charlatanry of this process, and I feel somewhat shamed, diminished by it.
Lately I have been running in packs. This is an oddity for me...I'm used to being around a single other person, or perhaps two. The dynamics of these situations are notably dintinct...the broachable topics being drastically different in varying degrees of severity. With a lone companion, one can talk about anything one wants...still the topic will find itself fair game. It may be shot down, evaded for the purposes of comfort, but it will at least find attention and acknowledgment. I miss having an intelligent girlfriend. It's too hard to bring such things up in group discussion, or especially in party-scenarios where one must constantly keep pace with the fluid dance of many partners, many conversations which ideally should be so simple (yet clever!) that others can easily drift in and out of them at their moment's pleasure. I've never been tops at this simplistic cleverness. I am somewhat in awe of those who are~ I lack those razor-sharp, caustic, fervent tendencies...I gravitate, generate, slowly roll into presence like a timpani. I'm beginning to think it has to do with different dispersals of energy...separate and chosen (if unconsciously) types of expression. I am learning from these quick-witted types; I can switch this on if I need to. It feels inauthentic, to me, and I doubt that I could keep it up for long stretches....this conversational sprint. But it is there, a tool at my disposal, and I notice how it alters situations, how it commands. I feel the heat and the power of this clearly incendiary technique. I could not burn like this for long - my hourglass turns - I require respite, shelter. I am mostly sorcerer, but augmented with warrior tendencies at my reserve.
June 26, 2010
Some Things I am Excited About
I may not have updated everyone recently...I am quitting the job and traveling for an indeterminate period of time. Holy shit, right? Before you go and worry yourselves, this has been a long time coming...if you've read anything that I've written here, or know me as a person in general, you probably have the sense that 'jobs' and I do not get along in the most idyllic form of camaraderie. We just don't see eye to eye. I dislike being lorded over and told specifically what to do with my time, and they dislike being disobeyed and made a secondary priority amidst the many facets of any given life. Yobs are supposed to be function, to be purpose! Why does Matt dislike us so?
I don't feel the need to explain myself, because I feel that 80% of my friends are sympathetic, working jobs such that they can survive comfortably as opposed to harshly, garnering responsibility...everything we are instructed to revere. At any rate, I find myself excited to take a portion of time off, to stir my life around and agitate the potencies which have settled and lie dormant at present. This is one of my focii as I bound about - to figure out a better mode of life, of reasoning which still supports me but which compromises less of my being and my intended existence/expression in the meantime. This is a monstrous task, but it also has the charm of being an enjoyable one....juggling possible extensions and iterations of myself, finding one which I am most comfortable with but which also allows a more thorough and justified presence of mind, streaming the incantations which I desire most to express.
To travel: here I come. After much deliberation (months) and funding (years) and waiting (decades), I have settled upon a position of "fuck it" regarding my finances as they stand now, and purposefully select the option wherein I discharge all my hard currency into Europe's disastrous economic situation in an effort to bolster it in my own meager way. Also, this will include me receiving many places to stay and transportation to and fro and delicacies heretofore unknown by my domestic palate. Kind of a perk, right? Just doing my best to help out the economy.
Travels as planned: ~3 months. New York, England, France, Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, Italy, Spain. Bouncing here and there, with the exception of Italy which will be a 3 or 4-week stint (more on this in a second). Finally the excitement is eclipsing the nervousness, and I feel like my mind will have entire worlds and perspectives to absorb, and hopefully an equal or greater amount to output based on this input. That's right; much of this is an artistic journey, with the aim of exploding my mind into a million pieces, energy which I hope to use to construct many a work of fiction. Also, there will be sightseeing and friendship-forging and exploration of offbeat paths.
Italy. I am staying at a monastery here for 4 weeks. This will be wonderful, and ideally will give me respite and an opportunity to construct the better portions of a book which I have been playing with ideas of for the last half-year or so. I will have to do a fair amount of work at the monastery, but I feel confident that being in such an atmosphere will allow me to reign in my focus and spend time on my own endeavors. It is, after all, an Art Monastery, basically sieged by paperwork and taken over by a venerable community of artists and flipped into a bed-and-breakfast to pay the bills. There should be other artists of all concentrations working and living there as well, so it will hopefully be an incredibly nourishing and replenishing experience. One point of curiosity is that I will not have a laptop, or at least as presently planned I will not. I've never written anything significant without one; the ability to Ctrl-F and save as different files and research via the internet is always something which I have taken for granted. So, this will be a difficulty which needs to be overcome. Pen and paper are something which I have not tangled with in a long time. One reason I write on a computer is that the keyboard allows me faster documentation of my thoughts, and with my brain behind the stream, that is a very good thing. I'll have to slow my processes down when I'm writing on paper, but hopefully that will be more helpful than hindrance. I imagine my individual thoughts will be more fleshed-out, but I am somewhat worried about losing track of where I was going with the larger themes racing through my head while scribbling away at the minor details. Ah well. I'm sure it will work, one way or another.
