They are symbols, derived from centuries of communication and exchange between us humans. They established languages, culture, sociality, meaning. They arrange into different variations with varying consequences.
Words.
As I write this, much has been revealed. Each selection, each diction, each syntax I so chose to present – it speaks millions as to who I am. Words are my art, my weapon, my heart, my manipulation. I am sharing a piece of myself to you, the reader.
Stop crying, please.
PLEASE stop crying.
These are the same exact words, slightly out of order, emphasis tweaked, message and emotion completely different. One displays sympathy, the other vents impatience, frustration, anger.
When I’m told to simply shut up and listen, to get back on track after abrupt interruptions, to stop repeating myself, to just talk and not think about my words like an essay – anger builds up inside me. It’s insulting, hurtful, suppressive, oppressive: why must I simply accept? Why am I being inhibited from thoughtful discussion? Why can’t I continue on about something I care about? Most importantly, why am I being shuffled back into submission? The implications: you are insignificant, you are stupid, you are annoying, you are irrelevant, you are impractical, you are unnecessary, you are a rebel without a cause.
But here’s the thing:
Words are my freedom.
I’m a idealist, a pragmatist, a romantic, a technic.
Ideas are fluctuating, dynamic, pulsating, alive. Repetition is invariable: there are some who think of the world as a math equation, that you live, forgive and forget, that everything fits neatly into a box like an Aristotelian play – tidy, easy to tuck away, simple and clean.
Ideas do not die. They morph, change, surge and bebop into repetition and revision – over and over and over again. Charlie “Bird” Parker, John Coltrane, McCoy Tyner, Steve Davis, Elvin Jones – they all repeated, they all revised, they all performed and expressed things that had been established before. They are masters of musical pulsations.
Ideas do not die. They are simply repeated and revised, each time with a similar yet very different implication, weight, significance, emphasis, effect. Ideas flood my mind, and I use them to make and break the rules of establishment, tradition, normality of mental stagnation.
So what if I don’t understand Maxwell’s equations? So what if I don’t remember dates in Russian history? My thoughts aren’t any less than that – it means there’s more to learn, that I’m more than willing to listen to what others have to say. There’s no need to scoff at my shortcomings, my inabilities, my repetition: we’re all human, and though we might hate it we all conglomerate together into the same large community, a society in which everything counts. Logic, emotion, philosophy, building, enterprising, socializing, materialism, immaterialism – we all must deal with these aspects regardless.
I am not an engineer. I am not a historian. I am not a biologist. I am not a lawyer.
I am me. And I am articulate.
Welcome to Floating World.