At the end of an era, you cut your losses and make your way back. You go back to what you once conceived of as your ‘authentic self’. You’re constantly trying to define yourself by holding up the content of your life, the people and ruling ideas, against your murky past; you try to find something cohesive. Like looking at negatives in some expansive dark room, we’re trying to find some image that makes sense and is consistent. That’s it really. So easily I can sum up all the machinery and emotion that one arrives at when he stares into the face of the road ahead, stretching from that door just closed to some infinite darkness, but all the knowledge in the world couldn’t make it any easier.
You simply go through the motions, once again, and you marvel at all the constancies you can draw between this time and the last time. Then, you become suddenly afraid at all the inconstancies, at how time has, without your approval, decided to change everything, all the old rules of engagement and social codes. Now you have to learn everything again. What was certain, only moments ago, is now undeniably unclear. So you bounce, like a skipping stone, from one minor tragedy to the next, all the while unable to piece together enough similar threads from each to make something to cushion the fall with. The wisdom you obtain is mostly too abstract or too case-specific to ever use again, which, grimly, you appreciate.
The only thing I really lament about the process is the initial stage of overwhelming doubt and the sense you’re being crushed on all sides by a shapeless lack of foresight. Stupidly you peer into the dark distance, stooping a little bit, slightly changing your vantage to no avail. Meanwhile, you know the only way you actually get anywhere is a constant battle of trial and error, catch and release, and so on. Too weary to try something different, you embark on a meaningless grace period of simply ‘being’. Maybe you drink too much, or play too much Grand Theft Auto, either way, you decide to waste time till a better idea becomes available. When it does, you’re life is so different you don’t even notice.
The real tragedy of our lives is this exchange between one version of ourselves and the next; they never really get to meet. It lies in that telling moment when you look back at a period of your life and wonder, why did I do that? Or, why did I feel that way? Somewhere, in some lost dimension, your self right now is furious at your future self for becoming someone different and forgetting the beauty of her past. For all my nostalgia I can never really connect with my past. A veil, it seems, obscures images that, at one time or another, were clear and vivid. These are the transgressions of a momentary lapse in comprehension; they are the infinite inconsistencies of human existence and the trials of our modern lives - whatever that means.
So we push on in our travail toward satisfaction. Perhaps, if we don’t change so much the goals are easier to obtain. Or, if you change in just the right ways, stop making the right mistakes, you can go back and fix what you’ve broken. However, by that time, chances are you’ll be someone else entirely. Unfortunately destined to soldier on some different path you didn’t consciously chose while your old self tries desperately to reign you in again. Then again, what do I know? I’m back there with you, looking into the oppressive darkness, stooping dumbly, trying to change my vantage to no avail.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Wealth, Entitlement and the Relation between Production and Consumption in America:
An Essay on 21st Century Capitalism’s Epic Failure.
My computer desk is parallel to a wall, on which a giant map of the world is displayed. Maps, it seems to me, are relatively unfashionable wall-hangings now, and globes are even less popular. I wonder how instructive Kellie Pickler’s performance on the dreadful show, Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader really is? Not only was it startling, indeed terrifying, that she was unaware of Europe’s status as a continent (not a country) or that she thought that perhaps Budapest was the capital of France - the concept of the program is, in itself equally scary, if not more-so. Any culture where it is a challenge for an adult to outsmart a ten year old, is a culture in decay. Regardless of the show’s ostensible irony and self mockery, the stupidity of working-class Americans should not be fodder for their own entertainment – it is indicative of a kind of narcissistic-solipsism, “That person is so stupid, we are similar, but I am not that stupid”, and it is a light-hearted example of what this current economic crisis really is: a human resource crisis.
It need not be strictly the domain of political scientists and economists to diagnose our marketplace’s illness, because the ailment is common and obvious: we over consume and under produce. However, what has continually gone unmentioned is our inability to produce. It often feels like a matter of choice, it seems as though we all got together at some point and chose to outsource labour, and seek employment in abstract fields like economics and personal finance; to essentially be in the business of dealing with money, rather than actually generating any. Perhaps to better understand our current predicament we should stop talking about money entirely, because it is a vague concept that only clouds what is a much simpler problem, a problem that has nothing to do with money, per say, and more to do with credit, production, over consumption and that old jest the American Dream.