Let me know if you'd like me to send you a postcard from somewhere~
I don't feel the need to explain myself, because I feel that 80% of my friends are sympathetic, working jobs such that they can survive comfortably as opposed to harshly, garnering responsibility...everything we are instructed to revere. At any rate, I find myself excited to take a portion of time off, to stir my life around and agitate the potencies which have settled and lie dormant at present. This is one of my focii as I bound about - to figure out a better mode of life, of reasoning which still supports me but which compromises less of my being and my intended existence/expression in the meantime. This is a monstrous task, but it also has the charm of being an enjoyable one....juggling possible extensions and iterations of myself, finding one which I am most comfortable with but which also allows a more thorough and justified presence of mind, streaming the incantations which I desire most to express.
To travel: here I come. After much deliberation (months) and funding (years) and waiting (decades), I have settled upon a position of "fuck it" regarding my finances as they stand now, and purposefully select the option wherein I discharge all my hard currency into Europe's disastrous economic situation in an effort to bolster it in my own meager way. Also, this will include me receiving many places to stay and transportation to and fro and delicacies heretofore unknown by my domestic palate. Kind of a perk, right? Just doing my best to help out the economy.
Travels as planned: ~3 months. New York, England, France, Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, Italy, Spain. Bouncing here and there, with the exception of Italy which will be a 3 or 4-week stint (more on this in a second). Finally the excitement is eclipsing the nervousness, and I feel like my mind will have entire worlds and perspectives to absorb, and hopefully an equal or greater amount to output based on this input. That's right; much of this is an artistic journey, with the aim of exploding my mind into a million pieces, energy which I hope to use to construct many a work of fiction. Also, there will be sightseeing and friendship-forging and exploration of offbeat paths.
Italy. I am staying at a monastery here for 4 weeks. This will be wonderful, and ideally will give me respite and an opportunity to construct the better portions of a book which I have been playing with ideas of for the last half-year or so. I will have to do a fair amount of work at the monastery, but I feel confident that being in such an atmosphere will allow me to reign in my focus and spend time on my own endeavors. It is, after all, an Art Monastery, basically sieged by paperwork and taken over by a venerable community of artists and flipped into a bed-and-breakfast to pay the bills. There should be other artists of all concentrations working and living there as well, so it will hopefully be an incredibly nourishing and replenishing experience. One point of curiosity is that I will not have a laptop, or at least as presently planned I will not. I've never written anything significant without one; the ability to Ctrl-F and save as different files and research via the internet is always something which I have taken for granted. So, this will be a difficulty which needs to be overcome. Pen and paper are something which I have not tangled with in a long time. One reason I write on a computer is that the keyboard allows me faster documentation of my thoughts, and with my brain behind the stream, that is a very good thing. I'll have to slow my processes down when I'm writing on paper, but hopefully that will be more helpful than hindrance. I imagine my individual thoughts will be more fleshed-out, but I am somewhat worried about losing track of where I was going with the larger themes racing through my head while scribbling away at the minor details. Ah well. I'm sure it will work, one way or another.
Let me know if you'd like me to send you a postcard from somewhere~
March 25, 2010
3/25
3/25
how is it that i had coffee this morning, and now my brain decides to go sluggish on me? must be the whiskey. best guess. one would think that the tea here, oolong, would do the job. yet, no. not at all.
where is the merit in appreciation? here i find myself next to a flurry of quick-witted people. i'm not in the mood, myself...not hardly. but since this happens from time to time, i find it worth noting....and the question has popped up in other manifestations, most notably writing and music. art.
what value is there to be found in mere appreciation, aside from production?
must an appreciator tend towards production at some point? or it it enough simply to enjoy, to have no ambitions in particular for themselves? when i started listening to music, when i started reading what i consider to be decent literature, it came about for me that i began to want to produce it, to spin my own wheels and find expression. now, since i am at the point of scribbling here about it, it seems clear that it is becoming ever more important for me.
as i sit here and hear these people, i realize....there is a fine line between well-placed witticisms and obnoxious overstatements, both in word and in personality. there is no accounting for taste, and some people speak because they have to say something, rather than because they have something to say. maybe a little too harsh. at least these kids are eloquent with their wordings....intelligence is denoted, sometimes too enthusiastically but, who is to say what is too much?
the point remains. what becomes of me, of my mind, of my legacy, if i never produce that which i appreciate? doesn't appreciation require an aptitude for the subject matter, and enough of one to be able to separate your own tastes in it from the general stream of possibilities? an area, room to insert personality and idiosyncrasies? and isn't that, when it comes down to it, what really matters in the world of production? can you separate the words aptitude and skill? i suppose you can...but it seems like the path would be much narrower and easy to follow for someone who had a taste, a preexisting identity within the realm of the subject.
so here i am, struggling and giving an attempt at producing. but what if the larger works don't pan? what then? is an attempt which does not manifest in its entirety necessarily a failure? i want to say that it isn't...but perhaps that is more of a security blanket for myself than anything else.
