Requiem For Rungs, Pt. III

If this were written two weeks ago, this is what it would say. Things would be out of order, and yet isn't the order they were already in arbitrary anyway? We like to sort things and think of them as definitive that way, yet there's a plethora of suitable orders. If we feel married to one, it's most likely due to familiarity. We identify with the immediate. We like things that belong to us or that we're a part of. If we've been in a city for a time, it tends to become a part of our identity. We feel some pride when famous people come from our hometown or other close location, and yet why? It wasn't anything we did to bring it about. And having a luminary come from somewhere isn't necessarily a reflection on that place. Everybody has to come from somewhere.

That being said, the earlier post was believed to be standing on its own and still is, though as towers can teeter and climbers can babble, it reportedly behooves us to assume more foundation to it. In the spirit of overtly sanitized subtitles, slight explanations are in order without deconstructing the piece beyond its usefulness.

Like the outdoorsman on TV who thinks he’s really doing something incredible out in the wilderness, as he climbs over difficult terrain in the midst of various feral beasts, without a map, without sustenance or any of the comforts of life. Until we realize that the cameraman has been doing the same thing while also lugging around the camera and pointing it at our supposed hero. By writing about a writing, it can put an unnecessary camera on it. To breathe properly, an idea needs to exist in its natural habitat, which is to not be produced in multifarious perspectives. Often when watching movies, I can't separate myself from the notion that a cameraman is following all this action. It takes me out of the moment, which process isn't an improvement.

We naturally think more = more. But less is just as often more than more. Strict accumulation can't be every answer.

So when discussing meaning, it's akin to looking at a mirror in the mirror. You can't step outside of it to analyze it. What was demonstrated was that words are just dressing for meaning, but whatever the underlying meaning is can survive without much assistance from words.

The other concept alluded to was how phrases become so commonly utilized that deviations from them seem foreign to us, and we get out of our zone of comfort and thus confusion ensues. But part of learning is in learning extended ways of describing what is thought and what is felt. Thus, innovative, creative and unconventional ways of approaching a subject — one would think — ought to be encouraged. Although it's antithetical to group thought, because a group can't be unconventional. Whatever the group chooses is conventional by definition. What a conundrum for us.

Outside the box is in the box if the group embraces it.

As the trappings are torn away from communication and in this case literature, meaning can illuminate. But if we're thinking only in patterned ways, the meaning won't always be revealed to us. An open mind not only welcomes but searches for challenges to existing modes of thinking. Style can be sacrificed without losing the core. If we spent less time on stylistic concerns, we'd be so much further ahead. Look at things in different ways, and dimensions come to you that weren't there before. This is learning, unlike fact-finding.

So you can read broken down prose and still elicit the purity of it. Meaning is everywhere, even where it's not dressed up. You can't judge an idea by the words that mask it.

The aforementioned exercise was all subliminal, and you can forget it now, because it doesn't need to reside in your conscious. On three, you will be awakened and return to your normal state. 1... 2...