The reconstitution of Mercantile Capitalism in America, made possible entirely through the Transatlantic Slave Trade, developed production and consumption relationships with very finite life spans. The de-institutionalization of slavery and indentured servitude, presented the American marketplace with a similar, albeit much less serious and ethically disturbing problem like professional sports has encountered with the use of steroids. How do you conduct business fairly after acknowledging finally, that it has been done unfairly for so long. Those who make an ethical decision not to use steroids, although following a morally higher path, put themselves at a physical disadvantage to steroid users. How do you restructure the rules to insure fair-play? More importantly, for the future of the sport, how does one reestablish expected norms of player behavior that will at once navigate out of the steroid problem and establish business trends to extend beyond the problem indefinitely.
The American financial system before the abolishment of slavery was cheating. The labour is free, and the labourers are disenfranchised, or better put, non-franchised, because they were never agents of their own freewill, at least not in this economic system which was bereft of ethics or humanity. For the landowning class, wealth was unlimited, progress was endless, and growth was infinite. I will argue that the American relationship between owner, labourer and consumer has never really shook free from this mould. With careful precision the proto-capitalist will do everything in his power to maintain this status quote, which encourages conspicuous consumption, the disenfranchisement of the working class and the continued proliferation of inequality.
This admission of guilt on behalf of the modern business person, is repelled with well-practiced claims about capitalism's profiteering from equality, "the more consumers are successful the more they can consume and further stimulate the economy", if this is the goal of capitalism in America then it has failed miserably. It is no secret that the gap between rich and poor continues to widen, and that job layoffs and unemployment are more to the disadvantage of the working classes. There was a time however, as recent as the 1970's when Finally Got The News, a film about the creation of black labour unions in the motor city was made, when the American economy was propped up by products produced and sold in America. Now however, those educated within the American post-secondary system seek jobs in finance, law, politics, and other things dealing largely with intellectual or abstract property. And so it becomes simply inevitable that the system will collapse, and it did.
Not only was the average American middle class suburbanite living beyond her means, but America as a nation, as an economic force of consumption and minimal production was living beyond its means.This comes partly from the new, sick American dream, and the audacious assumption that the reign would be infinite. Why else would GM consistently make cars that no one wanted to drive? Why would Chrysler, in the face of an energy crisis, make cars that guzzle gas in a way only comparable to the cars they made in the late 60's and early 70's? In a word, arrogance. This is simply the ugly truth - we want to think this recession is something that has been done to us, primarily by 'the banks', this massive assailant we have demonized and scapegoated. Although the banks did business like cash rich teenagers, it is nevertheless counter productive to avoid the blame in this catastrophe, or at the very lease, some of the blame. It was the Citizen, after all, who took on the mortgage she couldn't afford, and the American who drove the SUV and spent money like he was on vacation. We began to believe we needed those things, which yes, we were told we needed. But still, we believed it.
In an effort to never compromise we compromised ourselves, our rationality, and our foresight. They sold the American dream and the American chose to live in it, but of course, as with any dream, regardless of how sweet it may be, we were destined to awake with cold shoulders, amidst tireless reality, which despite our neglect, never stopped existing. Now, most likely and contrary to what the executive government says it's going to do, we will patch up the old broken system and batten down the empire's hatches for another storm that is nestled deep in the far off horizon. We will stand, breath bated, on the American shore watching it come, naively hoping that it will simply pass by. It would take something similar to the civil war to disrupt the power structure; the slaves have to demand their own freedom. Yes, that is the real state of things, and to feel free now, when you are not, is the worst kind of sin. That is how we have truly compromised ourselves; by watching them take the reins and steer us into oblivion, and to feel, not only like a complacent spectator, but also like a willful participant. As has always been the case, the advancement of the working class is the key to survival. By producing more and consuming less, and not listening to the pundits who tell you that the world economy depends on our conspicuous consumption, we can point ourselves in a more favorable direction.