3/28 (continuation)
what of incomplete works? do they have any merit, ideas pursued, if they never morph into their best (and completed, Kant) manifestations? i remember this moment in college, philosophy class, where it was posited that only actions have any value, and anything which remained only in theory or thought had no value in the real world. i remember being incredibly uncomfortable with this idea, especially when applying it to my life, perhaps because i was only a college student at the time and my entire life existed only in theory at that point. what a candle-snuffing restriction, i thought. i personally think that everything is being accounted for, somewhere...which is an interesting concept, because it may feed into the appraisal or rejection of an ego. ego in some circumstances certainly seems justified, such as when the subject has accomplished recognizable and vast compendiums of progress. these people are allowed by society, as a whole, to become....not necessarily arrogant, but perhaps a bit more discerning in terms of what they do and do not choose to acknowledge, to pay attention to. almost everyone agrees that someone who has proven their worth in a certain capacity or function is allowed leniency in other matters, allowed a certain length of artistic distance from the general problems ruling the rest of the equation. workplaces, as well, follow this same pattern, dividing workforce into factions which have unique focii, and then liminal departments or liasons who bridge the gaps between all these diverse fields being concentrated on individually, thereby connecting the gears and allowing oversight, control, and production. so clearly this is a recognizable and respected practice...perhaps it should be allowed those same respects for potential, for people who have not yet manifested but who feel the thunder at their fingertips.
if ego is really composed of these diverse partitions, however, it becomes increasingly hard to stop a person from being forcibly overbearing with their personality....which actually creates elitism, and corrupts the very practices and concepts, poisons the stream from which those future manifestations would spring. the balance is staggering. one must maintain their own lives, and take accountability in full for any collateral damage that acting profoundly, or egotistically, may incur. it would be obnoxious to be egotistical around the clock, but perhaps there are certain times in which it is beneficial and offers a generative effect to be able to disregard certain facets of everyday life.
let's get a fragment more in depth here, since i feel that the last sentence i wrote was a bit ambiguous. i don't think that condoning arrogance in an ego is ever a good thing; i think that to be more of a vice which should be bred out of our systems in early age, and which potentially is by the harsh realities of childhood in a public schooling system (perhaps that was just my being put-in-place experience). rather, what i mean to say is that there are certain times at which it can be largely beneficial, especially regarding the creation of art, to exude confidence in yourself. the burdens of psychology can be quite a weight in some circumstances; we continually second-guess ourselves and question our ability to finish things out which we begin...question our ability to provide or draw the final line. i know i do this. but from time to time, especially in times of heavy work, a well-founded ego can be essential to the production of intelligent art, and additionally intelligent and artistic living. being freed from the burdens of neuroses and worries, grabbing life and creativity by the horns...these two ideas are interchangeable, but often come off to an uninitiated mind as an inadmissible arrogance. living by the sword, however, is a good practice for an artist. boundaries must be drawn, and actions must be taken and backed by a solid degree of confidence in their application.
how is it that i had coffee this morning, and now my brain decides to go sluggish on me? must be the whiskey. best guess. one would think that the tea here, oolong, would do the job. yet, no. not at all.
where is the merit in appreciation? here i find myself next to a flurry of quick-witted people. i'm not in the mood, myself...not hardly. but since this happens from time to time, i find it worth noting....and the question has popped up in other manifestations, most notably writing and music. art.
what value is there to be found in mere appreciation, aside from production?
must an appreciator tend towards production at some point? or it it enough simply to enjoy, to have no ambitions in particular for themselves? when i started listening to music, when i started reading what i consider to be decent literature, it came about for me that i began to want to produce it, to spin my own wheels and find expression. now, since i am at the point of scribbling here about it, it seems clear that it is becoming ever more important for me.
as i sit here and hear these people, i realize....there is a fine line between well-placed witticisms and obnoxious overstatements, both in word and in personality. there is no accounting for taste, and some people speak because they have to say something, rather than because they have something to say. maybe a little too harsh. at least these kids are eloquent with their wordings....intelligence is denoted, sometimes too enthusiastically but, who is to say what is too much?
the point remains. what becomes of me, of my mind, of my legacy, if i never produce that which i appreciate? doesn't appreciation require an aptitude for the subject matter, and enough of one to be able to separate your own tastes in it from the general stream of possibilities? an area, room to insert personality and idiosyncrasies? and isn't that, when it comes down to it, what really matters in the world of production? can you separate the words aptitude and skill? i suppose you can...but it seems like the path would be much narrower and easy to follow for someone who had a taste, a preexisting identity within the realm of the subject.
so here i am, struggling and giving an attempt at producing. but what if the larger works don't pan? what then? is an attempt which does not manifest in its entirety necessarily a failure? i want to say that it isn't...but perhaps that is more of a security blanket for myself than anything else.
