Art And Craft In The Social World

I still think that many of the ideas I had during the AZI project are valuable.

In particular, I still think that the distinction between art and craft is valuable in thinking about relationships and the social world.

The idea of social craft is so troubling to me. I don't like trying to make things happen. Trying to make conversations or relationships happen in certain ways. It is really frustrating to try and socially craft like that.

I just want things to happen naturally. I don't want to try and make my social life happen.

Of course, there are times when you have to engage in some social craft. You have to know the rules of politeness that will let you have a conversation. You have to obey certain (usually implicit) technical rules about socializing.

But those are valuable only so much as they let you express yourself to other people and have genuine relationships. Is small talk valuable in itself? It might be. I'm not sure.

But I am pleased that some of my ideas from AZI are holding up over the last few months.

Also, I've decided to post the first section of the essay I'm currently working on. By getting the first part out there I hope to motivate myself a little bit to keep working on it.

OH

Just think of all the mediums for my meaningless/meaningful expression.

Lose your mind.

Please.

I want to lose mine.

I want to not cling to this life.

Slooper Size Me

Oh, can't you feel the anger?

Can't you feel the tenderness?

I promise you, it is all right here

Just beneath the surface.

I'm not sad, and I'm not angry

I am a fucking savage.

Don't worry about any other words.

Reality bursting at the seems

Crabs crawling on my skin

An unreality deeply threatening me

And I blame you

And I blame myself

I wrote it on the bathroom wall

I'd rather die

Than become myself

I always told you

I will forever argue with myself

Break my teeth

And several bones

No one will ever

Be better than myself.

Ignore the instrument

Obey the real ass life

And then succumb

To that ungrounded life

You are hopelessly embedded
I am hopelessly concave

Neither king nor queen

Lodged somewhere between slave

Backwards numbers

Hopeless pain

Soggy concepts

Invisible ideas

I posses the flow

You possess the pain

You posses your glow

I possess the rage

I own the unreal

You, the greatest pain

I am burning charlie

I am Icarus reborn

I am the empty bus

You are all that I scorn

You are the needless life

Endlessly imaginary.

I am the hopeless mind

Fawning over it all

Dreading places and names

Craving our savage crawl

I interject within your space

Yet willfully remain beyond your walls

Get me out of here

Get me out of here

Based god, they want to know my name

Riley P, he does it for the pain

It's all a dream

But it ain't.

Frustration

I am starting to feel a little bit irritated with my reading and writing.

I just don't really like the things I am writing about or thinking about.

I was lying in bed last night and I had this intense frustration with the idea of research and writing in general.

The world is so daunting.

To make sense of it seems insane.

To think about changing it feels futile sometimes.

But that is, for me, the ideal reason to be doing research and writing.

We can talk about things and change them.

But jeez things seems out of control.

And it sure doesn't seem like research and writing is doing much for people.

It doesn't seem like universities or serious scholarship matter.

I know they do in some way. They must.

But I just don't like my current writing project. I'm painting in huge strokes and I dislike it.

I wonder sometimes if I'll end up not being into writing, not wanting to go to graduate school. If I'll live this life after my undergrad and never go back. But what would I do with myself?

I think part of my frustration is coming from reading Leviathan. It is just so old and difficult to read. To read it seriously, to read it intelligently, is pretty difficult for me.

I just feel like I'm struggling with a lot of things. And reading and writing is a big one. It is just like, yo, what am I doing with this stuff?

I feel like I'm playing a mental game. I don't feel like I'm thinking anything serious. I'm spinning logical webs. And I don't like it.

So then what should I be doing with myself?

Should I just relax? Not work on writing projects?

Maybe just keep reading. Don't worry about writing?

Eh!

Eh! I just don't know.

I don't get things these days.

Asserting Humanity

There is this one vender of Real Change that I find very peculiar.

Today he was smoking a cigar, petting someone's dog. When he was done petting the dog he said thank you to the dog's dad.

There is something very strange about him. Not in a bad way. Something about his eyes. His eyes are very communicative. Very expressive.

They express a lot of intelligence.

