brain pickings does it again

The greatest love letters, of course, aren’t those written for public greatness — they’re the ones penned for one particular trembling heart, honeycombed with private memories and private miracles, written in the language of the possible.

The website's snippets of critical analyses of Orlando by Virginia Woolf makes me want to read it now.

Process

Quite possibly the most beautifully eloquent and true pieces of writing I've seen in a while:

The creative process has more than one kind of expression. There’s the part you could show in a movie montage — the furious typing or painting or equation solving where the writer, artist, or mathematician accomplishes the output of the creative task. But then there’s also the part that happens invisibly, under the surface. That’s when the senses are perceiving the world, the mind and heart are thrown into some sort of dissonance, and the soul chooses to respond.

That response doesn’t just come out like vomit after a bad meal. There’s not such thing as pure expression. Rather, because we live in a social world with other people whose perceptual apparatus needs to be penetrated with our ideas, we must formulate, strategize, order, and then articulate. It is that last part that is visible as output or progress, but it only represents, at best, 25 percent of the process.

Real creativity transcends time. If you are not producing work, then chances are you have fallen into the infinite space between the ticks of the clock where reality is created. Don’t let some capitalist taskmaster tell you otherwise — even if he happens to be in your own head.

- Douglas Rushkoff, quoted from brain pickings

Good with words

I love listening. I used to think that listening was more important than talking, that I talked to get people in a position so I could listen to them. With a certain kind of arrogance, I used to think that being good with words is knowing when silence, when listening, is more important than what you have to say. Being good with words, is looking through the unique turns of phrase or accents that each person has, and being able to understand what they are saying, and empathise with what they actually mean.

With time, I realised that the obvious was true: being good with language wasn't just about listening, but about talking. I wished I had a more engaging charisma, a more appealing timbre and accent - to be the kind of person who actually could engage people with my insightful words of comfort, or witty repartee, or dramatic tales, or effortless small talk. Instead, I'm the kind of awkward that can't even finish the punchline to my own joke before cracking up.

I realise now that being good with language just isn't about having the widest vocabulary or the most lyrical turn of phrase. It isn't about having an appealing vocal timbre, or enunciating all your ending consonants. Being good with words is knowing what to say in love, just as the good book says (1 Cor 13:1). Being good with words is knowing what to say to make someone else understanding you, to get on board with you. You might not have to use big words or fancy high-falutin' phrases, and in fact you most probably won't have to. What you do need to do is know the other person well enough. You need to know what words to say to so they understand, not your words, but your meaning.

With time, and as it turns out, with almost with no bearing on language at all, I realise that in the best relationships, being understood is just as valuable, and important as understanding. Yet with sadness, I realise that may never exist.

Acronymn of the day: FAAK

No, it's not a four letter f-word.  OK, it is, but it's got nothing besides aural similarity in common with that.

Used to end late-night MSN/Skype conversations, FAAK stands for falling asleep at keyboard.  As in, OK FAAK TTYL.  Or, I'm FAAKed out.  

Right here, write now.

Today I was on the bus, pondering life's mysteries (see, life is not so very different in another country), when I suddenly realised why I write, why I chronicle my thoughts and emotions. Simply put, it's because memories of these things aren't very lasting. Feelings are ephemeral, fading with the light of each new morning, and very soon what you want to remember is forgotten.

Sometimes, it's better this way. To live in the here and now, and be focused on what I need to do - many times I wish I could be more like this, rather than living with my head in some obscure cumulonimbus of its own. Better not to dwell in the past, especially if it's painful or bittersweet.

But as it turns out, writing is precisely what we turn to to capture our reveries, our caprices, our very souls. Reading a book by a master of the language lifts us up to greater heights, or acts as a kind of catharsis to our own repressed emotion. Writing for yourself is no different. You don't have to be particularly eloquent. A few choice words suffice to trigger a torrent of recollection.

It's like mother says - if you think you'll forget it, write it down.

Murakami on the bus

Reading a Murakami is like watching bits of broken glass suspended in a pool of aether. Broken people glinting psychedelic as they catch the light. With something so dissociated, almost abstract, you don't think of how sharp the fragments are unless you've been there before, physically touched the pieces. Yet at the same time, his writing is so associative that somehow, somewhere, on some level, you'll find that you have been there.

Word

A good story is like soft silk caressing inner thigh, causing an involuntary spasm somewhere deep within you.

Double, double toil and strouble

Strouble: (n) the condition of being unable to string words together coherently

As in, Xin is having strouble (according to my Facebook).

This is a new word I coined accidently trying to say that I sometimes have trouble stringing words together coherently. Yes, it's quite a stroubling situation.

Emotion

Emotion is a powerful tool (just like science). But, just like the scientific mindset, it is only too easy for the slave to become the master. It's only too easy for our emotions to overtake us.

Emotion is most powerful as a way of knowing. For instance, admiration for the qualities in others can tell us what qualities are desirable and that we should strive to cultivate in ourselves. Even negative emotions, like guilt, or mortification, are useful in telling us when we have done wrong and can guide us to do better.

But all of us already know this.

It's how to deal with emotion, how to harness its power without being overpowered, that many of us seem to have problems with.

The way I see it, emotion is but a bearer of information. What you do with the information is entirely up to you. As a master of your emotion, you must decide and choose your course of action. Should you let your passion inspire you to do something wonderful? Or will letting your actions be dictated by emotion make you do something dreadful?

A concrete, and simple instance of how to be a master to your emotion lies in the emotion of revulsion. When we see something that is revulsive to us, we learn to look away. This is good. We don't want to be harmed by what we are seeing. However, sometimes we cannot let the emotion dictate that action in response. We must desensitise ourselves from it, for instance, when we must dissect frogs, to reap the maximum reward for that poor frog's life.