3/28 (continuation)
what of incomplete works? do they have any merit, ideas pursued, if they never morph into their best (and completed, Kant) manifestations? i remember this moment in college, philosophy class, where it was posited that only actions have any value, and anything which remained only in theory or thought had no value in the real world. i remember being incredibly uncomfortable with this idea, especially when applying it to my life, perhaps because i was only a college student at the time and my entire life existed only in theory at that point. what a candle-snuffing restriction, i thought. i personally think that everything is being accounted for, somewhere...which is an interesting concept, because it may feed into the appraisal or rejection of an ego. ego in some circumstances certainly seems justified, such as when the subject has accomplished recognizable and vast compendiums of progress. these people are allowed by society, as a whole, to become....not necessarily arrogant, but perhaps a bit more discerning in terms of what they do and do not choose to acknowledge, to pay attention to. almost everyone agrees that someone who has proven their worth in a certain capacity or function is allowed leniency in other matters, allowed a certain length of artistic distance from the general problems ruling the rest of the equation. workplaces, as well, follow this same pattern, dividing workforce into factions which have unique focii, and then liminal departments or liasons who bridge the gaps between all these diverse fields being concentrated on individually, thereby connecting the gears and allowing oversight, control, and production. so clearly this is a recognizable and respected practice...perhaps it should be allowed those same respects for potential, for people who have not yet manifested but who feel the thunder at their fingertips.
if ego is really composed of these diverse partitions, however, it becomes increasingly hard to stop a person from being forcibly overbearing with their personality....which actually creates elitism, and corrupts the very practices and concepts, poisons the stream from which those future manifestations would spring. the balance is staggering. one must maintain their own lives, and take accountability in full for any collateral damage that acting profoundly, or egotistically, may incur. it would be obnoxious to be egotistical around the clock, but perhaps there are certain times in which it is beneficial and offers a generative effect to be able to disregard certain facets of everyday life.
let's get a fragment more in depth here, since i feel that the last sentence i wrote was a bit ambiguous. i don't think that condoning arrogance in an ego is ever a good thing; i think that to be more of a vice which should be bred out of our systems in early age, and which potentially is by the harsh realities of childhood in a public schooling system (perhaps that was just my being put-in-place experience). rather, what i mean to say is that there are certain times at which it can be largely beneficial, especially regarding the creation of art, to exude confidence in yourself. the burdens of psychology can be quite a weight in some circumstances; we continually second-guess ourselves and question our ability to finish things out which we begin...question our ability to provide or draw the final line. i know i do this. but from time to time, especially in times of heavy work, a well-founded ego can be essential to the production of intelligent art, and additionally intelligent and artistic living. being freed from the burdens of neuroses and worries, grabbing life and creativity by the horns...these two ideas are interchangeable, but often come off to an uninitiated mind as an inadmissible arrogance. living by the sword, however, is a good practice for an artist. boundaries must be drawn, and actions must be taken and backed by a solid degree of confidence in their application.
January 23, 2010
A Meditation
Leadership. A pivotal concept in our society, and yet something which so much of our population lacks a propensity for. Even for my own part, I acknowledge that I have gone so far as to actually aim for a lack of responsibility (which could be said to be part and parcel with leadership – for the crux of the matter is the ability to commit to decisions instead of constantly fluctuating) for a good portion of my life. I'm not sure where that lackadaisical desire comes from, but certainly I wanted no part of 'hard work' at the time, no semblance of having to own up to anything which I might have done had I more resolve.
Instead, I felt the need to resign myself to a submissive position. Over time, both in and beyond the workplace, I still feel this urgency to appeal to others, to seek guidance in their words or their actions. I want them firstly to validate me, to give me a purpose and to deal me a set of tasks. Secondarily I want acknowledgment, a rapport with 'superiors' or 'equals' which denotes a mutual respect for each others' functions and responsibilities. Admittedly and thankfully, this propensity no longer commands a large percentile of my working mind-state. I have found motivation – by degrees – within myself, and can utilize these newfound personal desires to craft my time and activities accordingly without outside input or approval. I now encompass my own approval in the best of times, and this is a perspective to be cherished like one's child – which, on some level, it is.
Even still, however, I find myself appealing to others for their input upon myself and my desires. I find this to be a hard habit, or perhaps vice, to exorcise from personal routine. The rut is that I at once acknowledge the rule as being 'to each his own', especially in matters of personal and artistic investment, while still primarily being domesticated by the need for a group acceptance, an outside acknowledgment of my struggles and subsequent trophies. Of what import are trophies, without any organization to put stock in them?
Thus it comes down to the invisible – potentially imagined – metrics of personal and [humanitarian] development. Just as it is with friends who have not been seen for a length of time (thus seeming much changed, based upon the collective number of small changes built up into a broader observation or scheme), so too it is difficult to measure the variables of our mind – that companion which we can never be quite rid of – be they positive or negative, and to what degree they thrive or suffer. There is no way to step 'outside' of ourselves for an accurate portrait, and so we feel that we must rely on the approvals or disapprovals of those who know us best.
