Your art should be a part of you; you write, you paint, you photograph, draw, sculpt because you have no choice in the matter.

Language is great at describing things. Its great weakness is in conveying experience, and yet that’s exactly what we lean on it for the most, on an interpersonal level. Our mouths are our most sensitive organ. The best language can do is invoke the experience in another person.

So they say, show, don’t tell. “He was pissed off” doesn’t have the same impact as “He raged his way incoherent through fifteen painful minutes”. I’m just making this up. You can probably tell.

It’s process, of course. We live our language, but take it for granted. Stop taking your language for granted, please.

When an idea, a partial poem, runs through my head, more often than not I won’t write it down. Wait, aren’t we supposed to keep a notebook on hand at all times for ideas?

Naw. You can feel how fully formed an expression is. The general idea might be fine to record, but after a couple minutes you can tell when you’re forcing the words.

With haiku, I do usually write them down immediately; there may well be lots of rewriting, but they’re such delicate structures that every initial nuance, however forced, is a necessity for maintaining the idea later on.

With any longer form, I have to pare down.

Usually, whatever passes through is a spin on something I already think about- it’s pretty much given that it’ll come crawling back later, in better shape than it began. Better to let it roam for a while.

When I say fully formed, I mean that it is usually two or three lines, and perhaps bits of a couple stanzas, with gaps to be filled. The focus provided by the formed lines generally overcomes all of it, with only a few scratched-out words marking the way. I will have a first draft in ten to fifteen minutes. Even forty lines worth, if that’s the way it leans. If I push on, I may work for up to an hour, in a constant revision process. This may need minor tweaks later, but after such effort, it is almost flawless, within the scope of my ability.

Except for when I do a drastic rewrite a month later. That happens sometimes. Writers cannibalize their own thoughts.

I often write free verse that turns out to have almost perfect meter. Woops. All that reading and close reading in college helps out. It’s practice, physical practice, until it’s not just automatic, but rhythmic. Poets used to copy out previous poets’ work repeatedly, the way apprentice painters copied paintings. It drives the work home.

The rhythm then exists naturally, without effort, without force, pulsing through the flow generating each following step.

I may revise twenty times. Or not. “Fully formed” is a relative term. A nice couplet becomes an entire stanza, or is unrecognizable outside of two key words and a concept. Context, context, context.

The passing concept startles me. Catches my attention. That is fully formed. You see your everyday ideas in a new light. And you learn.

“Writers end up writing about their obsessions. Things that haunt them; things they can’t forget; stories they carry in their bodies waiting to be released.” pg. 42, Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg

An Expression of Tea:

Sweet cabbage

Camphor breath ripples

gold green rust.

Guess what? My social interactions are often a little odd. Besides being draining. Probably for everyone else, too.

Let’s go down the checklist:

Do you look around the room, and feel like you made eye contact with every single person broadly facing your direction?

Do you wonder if they’re judging you for staring, even though you’re pretty sure you aren’t?

When in the middle of a group of acquaintances or casual friends, do you feel like you’re observing?

When the group you’re talking to moves off, a couple at a time, do you wonder how they knew what to do?

When you approach some of them a few minutes later, do you figure they think you’re hovering or pushing yourself on them?

When someone asks you a question, or hell, you get on a topic you like or just open your mouth, or something someone says triggers a response, do you Infodump?

You might be a heavy introvert.

Ahhh, lovely frustration. How isolated do you feel today? (no, it’s not a contest. I find it difficult not to smirk, however.)

Let’s see where this leads.

Mind the gap.

Apparently, I’m an INTP. Much of the wikipedia INTP entry is pretty accurate, actually. Especially the second paragraph in the Type Description.

Your responses help ground me. When the conversation dies, it’s because I don’t know what to do. And there’s a good chance I don’t even know how to approach, how to ask. Missing context.

Ask me too broad a question, I simply can’t respond. I will stare blankly while figuring out how to tell you how I’m doing. How much to include.

Or I go on for far too long. See this post for reference.

See the Inferior Function, extraverted feeling. I always seem to be the obvious middle ground in an argument. Note the need for a defined role in a group.

Rather frustrating when there’s an obvious middle ground, because these kinds of arguments don’t make much of an impact. Extremes are fun, this is true. Certainly helps explain pundits.

The simple way to put it is that I need context, and often have trouble picking up on it; other people’s experiences help ground my own observations (oh yeah, I tend to speak in terms of observations, which are often mistaken for judgments), which gives me a tendency to immediately speak in an effort to interact with whatever they just said. Which probably seems like I was just waiting for my chance to talk about myself, when it is exactly the opposite.