Unfortunately, doing so is far more difficult than saying so. We will not simply get the richest one percent to agree to redevelop the American market relationships in favour of the labourer, clerk and merchant. It will require vigilance and organization and above all else, faith. Not faith in the pacifying religious sense; having stock in the strength of human thought and good intentions. Finally, we have to want better to obtain better. Before self reliance can be demanded, one must believe in her own independence and her entitlement to freedom. Change necessitates, by its very nature, overwhelming effort and expansive thought. Revitalization requires large scale planning and direct action, unwavering conviction and the underlying sense that what we're doing is right. We must recapture the momentum, and this time, we cannot let it be taken away by ideologues, fear mongers and the greedy. Do not be fooled by success as you now know it. Define it for yourself, and strive towards it responsibly, as you once did.
Jesse Borg, June 2009
My computer desk is parallel to a wall, on which a giant map of the world is displayed. Maps, it seems to me, are relatively unfashionable wall-hangings now, and globes are even less popular. I wonder how instructive Kellie Pickler’s performance on the dreadful show, Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader really is? Not only was it startling, indeed terrifying, that she was unaware of Europe’s status as a continent (not a country) or that she thought that perhaps Budapest was the capital of France - the concept of the program is, in itself equally scary, if not more-so. Any culture where it is a challenge for an adult to outsmart a ten year old, is a culture in decay. Regardless of the show’s ostensible irony and self mockery, the stupidity of working-class Americans should not be fodder for their own entertainment – it is indicative of a kind of narcissistic-solipsism, “That person is so stupid, we are similar, but I am not that stupid”, and it is a light-hearted example of what this current economic crisis really is: a human resource crisis.
It need not be strictly the domain of political scientists and economists to diagnose our marketplace’s illness, because the ailment is common and obvious: we over consume and under produce. However, what has continually gone unmentioned is our inability to produce. It often feels like a matter of choice, it seems as though we all got together at some point and chose to outsource labour, and seek employment in abstract fields like economics and personal finance; to essentially be in the business of dealing with money, rather than actually generating any. Perhaps to better understand our current predicament we should stop talking about money entirely, because it is a vague concept that only clouds what is a much simpler problem, a problem that has nothing to do with money, per say, and more to do with credit, production, over consumption and that old jest the American Dream.
The reconstitution of Mercantile Capitalism in America, made possible entirely through the Transatlantic Slave Trade, developed production and consumption relationships with very finite life spans. The de-institutionalization of slavery and indentured servitude, presented the American marketplace with a similar, albeit much less serious and ethically disturbing problem like professional sports has encountered with the use of steroids. How do you conduct business fairly after acknowledging finally, that it has been done unfairly for so long. Those who make an ethical decision not to use steroids, although following a morally higher path, put themselves at a physical disadvantage to steroid users. How do you restructure the rules to insure fair-play? More importantly, for the future of the sport, how does one reestablish expected norms of player behavior that will at once navigate out of the steroid problem and establish business trends to extend beyond the problem indefinitely.
The American financial system before the abolishment of slavery was cheating. The labour is free, and the labourers are disenfranchised, or better put, non-franchised, because they were never agents of their own freewill, at least not in this economic system which was bereft of ethics or humanity. For the landowning class, wealth was unlimited, progress was endless, and growth was infinite. I will argue that the American relationship between owner, labourer and consumer has never really shook free from this mould. With careful precision the proto-capitalist will do everything in his power to maintain this status quote, which encourages conspicuous consumption, the disenfranchisement of the working class and the continued proliferation of inequality.