This is a flawed system for a variety of reasons. Firstly, people generally exhibit a bias towards reliability: keeping things just as they are. This is not much to the discredit of humanity, for this assumption creates more manageable mental maps and compasses for us as we navigate through the polarities of the world. Counting on things, including people, to remain the same gives us an advantageous ability to be predictive in future scenarios involving known elements. But for this reason, our friends might be discounted as reliable indicators of our own progress or stagnation. To excel beyond the scope of what you previously had been counted on being may conspire in the minds of those who 'knew' you as a negative trait, as a regression from what they previously knew, since now they cannot be sure of what they know. In all matters, perspective is at the heart of valence. [Additionally] to the point, an inquiry can be made as to whether or not we all experience some degree of schadenfreude, for to see another trapped in a state of general inertia regarding some intangible progression of mind and life certainly occasions a mirroring, a validation of one's own self as being in some way superior, somehow further along or in motion. Ego both feeds and starves on distinctions, on partisanship.
Secondly, if we can throw out the whole 'nobody can ever really know anybody else' idea which is so touted in certain circles, I at least feel confident stating that the only reliable appraisal that can be obtained from another person (when we are confine ourselves to the field of artistic developments) would have to come from someone whom is also a student in the same field of expression, and for accuracy of judgment it would have to be someone who was quantifiably superior to you and – as a final caveat – was also familiar with the progress or detriment of your accomplishments to date. To wit, the only worthwhile yardstick for accomplishment is a teacher. This is not to say that one cannot trust or respect the opinions of anyone else, but rather to say that alternative ideas about yourself or your progress are less likely to be accurate in their methods of distinction and divination, or may be more about the work in itself than about its reflections upon you as a unique force of humanity.
I bring these previous points up because true leadership, in its most meritorious sense as I see it, involves a good degree of humility. To lead is to make decisions, and if the input placed into those decisions is fabricated or misleading then it may become negatively repercussive. To be sure there will be repercussions regardless of the path chosen, but a real decision should be incisive: cut to the core of the matter. It should be expansive in its scope; agreeable in as many capacities as possible to as many different components as possible, but when it comes down to bolts it must also be willing to make sacrifices as necessary for its most genuine realization.
The most pertinent decisions which I find myself making these days are the decisions regarding the expenditure of my time. When I say, 'my time', I must also be candid in explaining that this does not only apply to my 'personal time', because in effect – and what many people seem poised to miss – is that all of my time consists of a conscious decision on my part regarding how it is being used. We may feel resigned to certain places or actions which typically orbit around our jobs or our scholastic endeavors, but if you investigate the scope at play within them you realize the frightening degree of freedom which we are in possession of at any given moment of our lives. This realization is the beginning of leadership; it is the most fundamental of all the structural pillars supporting initiative.
What I come to realize more and more these days is that most of the self-governing and actuated principles that my mind operates upon are beginning to lean further and further away from what my 'job' entails; at this point I would consider myself downright tilted. It may be that I am merely disconsolate about daily repetition of activities, etc., but if the feeling is inspected more closely it allows me to see specifically where the conflicts exist. The principle conflict, for my own part, is a snowballing desire to create....perhaps not even tangibly, but to in every way exist and think and, most specifically, to write creatively. To seek out the chaotic, dynamic mechanisms in my mind, to nourish them in whatever ways they crave, and to express and record the experience. I'm not even certain, at this point, that writing will be the medium of choice, but currently I feel that it allows me the widest range of expression and versatility as I already have mental brushes and palettes painstakingly constructed for this canvas. And some really nice pens.
I cannot say with any certainty what this feeling will lead to. But I bring it up in order to directly address a reef which any seafaring motions towards creative independence must necessarily come to, under threat of being foundered...the ability to actively and consciously engage decisions, and to forge ownership – steeled, individual validity – regarding your terms with them. By 'decisions', I don't mean to imply that I am discussing book plots, or pseudonyms, or anything one typically makes creative decisions about. Well, perhaps books to a degree, in my particular case. Instead, however, I mean to associate fragile, momentary decisions with the timeless quality of leadership, and all the connotations which you may bring to the word...which is what I began scribbling about today in the first place.
For some unknown but rooted reason, I seem to have a difficult time of creativity when I set to it in the moment. This is, of course, a world apart from creativity in theory, when ideas flow like wine. Virginia Woolf - “One line placed on the canvas committed her to innumerable risks, to frequent and irrevocable decisions. All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs, and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made.” If you have tried to create something distinctive, then I'm sure that you too share some knowledge of this anxiety among the front lines of creative forces. This would be entirely tolerable, if it weren't for the fact that it constantly forces you to question yourself. It finds opportunities in which to communicate to you that you are in uncharted territories and that you don't know how to do everything, or even what anything necessarily is. In short, creativity would not be itself if it didn't force you immediately out of your comfort zone.