I’m reaching out to understand what you’re communicating. I interact through words.

Where it says "When under stress, however, INTPs can feel disconnected from the people around them, unable to use their extraverted Feeling to reach out to others." Yeah, all the freaking time, unless I’m in a really good mood.

I use humor to bridge the gap. The third paragraph (of the type function) is my sense of humor. I cultivate the absurd. It allows me to create my own context when none is present. Humor is an art form, and self-transformation is a creative process between intention and externality. And I use language or humor to bridge that gap. Which is usually what’s happening if I seem to be overbearing or dominant in a conversation.

You (the general you, plural) communicate a feeling, grounded in an example. I respond with a joke and an observation. My observations about my own reactions. The observation sounds like I’m giving advice. Or judging you. I’m actually trying to figure out your intention in the situation that you communicated. I get the example; the feeling doesn’t entirely come through.

Yes, that’s how much effort goes into social situations.

None of this helps when getting to know someone brand new. I do try. But there will be an odd flow to the conversation.

You know how a conversation with your friends will just quiet down suddenly? In person, no big deal; when you’re on the phone or online, the time stretches out.

When you don’t yet know someone, in person or not, well, good luck.

Getting to know new people is a slow process for me. It takes lots of small conversations, preferably. The last time I made a close friend was in a college class. As in, brief conversations, three times a week. After a couple weeks, we started hanging out more. Small doses. You see?

When I stress out about having minimal relationship experience, this is why. A close friend has told me, experience doesn’t really matter in relationships. And I’ve heard before, I think it’s a quote from somewhere, that every time is the first time.

I’m certain there is truth to this. And it’s certainly better to not compare relationships, for the most part. For me, however, as you can hopefully see, this is a somewhat more important concern.

When I say that I have no idea what I’m doing, I bloody well mean it.

The Tertiary Cognitive Function

I relive memories easily. Which is to say, memories are simply present a large part of the time. I pull references to what someone said three years ago. But I suck at dates and names.

The part they don’t tell you is that it makes letting go of things rather difficult. When you only see someone once a month for a while, and you feel like you still know them, but it turns out you’re missing the fine details.

There are gaps in your knowledge. Fail to cross those gaps at your own risk.

So you learn to ask questions. You know that you don’t know enough. You get overly inquisitive about private details because you need to learn the texture of the other person’s life.

The Auxiliary Function

The other side of the same question: Do you need to know details, because otherwise you read far too much into everything? Do you inadvertently fill in the gaps with what you already know?

Assumptions, assumptions, assumptions. They come in so many flavors.

I ask. I probe. I need answers, and I need to trust. Does this make me sound obsessive yet?

It’s okay, most of the mind games are on me. You see, I’ve learned to question my thoughts, just in case I’m lying to myself.

…right. Ever used sincerity and honesty to lie to yourself? So I spill the beans early. I’m not just open, I’m open about everything, from the beginning. Who knows what I might be hiding from myself otherwise.

Hopefully, this is of use to you. Maybe you can apply these observations to your own interactions. To find ways to reach out. To prompt the info-sponge you know at work.

Here, you’re seeing some themes that will come up again. Self-transformation. Ritualization. The process of art. Conflict resolution.

Bridging the gaps, taking the risks, honing analysis into intuitive action.

What can I say, I’m all about useful references.

Coming soon, practices and rituals. The process behind the context.

Life’s a game we can not win.

Both good and bad will surely end.

I have a few thoughts in response to the following article.

A brief quote that is central to what I wish to address:

“1. For these reasons, the problem of evil is a greater challenge for the non-theist, because it reveals the extent to which they borrow the absoluteness of their moral framework from theists (Christians in particular). Any moral authority they have is borrowed.”

Mind the gap, please.

If you click through to the original article, the author mentions Ivan Karamazov. I was thinking fondly of Ivan already, before reading the original. You see, Ivan is the ideal straw man atheist. He is not, as he claims, an atheist; he is still part of the Christian moral dialectic. He still believes, strongly, in God and that all things good are identified with God. He can not, however, reconcile these beliefs with reality; as he says at one point, he would accept God’s creation, were it not for the arbitrary suffering of children. As Ivan says, he rejects the creation.

Ivan is the fallen angel; he speaks with the devil, who may or may not be a hallucination. Unlike the devil, Ivan’s attempts to do bad are primarily turned inward, on himself, eventually driving him insane. This is unresolved cognitive dissonance at its finest.