They seem like they assert humanity in a way.

Sometimes I get the feeling that that is what I want my eyes to do at my work.

Recently a woman came up to me to order something and I said hello and looked at her pretty intently. I don't think I was trying to look intense or anything. I was just looking at her. I try to be present with the work I do.

She looked at me for a second and asked me how I was. I told her I was doing well and some small talk followed.

I don't know what that was all about. The way I'm describing it makes it sound dull. But there was something strange about the interaction.

I wonder about humanity.

I wonder about interactions and stuff.

Empty Hearts

I can and will stand forever.

To let it rest

To let it burn

I will stand forever

I won't live forever

To let this burn

To let it thrive

I will pretend forever

To maintain integrity

To feign authenticity

I will imagine forever

For explosive skulls

And tearful eyes

I will shout whenever

Because I am fictional

In the realest way

Always desperately clawing

For all that fades away

Is it you?

Or was it me?

Will I love forever?

Or Just today?

Is it rage

That carries me away?

Or is it fear

That keeps me here?

It isn't you

And is probably me

But please oh please

Do not doubt me

I'm that forceful type

Of lying bitch

Always rude

Typically rich

Excrementally curious

Monumentally serious

You are the one

That I choose to pray

Because your heart

Makes me vomit

When my own

Only deserves to die

You are the force

Buried in these words

Behind these hideous lies

And we were the ones

That deserved to die

Minds And Mediums

What is it about alliteration?

I don't know either. But it sure is pleasant.

The writing I'm doing right now really has me stumped. The title of the essay of 'Relationships and Mediums: Habits, Historical Knowledge, And Human Self-Creation'. I am currently in the middle section where I am trying to write about the issue of mediums.

Mediums is a strange issue. I feel like I'm working primarily with Nicholas Carr's book The Shallows. But I really don't know what to do. I'm reaching all these plateaus, all these platitudes. I'm not saying much except that cities, economic systems, and language itself are mediums.

But the issue I am working towards is the issue of minds and of relationships. Relationships are always filtered through minds. It couldn't be any other way. So the question is, What is the mind?

And what the hell is a mind? How do we think of such a thing? What is a mind? How do I answer that question.

And I'm tempted to reduce it to the issue of mediums.

I'll take McLuhan's famous phrase, 'the medium is the message', and I'll modify it.

I'll say 'the mind is the medium', or 'the medium is the mind'.

I've just thought of this tonight and I don't know which one is better.

But there is something about minds and mediums.

Something about how we think, how we choose, how we live, and the mediums we use.

Because frankly it seems that our mediums set our choices. The mediums set out thoughts. The mind is the medium. The medium is the mind.

It reminds me of what Collingwood says. There is no such thing as a mind at rest. Mind is what mind does.

So the question becomes, 'well, what does mind do? and how does it do it?'

It does it through mediums. And thus it would seem that the mind is the medium, or vice versa.

I'm quite lost with my writing on this issue.

And I think it has to do with the confusion of parsing this distinction between medium and mind. I think it has to do with what it is that I am and what it is that has created me.

I'm really struggling with these issues. I think I don't have enough evidence for the issue of mediums. I simply haven't read enough. The same is true for the issue of minds.

But I'll try to write this essay. Unfortunately, I think it means that I won't be able to give the question of mediums a close enough look. I'm going to be short changing it. But that is okay.

Or I guess I should say that I won't be looking at it from the right angle.

Because I can certainly argue that mind is nothing but its mediums, and I can take a look at the medium. But the problem is larger than that.

The real problem is this: What is the inclination of the mediums through which our minds work?

Because a medium is never a passive recipient, never a mere tool. It is always a collaborator in our actions, it always contains an implicit message, an inclination. The medium itself encourages certain types of behavior.

And that is the issue that I am baffled by. I don't know how to explain what the inclinations of our mediums are. And thus I don't know what the inclinations of our minds are.

Mediums and minds.

Are they inseparable or am I crazy?

I feel crazy.

But I don't think I'm crazy.

I think this issue of mediums and minds is a crucial one.

Shall I flip out now?