My instincts until just recently have been to immediately seek reassurance....to stop, to read, to talk to someone safe, to locate comfort quickly. This is a faulty approach, and it lacks the most critical element of success in such matters: personal leadership. Without the strength contained in this engine, your focus will flag, waver, and fail. If you've already sat down to independent creation and accomplished any small part of it, then most likely you are not in terrible shape; no need to panic, you are at least not amongst those who willingly let themselves be entertained into oblivion. Leadership is a muscle, however, and to form resolve and concentrated effort takes a lengthy period of breaking and building.
What must be done is to keep pushing against those waves, because like a coastal tide or reef structure, they only bar your way for a short distance. Once you've navigated the labyrinth of obstacles (which will likely be different each time) and reached a calm focus, real progress can be made, real distance towards the goal. You will still experience catastrophic storms and perils while out at sea, but they will seem more natural, more intentional; you will already be committed to the journey and they will truly seem like challenges which can be overcome, which momentum will push you forward through. Perspective changes significantly when there is no shore in sight. When they are finished, driven through with fortitude, you can again drift along your creative flow; you will have nothing to fight against and the only facet you will need to hold steady to is your orientation amidst the vast horizon of possibilities.
Navigation, however, is a more compound concept than it would seem; nothing that I know of is less straightforward. If you know precisely where you want to end up, then you will have an easier time of it...but as a sacrifice, in a manner of speaking, the journey will have fewer crisis points, less opportunities to discover yourself and your capabilities along the way. For my own part, these crises have been some of the more worthwhile reasons for me to continue writing, even if it doesn't end up amounting to a finished work. To hammer something out, to imbue it with your own personal architecture, to seal it with your fingerprint as a genuine statement about your or the world as you perceive it...this is the real reason to commit to your own leadership, to trust yourself to bear a torch through the darkness and come out somewhere meaningful and symbolic. If you only have profit in mind when you enter into the creative seas, then you might as well resign yourself to being a publisher or a broker instead, for there is no reason, no compulsion for you to make the first or last strokes.
The real reason to create, the most genuine incarnation insofar as I can envision it, is not the moment of completion but rather these smaller victories. A finished work would be nice, but complete realization of my ideals – which also involved defining those ideals to myself in full – is a luxury which I do not expect to achieve anytime soon. For this reason, I don't have a final destination in mind...rather I wander, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with intense focus, until I experience something like an 'Aha!' moment. This experience is something you are familiar with; it happens in just about every facet of life when something is illuminated to the full extent of your understanding – or in lieu of that, your complete awe. This is the reason to create, and the only reason to share creation is to attempt to gift this intimate moment to others. Sometimes entire books or companies are dedicated to a single, potent moment of thought, which was of such devastating importance to the thinker that it had to be committed to...nothing they had experienced had ever seemed more real, more important to contribute. These moments are the basis of artistic navigation, and they compose the greater part of personal leadership...following the constellations that these individual points compose, as you drift along them through the passage of your life, is the only guide for genuine expression.
Ultimately, if you want to own your work and your life, you have to trust in yourself as a metric. It doesn't matter if you want to lead many people, or just yourself in your personal endeavors...good leadership requires that you have a standard for guidance, that you have a path to follow, even if you may lose sight of it for long lapses of time. This naturally happens when motion is involved. To obtain the focus that is necessary to achieve, you have to have anchors, fixed points upon which your can locate yourself and subsequently pivot off. These points are impossible not to notice; they are impossible to avoid unless you remain stagnant and dig into your routines too fastidiously....what matters is what you make of them, and whether or not you are able to hold them within your vision after they have passed. You might also worry that some fascinations are implanted in you surreptitiously by other people, somehow transferred, or that you have somehow stolen them – but if your interest is genuine, you will know it. The hollow resonance of thieved passions, the faint boredom that you experience when you engage with them is important to distinguish; you must develop a hammer to test and destroy such things in order to be the truest incarnation of yourself possible. The focus and the energy inherent in genuine passions, however, is impossible to mimic. It will define your choices along every step of the way, and illuminate all paths you have yet to travel.
Instead, I felt the need to resign myself to a submissive position. Over time, both in and beyond the workplace, I still feel this urgency to appeal to others, to seek guidance in their words or their actions. I want them firstly to validate me, to give me a purpose and to deal me a set of tasks. Secondarily I want acknowledgment, a rapport with 'superiors' or 'equals' which denotes a mutual respect for each others' functions and responsibilities. Admittedly and thankfully, this propensity no longer commands a large percentile of my working mind-state. I have found motivation – by degrees – within myself, and can utilize these newfound personal desires to craft my time and activities accordingly without outside input or approval. I now encompass my own approval in the best of times, and this is a perspective to be cherished like one's child – which, on some level, it is.