This admission of guilt on behalf of the modern business person, is repelled with well-practiced claims about capitalism's profiteering from equality, "the more consumers are successful the more they can consume and further stimulate the economy", if this is the goal of capitalism in America then it has failed miserably. It is no secret that the gap between rich and poor continues to widen, and that job layoffs and unemployment are more to the disadvantage of the working classes. There was a time however, as recent as the 1970's when Finally Got The News, a film about the creation of black labour unions in the motor city was made, when the American economy was propped up by products produced and sold in America. Now however, those educated within the American post-secondary system seek jobs in finance, law, politics, and other things dealing largely with intellectual or abstract property. And so it becomes simply inevitable that the system will collapse, and it did.
Not only was the average American middle class suburbanite living beyond her means, but America as a nation, as an economic force of consumption and minimal production was living beyond its means.This comes partly from the new, sick American dream, and the audacious assumption that the reign would be infinite. Why else would GM consistently make cars that no one wanted to drive? Why would Chrysler, in the face of an energy crisis, make cars that guzzle gas in a way only comparable to the cars they made in the late 60's and early 70's? In a word, arrogance. This is simply the ugly truth - we want to think this recession is something that has been done to us, primarily by 'the banks', this massive assailant we have demonized and scapegoated. Although the banks did business like cash rich teenagers, it is nevertheless counter productive to avoid the blame in this catastrophe, or at the very lease, some of the blame. It was the Citizen, after all, who took on the mortgage she couldn't afford, and the American who drove the SUV and spent money like he was on vacation. We began to believe we needed those things, which yes, we were told we needed. But still, we believed it.
In an effort to never compromise we compromised ourselves, our rationality, and our foresight. They sold the American dream and the American chose to live in it, but of course, as with any dream, regardless of how sweet it may be, we were destined to awake with cold shoulders, amidst tireless reality, which despite our neglect, never stopped existing. Now, most likely and contrary to what the executive government says it's going to do, we will patch up the old broken system and batten down the empire's hatches for another storm that is nestled deep in the far off horizon. We will stand, breath bated, on the American shore watching it come, naively hoping that it will simply pass by. It would take something similar to the civil war to disrupt the power structure; the slaves have to demand their own freedom. Yes, that is the real state of things, and to feel free now, when you are not, is the worst kind of sin. That is how we have truly compromised ourselves; by watching them take the reins and steer us into oblivion, and to feel, not only like a complacent spectator, but also like a willful participant. As has always been the case, the advancement of the working class is the key to survival. By producing more and consuming less, and not listening to the pundits who tell you that the world economy depends on our conspicuous consumption, we can point ourselves in a more favorable direction.
Unfortunately, doing so is far more difficult than saying so. We will not simply get the richest one percent to agree to redevelop the American market relationships in favour of the labourer, clerk and merchant. It will require vigilance and organization and above all else, faith. Not faith in the pacifying religious sense; having stock in the strength of human thought and good intentions. Finally, we have to want better to obtain better. Before self reliance can be demanded, one must believe in her own independence and her entitlement to freedom. Change necessitates, by its very nature, overwhelming effort and expansive thought. Revitalization requires large scale planning and direct action, unwavering conviction and the underlying sense that what we're doing is right. We must recapture the momentum, and this time, we cannot let it be taken away by ideologues, fear mongers and the greedy. Do not be fooled by success as you now know it. Define it for yourself, and strive towards it responsibly, as you once did.
Jesse Borg, June 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Kansas, letter and a song.