Having said that though, it is only too easy to let your emotion run away with you. Indeed it's perfectly understandable. When you do this, it's important not to let emotions continue to dominate. Do not be overcome by guilt, or wallow in it longer than you have to. The guilt is important in stopping the other emotions, for instance anger, jealousy, or misplaced love. Beyond that though, wallowing in guilt and allowing yourself to be depressed by it, is pointless.

This mastery of emotion is what will allow temperamental artists to lead a balanced life. It is this that will allow them to play with their emotions in their art.

Perhaps this might mean a limit in the depth of the emotion and art in the works of such artists. But I think that's a sacrifice that I am personally willing to make.

---

muse

–verb (used without object)

1. to think or meditate in silence, as on some subject.

2. Archaic. to gaze meditatively or wonderingly.

–verb (used with object)

3. to meditate on.

4. to comment thoughtfully or ruminate upon.

[Origin: 1300–50; ME musen to mutter, gaze meditatively on, be astonished <>

—Synonyms 1. cogitate, ruminate, think; dream. 1, 3. ponder, contemplate, deliberate.

–noun

1. Classical Mythology. a. any of a number of sister goddesses, originally given as Aoede (song), Melete (meditation), and Mneme (memory), but latterly and more commonly as the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne who presided over various arts: Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Erato (lyric poetry), Euterpe (music), Melpomene (tragedy), Polyhymnia (religious music), Terpsichore (dance), Thalia (comedy), and Urania (astronomy); identified by the Romans with the Camenae. b. any goddess presiding over a particular art.

2. (sometimes lowercase) the goddess or the power regarded as inspiring a poet, artist, thinker, or the like.

3. (lowercase) the genius or powers characteristic of a poet.

v. intr. To be absorbed in one's thoughts; engage in meditation.

v. tr. To consider or say thoughtfully: mused that it might take longer to drive than walk.

n. A state of meditation.

bemuse

1. To cause to be bewildered; confuse. To daze.
2. To cause to be engrossed in thought.

amuse

1. to hold the attention of (someone) pleasantly; entertain or divert in an enjoyable or cheerful manner: She amused the guests with witty conversation.
2. to cause mirth, laughter, or the like, in: The comedian amused the audience with a steady stream of jokes.
3. to cause (time, leisure, etc.) to pass agreeably.
4. Archaic. to keep in expectation by flattery, pretenses, etc.
5. Obsolete. a. to engross; absorb. b. to puzzle; distract.
6. Archaic. To delude or deceive.

Dumbstruck

If there was one ability I wouldn't mind going without, and would sometimes even rather do without, it's the ability to speak.

Why bother with speaking, when there's a superior form of communication - writing? Why choose to voice out sentences that are not even fully formed in your mind? For that is how most people get by when they make conversation - conceptualise the ideas as they communicate them, not before. Why choose such an inferior, unpredictable form of communication when you can plan out and present your idea in a clear, concise manner in the written form? Surely the half-formed garbled sentences can never do you sufficient justice.

True, even in writing, one can ramble on muddleheadedly, as I have just done, but at least, I have the satisfaction of knowing that that is exactly what I want to say at this moment, and that it's in some semblance of good English, and not the occasional broken sentence I manage to ejaculate on occasion. But forgive the digression, if you will, and allow me to continue with my tirade.

Why choose to communicate verbally when it gives you so little time to adequately ponder over your words? When writing, you have to opportunity to decide and filter and dissect your thoughts and only write what you want others to read. When you speak (unless it's a prepared speech), you scarely have time to form a proper sentence before it has escaped your mouth, never to be undone, or deleted, or canceled out with a neat rule and pen mark. Saying things like 'I go with you' instead of 'I will go with you' are slips which are only too easy to make when you speak, but which seldom occur when you write. Sometimes, you let go of a sentence before it's even formed, and your brain doesn't work quickly enough to fill in the blanks, leaving you trailing off with a helpless look in your eyes, and a 'you know what I mean' shrug. When you write however, you can form these wisps of sentences, and yet still fill in the blanks before the reader has a chance to see your weakling of a sentence.

Why choose to communicate verbally when you can actually finish an argument or an idea without someone interrupting, and breaking your flow of thought? Sometimes you never even get a chance to express a point of view, let alone and argument, over the clamour of voices. In writing, however, you can be sure that you've 'said your say', and be content in the knowledge of having made a proper case for your stand. True, you can refute the points other's bring up immediately when you speak, but you can always adress them with additions to and editng of your essay when you write.

But the worst thing about speaking is the way it's all too easy to betray your emotions. You can unintentionally let a bitter word slip that destroys relationships and ruins lives. You can betray your fear and upsetness when you speak. It's much harder to distance yourself. When you write, it's a different story altogether. You may be crying when you write, but in your writing, if you do not intend to show your emtional upheaval, it won't be detected easily by your reader. You can maintain a seemingly calm, collected, logical, unemtional stand, or discuss sensitive issues without revealing that you are het up about them. In fact, you can address more sensitive issues, because when speaking verbally, you may be so choked up with emotion that you cannot dislodge the lump in your throat to talk, but it doesn't mean that you can't think. And what you think can be written down easily enough. It's not likely you can be so choked up you can't move your hand. In no way are your tear ducts related to your hands, at least not in any way that I can see at this moment.

True enough, speaking is faster. Perhaps communicating verbally is also more spontaneous and hence, more exihilarating form of conversation. Verbal slander, if you're into slander at all, is also less "serious" than written slander. So in that sense, the temporal nature of speaking is advantageous to some.

But even though speaking may be convenient, and perhaps I might even go so far as to call is indispensable, I still cannot help but wish sometimes, that I was mute. It would make verbal communication irrelevant.