Even still, however, I find myself appealing to others for their input upon myself and my desires. I find this to be a hard habit, or perhaps vice, to exorcise from personal routine. The rut is that I at once acknowledge the rule as being 'to each his own', especially in matters of personal and artistic investment, while still primarily being domesticated by the need for a group acceptance, an outside acknowledgment of my struggles and subsequent trophies. Of what import are trophies, without any organization to put stock in them?
Thus it comes down to the invisible – potentially imagined – metrics of personal and [humanitarian] development. Just as it is with friends who have not been seen for a length of time (thus seeming much changed, based upon the collective number of small changes built up into a broader observation or scheme), so too it is difficult to measure the variables of our mind – that companion which we can never be quite rid of – be they positive or negative, and to what degree they thrive or suffer. There is no way to step 'outside' of ourselves for an accurate portrait, and so we feel that we must rely on the approvals or disapprovals of those who know us best.
This is a flawed system for a variety of reasons. Firstly, people generally exhibit a bias towards reliability: keeping things just as they are. This is not much to the discredit of humanity, for this assumption creates more manageable mental maps and compasses for us as we navigate through the polarities of the world. Counting on things, including people, to remain the same gives us an advantageous ability to be predictive in future scenarios involving known elements. But for this reason, our friends might be discounted as reliable indicators of our own progress or stagnation. To excel beyond the scope of what you previously had been counted on being may conspire in the minds of those who 'knew' you as a negative trait, as a regression from what they previously knew, since now they cannot be sure of what they know. In all matters, perspective is at the heart of valence. [Additionally] to the point, an inquiry can be made as to whether or not we all experience some degree of schadenfreude, for to see another trapped in a state of general inertia regarding some intangible progression of mind and life certainly occasions a mirroring, a validation of one's own self as being in some way superior, somehow further along or in motion. Ego both feeds and starves on distinctions, on partisanship.
Secondly, if we can throw out the whole 'nobody can ever really know anybody else' idea which is so touted in certain circles, I at least feel confident stating that the only reliable appraisal that can be obtained from another person (when we are confine ourselves to the field of artistic developments) would have to come from someone whom is also a student in the same field of expression, and for accuracy of judgment it would have to be someone who was quantifiably superior to you and – as a final caveat – was also familiar with the progress or detriment of your accomplishments to date. To wit, the only worthwhile yardstick for accomplishment is a teacher. This is not to say that one cannot trust or respect the opinions of anyone else, but rather to say that alternative ideas about yourself or your progress are less likely to be accurate in their methods of distinction and divination, or may be more about the work in itself than about its reflections upon you as a unique force of humanity.
I bring these previous points up because true leadership, in its most meritorious sense as I see it, involves a good degree of humility. To lead is to make decisions, and if the input placed into those decisions is fabricated or misleading then it may become negatively repercussive. To be sure there will be repercussions regardless of the path chosen, but a real decision should be incisive: cut to the core of the matter. It should be expansive in its scope; agreeable in as many capacities as possible to as many different components as possible, but when it comes down to bolts it must also be willing to make sacrifices as necessary for its most genuine realization.
The most pertinent decisions which I find myself making these days are the decisions regarding the expenditure of my time. When I say, 'my time', I must also be candid in explaining that this does not only apply to my 'personal time', because in effect – and what many people seem poised to miss – is that all of my time consists of a conscious decision on my part regarding how it is being used. We may feel resigned to certain places or actions which typically orbit around our jobs or our scholastic endeavors, but if you investigate the scope at play within them you realize the frightening degree of freedom which we are in possession of at any given moment of our lives. This realization is the beginning of leadership; it is the most fundamental of all the structural pillars supporting initiative.
What I come to realize more and more these days is that most of the self-governing and actuated principles that my mind operates upon are beginning to lean further and further away from what my 'job' entails; at this point I would consider myself downright tilted. It may be that I am merely disconsolate about daily repetition of activities, etc., but if the feeling is inspected more closely it allows me to see specifically where the conflicts exist. The principle conflict, for my own part, is a snowballing desire to create....perhaps not even tangibly, but to in every way exist and think and, most specifically, to write creatively. To seek out the chaotic, dynamic mechanisms in my mind, to nourish them in whatever ways they crave, and to express and record the experience. I'm not even certain, at this point, that writing will be the medium of choice, but currently I feel that it allows me the widest range of expression and versatility as I already have mental brushes and palettes painstakingly constructed for this canvas. And some really nice pens.
I cannot say with any certainty what this feeling will lead to. But I bring it up in order to directly address a reef which any seafaring motions towards creative independence must necessarily come to, under threat of being foundered...the ability to actively and consciously engage decisions, and to forge ownership – steeled, individual validity – regarding your terms with them. By 'decisions', I don't mean to imply that I am discussing book plots, or pseudonyms, or anything one typically makes creative decisions about. Well, perhaps books to a degree, in my particular case. Instead, however, I mean to associate fragile, momentary decisions with the timeless quality of leadership, and all the connotations which you may bring to the word...which is what I began scribbling about today in the first place.