Today, in accordance with my daily routine, I woke up, made coffee, and turned on my computer. I sat at my desk, amongst all my daily news papers and online editions (Onion, Huffington and NYTonline) to internalise my everyday intake of fear propaganda concerning the economy, Obama's candidate for Supreme Court Justice, and the other rigid postures of politics that inform this year of our lord two thousand and nine. The top story of the Huffington post, and several other publications, involved the block letters in red that are so often used to encourage that old innate, intuitive panic, that works best for the functionality of our political schema. "Abortion Doctor Shot Dead at Church In Kansas" the headline read. What troubles me most about this story is its lack of shock value; is it at all surprising. I mean, it's fucked up, but it's by no means bewildering. In fact, this particular doctor had been shot in a previous political/religious aimed assassination attempt. There are just some areas where the proliferation of ignorance and incoherent hate is simply common place. We take the old guard stupidity and decadence of the south for granted, because that is the status quot behavior, and we appreciate it as a cultural phenomenon that we do not subscribe to - a different world, inhabited by another breed of human entirely. By making a state like Kansas seem so other-worldly, basically intrinsically separate from what we might consider mainstream North American society we avoid paying tribute to the real horrors of a story like this. We let the ideologues have free reign. The Governor of Texas recently put forth succession as a possible option for Texas in the face of the Obama administration's fundamentally altering implications for the current American social-political system. Although this seems politically insane, culturally, this has happened to some degree, albeit subconscious and unspoken. By thinking of the south in a kind of civil war sense, as a nation unto itself, wholly incapable of adapting to 'mainstream' North American behavior, we make it, at least partially, the stomping ground of the hyper-conservative, the religious fanatics and flagrant bigots. I'm not implying that this is what the South is entirely, but it seems undeniable at this point that those characters are at least very identifiable stock characters in this southern tragedy. And it is a tragedy. When a doctor is shot dead in a church and it isn't even surprising, something is terribly wrong.
Kansas
I was in the cold-room
When they killed the doctor
On the church floor
Blood on the alter
Depraved the preacher,
And national secret,
no disbelief at
the news this morning
suits' hearts that rust
when we're water pouring
Oh Kansas,
Transient sinners
Mould country canvas
Oh Kansas,
Oh vigilant place
Startling pictures
Out of Kansas today
The shifting face
Of God’s good people,
The depressed city,
The new country evil
Brings about the red dusk
Painted with blood and rust
Enter reporters,
Sharks in red water
Instruct new order
Scared sons and daughters,
Of Kansas,
Transient sinners
Brave race winners
Oh Kansas,
The Vigilant South
Won't go without
Kansas
I was in the cold-room
When they killed the doctor
On the church floor
Blood on the alter
Depraved the preacher,
And national secret,
no disbelief at
the news this morning
suits' hearts that rust
when we're water pouring
Oh Kansas,
Transient sinners
Mould country canvas
Oh Kansas,
Oh vigilant place
Startling pictures
Out of Kansas today
The shifting face
Of God’s good people,
The depressed city,
The new country evil
Brings about the red dusk
Painted with blood and rust
Enter reporters,
Sharks in red water
Instruct new order
Scared sons and daughters,
Of Kansas,
Transient sinners
Brave race winners
Oh Kansas,
The Vigilant South
Won't go without
Friday, May 29, 2009
New Poem - "At Arms Length"
At Arms Length
Me-
Put at arms length
You-
Pull away at length
With the day
I’m-
Becoming involved,
Nostalgia though unaware
We’re now in that space,
Once reserved for-
Kept for and used by memory.
Moments ago, caught up,
Physical interaction-
Visceral,
Real,
Now printed – wistful longing,
Arms outstretched towards
The ideal past,
A dying image,
A waking dream.
Running hands over pictures
Running water-
Running hands through hair-
Stoic, stagnant, fearful,
You-
Spreading lives,
Asunder torn our still frame memories,
Our wordless exchanges,
I and you and me and them,
Versus,
Against,
Now position is…
Perspective is irrelevant
You’re given a name,
And a place and instructions,
How do these things happen?
Transgressions of selfhood,
Postures of politicking,
You’re well liked,
It’s all about being well liked,
And in one final heroic,
No, paradoxical act,
You will aim at redemption
And fall on short sidedness.
Me-
Put at arms length
You-
Pull away at length
With the day
I’m-
Becoming involved,
Nostalgia though unaware
We’re now in that space,
Once reserved for-
Kept for and used by memory.
Moments ago, caught up,
Physical interaction-
Visceral,
Real,
Now printed – wistful longing,
Arms outstretched towards
The ideal past,
A dying image,
A waking dream.
Running hands over pictures
Running water-
Running hands through hair-
Stoic, stagnant, fearful,
You-
Spreading lives,
Asunder torn our still frame memories,
Our wordless exchanges,
I and you and me and them,
Versus,
Against,
Now position is…
Perspective is irrelevant
You’re given a name,
And a place and instructions,
How do these things happen?