By the way, Alyosha is far more Buddhist than Christian. I’ll cover this another time.

Incidentally, Nietzsche criticized scientists and philosophers for doing the same thing: trying to justify their Christian holdover morality, when most of that morality, and the “basis” for it, are rendered moot without belief in God.

If you haven’t, please read On the Genealogy of Morals. Just take a minute… wait, never mind. I won’t hold my breath, as it’s a rather dense tome.

This should be required reading. So many silly questions in these moral debates are very, very convincingly addressed. Perhaps not perfectly accurately, but that would be missing the point.

If you read with an assumption of judgments made, you are missing the point.

Nonetheless…

So yes, Steve is correct in that atheists who claim absolute morality, as well as the ever-popular morality from nature, do so on extremely shaky ground. There are, however, other forms that do not suffer either the drawback of absolutism or pure subjectivity in the face of “evil”.

Oh, hell. Recap: evil is our opinion of how some things happen. It’s that simple. Doesn’t mean we want those things to happen, does it, just because we recognize a base level of arbitrariness? I notice that many of the greatest evils are specific to humans; they are not, then, objective or absolute, but relative expressions of humanity.

As for his criticism of “borrowed capital”, there may well be some overlap in ethics. So? We learn from each other. If it’s useful for me to help my neighbor (social capital, anyone? networking? An evolutionary drive to congregate?) and I pick up the original idea from the Bible, how does that hurt that basic ethic? If it’s all borrowed capital, how can we make any new conclusions? The Christian morality is based on the Bible; if I claim that as borrowed capital from Judaism, or maybe borrowed from other resurrection deities that existed prior to Christianity, can you justify your morality? This quickly spirals into a plea for an uncreated Creator. As I have concluded previously, it’s turtles all the way down.

Which of course, leads us to the question of where morals/ethics come from.

A turn of phrase that I’ve seen here and there is that we do not speak of objective morality, as it is usually defined.

As objectivity is usually defined. Give it a minute, we’ll get there.

The simple answer is, we make it up. Just like everything else. Look at Pratchett, in Hogfather: Death claims that the little lies (like believing in the Hogfather a.k.a. Santa) are practice for the bigger lies, like social justice, democracy, rights, etc. Show me “justice” that exists outside of human society. There is a wider variety of behavior that works, in terms of social survival, than most of us would like to admit. Some are “better” with regards to, say, allowing individual freedom and perhaps a lack of suffering, and when comparing we may find that people prefer certain social forms over others. At that point, there is a basis for comparison. And yet, look at the difficulties of paternalism and colonialism. These are very fine lines we’re walking.

Yes, morality is irrational. It’s based in emotional responses, in the necessity of survival within a context of limited resources. Good thing we evolved as a social animal, isn’t it? So that we can judge outward, compassionate, social values as moral?

The Hutus and Tutsis? We’ve been there. Shit, they were taught to kill each other by people exploiting that conflict. It’s a case of The Sneetches. We can, easily, look at it from the outside and say, that’s messed up. Why? I dunno about you, but I don’t like mass killing. Why? Because I’m human. Because my beliefs, and your beliefs, effect other people and I can make the decision that I would rather give up a bit of my own resources than let you be killed senselessly. I find that reciprocity is an extremely useful value.

Heck, that’s democracy; we give up a bit of our individual freedoms to protect our overall freedoms and those of minorities that would otherwise get steamrollered. Yes, because we’ve seen the results of theocracy. You know, the system our founding fathers came out of? Yeah, that’s a theocracy, and every time someone with a different religion came into power, the other groups got the shaft.

Those of us who care about other people can take our lessons, and learn.

And yes, it’s a fine line to decide whether a given issue is something that we should intervene in, and no, not everyone will be able to agree where to draw that line. It must be determined every time. So?

Life’s complicated.

…that I’m not able to share my world…

Any relationship

can end

at any time

and you may never

really

understand why.

…

More on topic, we have a thing for putting dishes to dry by the sink. I’ve been more on top of not letting things collect lately.

The little things I keep in the kitchen, like tea paraphernalia (since it’s a shared space), help me to pay more attention to the shared areas.

I know- some pro-lifers will say, but we would allow for them if the mother’s life was at risk. Okay, fine, but where do you draw the line? The author of the article has successfully had one child. It could be claimed that her risk isn’t as high as all that. Who makes the decision, but the mother, the person actually responsible?