For some unknown but rooted reason, I seem to have a difficult time of creativity when I set to it in the moment. This is, of course, a world apart from creativity in theory, when ideas flow like wine. Virginia Woolf - “One line placed on the canvas committed her to innumerable risks, to frequent and irrevocable decisions. All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs, and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made.” If you have tried to create something distinctive, then I'm sure that you too share some knowledge of this anxiety among the front lines of creative forces. This would be entirely tolerable, if it weren't for the fact that it constantly forces you to question yourself. It finds opportunities in which to communicate to you that you are in uncharted territories and that you don't know how to do everything, or even what anything necessarily is. In short, creativity would not be itself if it didn't force you immediately out of your comfort zone.
My instincts until just recently have been to immediately seek reassurance....to stop, to read, to talk to someone safe, to locate comfort quickly. This is a faulty approach, and it lacks the most critical element of success in such matters: personal leadership. Without the strength contained in this engine, your focus will flag, waver, and fail. If you've already sat down to independent creation and accomplished any small part of it, then most likely you are not in terrible shape; no need to panic, you are at least not amongst those who willingly let themselves be entertained into oblivion. Leadership is a muscle, however, and to form resolve and concentrated effort takes a lengthy period of breaking and building.
What must be done is to keep pushing against those waves, because like a coastal tide or reef structure, they only bar your way for a short distance. Once you've navigated the labyrinth of obstacles (which will likely be different each time) and reached a calm focus, real progress can be made, real distance towards the goal. You will still experience catastrophic storms and perils while out at sea, but they will seem more natural, more intentional; you will already be committed to the journey and they will truly seem like challenges which can be overcome, which momentum will push you forward through. Perspective changes significantly when there is no shore in sight. When they are finished, driven through with fortitude, you can again drift along your creative flow; you will have nothing to fight against and the only facet you will need to hold steady to is your orientation amidst the vast horizon of possibilities.
Navigation, however, is a more compound concept than it would seem; nothing that I know of is less straightforward. If you know precisely where you want to end up, then you will have an easier time of it...but as a sacrifice, in a manner of speaking, the journey will have fewer crisis points, less opportunities to discover yourself and your capabilities along the way. For my own part, these crises have been some of the more worthwhile reasons for me to continue writing, even if it doesn't end up amounting to a finished work. To hammer something out, to imbue it with your own personal architecture, to seal it with your fingerprint as a genuine statement about your or the world as you perceive it...this is the real reason to commit to your own leadership, to trust yourself to bear a torch through the darkness and come out somewhere meaningful and symbolic. If you only have profit in mind when you enter into the creative seas, then you might as well resign yourself to being a publisher or a broker instead, for there is no reason, no compulsion for you to make the first or last strokes.
The real reason to create, the most genuine incarnation insofar as I can envision it, is not the moment of completion but rather these smaller victories. A finished work would be nice, but complete realization of my ideals – which also involved defining those ideals to myself in full – is a luxury which I do not expect to achieve anytime soon. For this reason, I don't have a final destination in mind...rather I wander, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with intense focus, until I experience something like an 'Aha!' moment. This experience is something you are familiar with; it happens in just about every facet of life when something is illuminated to the full extent of your understanding – or in lieu of that, your complete awe. This is the reason to create, and the only reason to share creation is to attempt to gift this intimate moment to others. Sometimes entire books or companies are dedicated to a single, potent moment of thought, which was of such devastating importance to the thinker that it had to be committed to...nothing they had experienced had ever seemed more real, more important to contribute. These moments are the basis of artistic navigation, and they compose the greater part of personal leadership...following the constellations that these individual points compose, as you drift along them through the passage of your life, is the only guide for genuine expression.
Ultimately, if you want to own your work and your life, you have to trust in yourself as a metric. It doesn't matter if you want to lead many people, or just yourself in your personal endeavors...good leadership requires that you have a standard for guidance, that you have a path to follow, even if you may lose sight of it for long lapses of time. This naturally happens when motion is involved. To obtain the focus that is necessary to achieve, you have to have anchors, fixed points upon which your can locate yourself and subsequently pivot off. These points are impossible not to notice; they are impossible to avoid unless you remain stagnant and dig into your routines too fastidiously....what matters is what you make of them, and whether or not you are able to hold them within your vision after they have passed. You might also worry that some fascinations are implanted in you surreptitiously by other people, somehow transferred, or that you have somehow stolen them – but if your interest is genuine, you will know it. The hollow resonance of thieved passions, the faint boredom that you experience when you engage with them is important to distinguish; you must develop a hammer to test and destroy such things in order to be the truest incarnation of yourself possible. The focus and the energy inherent in genuine passions, however, is impossible to mimic. It will define your choices along every step of the way, and illuminate all paths you have yet to travel.
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