Transgressions of selfhood,
Postures of politicking,
You’re well liked,
It’s all about being well liked,
And in one final heroic,
No, paradoxical act,
You will aim at redemption
And fall on short sidedness.
Monday, May 4, 2009
All the Brick Walls in Brampton
All the Brick Walls in Brampton:
Cigarettes smell like brick walls,
and remind me of lurking around corners,
they burn slow with the endless sunsets,
like the great lidless eye of summer,
looking out over the urban sprawl as it eats up the land-
I wondered how its shape would shift next. Who knew?
Against a wall, I was hiding
from the suburban sages
with tobacco, cola and the resolve to do nothing -
I was looking into the eyes of a friend
who was becoming a stranger,
not fighting it - it came with the g
rim understanding of growing up.
Time will leave us powerless,
and like with quicksand,
struggling will only make it worse.
Clutter makes for stagnancy -
this I learned from sleeplessly
staring about your room,
or while contemplating the infinite
transgressions of weakness.
You said it's me. You said it isn't the mess,
it ain't the mess, it's not the mess.
Maybe you're right. But I look around,
dust on the window, all this dirt and clutter -
and there's things need doing.
They make pills for stress now,
and for not having the strength to sleep.
There's medicine to still my shaking hand -
But they don't make a pill for indecision.
Lost amongst the changing faces,
who will reign in my father's strength and boyish wonder?
From a roof top, Like little pebbles,
bits of tar and sand crumbled beneath me,
sent tumbling down to the wet grass
they stuck to the blades.
I was up there looking for a city,
scanning the expanding grid
wanting to find a friendly face,
but they were all shadows
dancing in ritual and
succumbing to the vicious heat.
Cigarettes taste like the air
in that dark guest room, one wet July,
Fog forming on the window -
words exchanged soundlessly,
Light it, ember ignite,
ashes on the mattress (clean it later).
There was always time for later then.
Now the emulsion, Age makes time easier to swallow.
Wisdom, supposedly, is a currency,
Changes hands I suppose,
serves some pragmatic function...
With age we have so much
to look forward to, although I'll
always catch myself looking
back absent mindedly -
suddenly recalling
the brick walls in Brampton,
the ashes on the mattress,
A wet July couched in an endless summer
I spent lurking around corners.
Cigarettes smell like brick walls,
and remind me of lurking around corners,
they burn slow with the endless sunsets,
like the great lidless eye of summer,
looking out over the urban sprawl as it eats up the land-
I wondered how its shape would shift next. Who knew?
Against a wall, I was hiding
from the suburban sages
with tobacco, cola and the resolve to do nothing -
I was looking into the eyes of a friend
who was becoming a stranger,
not fighting it - it came with the g
rim understanding of growing up.
Time will leave us powerless,
and like with quicksand,
struggling will only make it worse.
Clutter makes for stagnancy -
this I learned from sleeplessly
staring about your room,
or while contemplating the infinite
transgressions of weakness.
You said it's me. You said it isn't the mess,
it ain't the mess, it's not the mess.
Maybe you're right. But I look around,
dust on the window, all this dirt and clutter -
and there's things need doing.
They make pills for stress now,
and for not having the strength to sleep.
There's medicine to still my shaking hand -
But they don't make a pill for indecision.
Lost amongst the changing faces,
who will reign in my father's strength and boyish wonder?
From a roof top, Like little pebbles,
bits of tar and sand crumbled beneath me,
sent tumbling down to the wet grass
they stuck to the blades.
I was up there looking for a city,
scanning the expanding grid
wanting to find a friendly face,
but they were all shadows
dancing in ritual and
succumbing to the vicious heat.
Cigarettes taste like the air
in that dark guest room, one wet July,
Fog forming on the window -
words exchanged soundlessly,
Light it, ember ignite,
ashes on the mattress (clean it later).
There was always time for later then.
Now the emulsion, Age makes time easier to swallow.
