Saturday, March 12, 2005

Silence as a verb [Self-censure]

This post continues the hypergraphia from the previous entry. Unlike the previous post, however, the lucidity of thought has degraded here to be just ranting. I thought it worth capturing nonetheless. It is more focused on my social struggles, and most certainly lacking the humility imparted by National Geographic since!

The balance of participation versus observation is a never ending struggle with me – I seem to be incapable of making the fine tuning necessary in this balance – I have parkinson’s disease and am trying to lay the needle of the record player perfectly at the beginning of a new song. And too easily, in my struggles, it results simply in arrogance.

The answers here are obvious of course, but I’ll still pose the questions:

Why is it that I have to tread so delicately with the expression of thought? Invariably, when I open my mouth with ideas, the conversation ceases, the exact opposite of my intention? The result is always either a hurried departure to the door, or a pseudo intellectual assertion of entirely non-relevant ideas or defensive posturing that attempts to assert that they too have ideas.

Wittgenstein says the true merit in ideas is in the question and not the answer. If so, then why do people shy away from my questions? Is it that a) the questions are non-sequitor and not understandable, b) intimidating, or c) not of interest. Where is the endurance of others to keep a thought alive? I am weary of having to tread so delicately, to elucidate maximum input from my peers. If life isn’t for exploring these questions in this wholly unique moment in time, then how can they bear to live? It is a dangerous statement, for it too easily opens my sense of existence to a masturbatory farce. But I’d rather error on the realm of depth, than to succumb to the wholly nonsensical state of meaningless existence, which others seem to find more easily defendable against than a view of life with depth. I must live my life in such a way that I envision another, future reader [hypergraphia loving, of course] as reading my thoughts inscribed, and thinking “Yes! That is it! [Cosmic importance in the trivia, laughs my humility]!” It continues to be an eternal maxim for me: I seek depth and will accept no substitute, and will not tolerate, at least for myself, giving up after the second, third, or hundredth asking of “Why?”

I can tolerate self-constraint when it comes to interaction with others, to the giving of advice, to the convergence of opinion. But to speak of ideas, pure, and otherwise wholly independent of entity – they are sacred and should not be couched or coaxed to the sensitivities of the consumer. They have their own existence and should not be held accountable to their owner. But alas, no, that is effectively not the case and I will continue to be the owner of the quick way to close the book on a conversation and quickly establish routes for hasty departures.

I seem to be running a 3200 meter race, in which my compatriots (well intentioned and much admired) are running 100 meters. Image my look of awareness as I cross that 100 meter line, continuing, alone.

I could care less about a propriety or self-representation. I seek depth and am indiscriminate as to whether it stems from the interaction of two unknown lovers passing on the street or from a stimulating conversation with friends, or from the clarity of a child’s open tongue, or from the depth of my lover’s pupils. I seek depth and will accept no pseudo-intellectual substitute, no insecurity-formed excuse, or no hurried avoidance. And close behind depth, I need intent, I need synthesis and semantics. As always, leave the insecurity and catharticism at the door.

Indeed, all this to say that I am weary of self-censure.

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