My cute little gaiwan arrived today. These are a simple, and cheap, way to get started in Gongfu Cha, which is basically the Chinese tea ceremony. Much simpler than worrying about the kind of tea pot that is preferred.

And potentially dangerous. Realize that it’s fairly thin, and small (90ml=~3.5oz.), and you’re using very hot water.

My favorite sources for basic technique are at Tea Nerd. This video demonstrates the most common method. This article demonstrates a simple alternative. I used the simpler technique for the first few infusions.

The water crawled up the lip of the lid when I tried the common method. It’s a good thing the gaiwan is tougher than it looks. And a good thing I was almost done, so the tea didn’t really go to waste.

At least the tea turned out nice. You know, before then.

Yes, I’m putting together some thoughts on ritual and tea. This has been in my head for a while. It’s ultimately the same, regardless of brewing vessel. My cast iron teapot, at somewhere around 30oz. (visible in the background), provides excellent results. Part of that is practice. I’m used to it.

Soon enough, we’ll look at the next step.

I’m not going to bother with the historical roots, or any of that. It’s been covered.

If you need this one day to pay attention to the people you care about, you’re doing it wrong.

There’s nothing wrong with doing something special on Valentine’s Day. The thought does count; it is, in fact, intentionality that’s at issue here.

It’s about pushing limits in your relationship. Just ask yourself two questions:

• What assumptions are you making?
• What are you taking for granted?

If you aren’t pushing each other to expand, what are you doing? Stagnancy and inertia kill. It’s both your lives, together. Look at the idea of “Steak and a Blowjob” day. V-day is often used for “unusual” sexual favors. The intimacy makes it a useful example.

Is one of you uptight about something? Are you assuming that something isn’t that big of a deal? Think about blowjobs. Someone doesn’t want to do it, what I picture is, “nope, that’s gross, not happening”. In other words, conversation shut down. I have a feeling there are a lot of assumptions not being addressed when a conversation is shut down like that. Are you just coasting? Shouldn’t you be exploring why bj’s (or whatever) are an issue for you? Who’s body do you think of as “dirty”? Do sexual acts make you feel bad about yourself? Do you dislike sexuality because you aren’t comfortable with your body or with sex?

Don’t mistake me: if you’ve tried and there’s some specific reason that something just doesn’t work for you, great. Maybe you work something out if the other person really likes the act. Cause it’s about the relationship, as well; it all goes both ways. But if you basically force yourself to do it once a year, there’s an imbalance that needs to be addressed.

How honest are you, with yourself and your loved ones, about your needs?

So what should you be communicating right now?

I wish I were bragging. The fact is, I just don’t have much energy for stuff. If I have a cabinet or two full of dishes, they start collecting on my desk and living out of the dishwasher. With only a couple of each item, they get washed and dried quick. I take care of them.

Of course, this means durability has a higher priority. I don’t want to have to buy replacements, unless it’s something basic, utilitarian, and cheap. Otherwise? I am not spending more money on this, what the hell, I just bought this.

Ahem.

I do get more pleasure from beautiful items. And with only a few, as with clothes, it becomes more important. On the other hand, a slight tradeoff in durability is worth it if the aesthetics fit.

Durability keeps me honest. Aesthetics keep me satisfied.

This means I look for just a few, beautiful, lasting items. Yeah, kind of an expensive combination, but it’s worth it. This form of simplification is just a necessity for me. I almost wish it were a choice. I mean, do you have any idea how long it takes me to find a jacket I’m willing to buy?

Most importantly, it’s a focused, practical simplicity. It gets me out and searching for things I need. It helps expand the range of my life.

Whatever gets me out, right?

I use it to print notepaper. I mentioned this before.

I designed a basic notebook paper in Open Office.org. It prints on letter size paper, and cuts down to half that.

I just couldn’t find lined notepaper in a nice cream color. So I found some nice 24 lb. printer paper.

The notebook is a Levenger Circa Livingston. There’s a brilliant series of posts reviewing the system at DIY Planner, if you think you might be interested in using them for anything other than notes. They require a little extra care, but I find the system is worth it. I have the portable punch; the punch is absolutely key, and opens up a lot of possibilities.

I also print lines on index cards, in a portrait orientation. It’s hard to find those pre-printed. I have them bound on the top edge. When necessary, they fit in the larger notebook.

They also have an amazing variety of planner pages, and a great community.

Of course, I could always print a few planner pages for other uses, but I don’t really need a planner at this point.

Besides, the paper and the notebook, on their own, give me minor inspiration to write just for the sake of using them. 

Enjoy the stationery pron.