Wisdom, supposedly, is a currency,
Changes hands I suppose,
serves some pragmatic function...
With age we have so much
to look forward to, although I'll
always catch myself looking
back absent mindedly -
suddenly recalling
the brick walls in Brampton,
the ashes on the mattress,
A wet July couched in an endless summer
I spent lurking around corners.
Monday, April 27, 2009
"He do the police in different voices"
I wish I could paint. I want to draw because words are obscure, the worst kind of medium;
our saliva adhesive gluing phrases together - we mutter cliches absentmindedly, unaware of what they really mean.
Words are counter productive, they are hopelessly abstract while
Images are organic and reliable.
I get the feeling when I look at a wholehearted picture, a classic visage, that description is irrelevant. Having described the sunset I forgot how it looked, I only remember how it sounded - for all my pale representations of ailing tokens I've presented very little in the way of any discernible experience. Feeling through the dark, every writer is trying to thumb her way along the light switch, constructing a weak imagining of what it looks like from how it feels in the dark.
Although I still love language, over and over again I'm finding its limitations.
Always in the face of something larger; always mediating between some truth and the rest.
Peace,
from the warzone,
Jesse Paul Borg.
our saliva adhesive gluing phrases together - we mutter cliches absentmindedly, unaware of what they really mean.
Words are counter productive, they are hopelessly abstract while
Images are organic and reliable.
I get the feeling when I look at a wholehearted picture, a classic visage, that description is irrelevant. Having described the sunset I forgot how it looked, I only remember how it sounded - for all my pale representations of ailing tokens I've presented very little in the way of any discernible experience. Feeling through the dark, every writer is trying to thumb her way along the light switch, constructing a weak imagining of what it looks like from how it feels in the dark.
Although I still love language, over and over again I'm finding its limitations.
Always in the face of something larger; always mediating between some truth and the rest.
Peace,
from the warzone,
Jesse Paul Borg.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
On Thinking About "One Size Fits All"
One size fits all - I like the feel of this phrase.
Sometimes I simply like to evaluate these North American sayings. Eventually we'll stop creating proverbs or even cliches; we'll just have commercials. Lingo. Jargon.
It's maddening to think about the endless inconsistencies that trouble any philosophy. Perhaps it is merely a product of being an undergraduate, struggling to grasp the weight of hundreds of years of thinking - how every idea comes from other splintered ideas, all native to different times and spaces. Scholarship, or at least my experience with it, is chocked full of disconnected ideas. We seem to break things apart to better understand them. You'll hear about some thing's political relevance, or its social relevance, its relevance to the environment or to economics, rarely do you discuss an idea as such. Perhaps we do this in philosophy. Philosophy seems to be the only discipline capable of getting down to brass tacks and committing itself to the honest toil of human thought.
I'm going somewhere with this: I think we've taken this 'one size fits all' attitude and mapped it all over ourselves. It seeps into all our institutions and habits.
I'm getting a 'one size fits all' education.
I write 'one size fits all' songs.
At a time when we are allegedly expanding our borders and constantly coming face to face with new realities, we are boiling everything down to a lowest common denominator, cause' we're lazy. All of our sub-dividing makes real consideration impossible. If I look at a group of people and gather up a series of characteristics they all seem to share I marginalize them and my own knowledge. It's bigger than stereotyping - it's in everything. We are incapable of seeing the big picture.
It's those fucking microwaves. Maybe I'm not as lazy cause I never had one. But we can get anything warmed up in a couple minutes. The Internet - we can watch or buy or listen to whatever we want in a couple minutes, which is fine. However, when we can't figure something out in a couple minutes - when we stare into the vast abyss of all our unsolved problems we cower, searching frantically for a way to speed up our enlightenment, which seems inherently counter productive.
I hope I'm not turning myself into some kind of moch-guru-blog-guy. You know, the kind of person who clutters the Internet with "wisdom" - I'm just thinking out loud here. 'One size fits all' is an interesting concept, especially when you look at it not just as a slogan or a manufacturing tool, but in its relation to everything it touches.
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