Sunday, 6 November 2011

Thought Provocateur

Sometimes a great notion cannot be distilled into words. Having, itself, co-opted analog 1s and 0s found blitzing about your fanciest ruminations & fever dreams, neither might such an occurrence be captured and encapsulated.

Words infiltrate ideas, sure, for there's no other way for the ultra-tame to pluck thought from the head. But utterance - and more-so script - would likelier water the image down, than boil it down to its essence; it'd sooner vaporize than crystallize.

Certainly the best you should hope for in this meta-world we've thrust our lives into is crusty phrases at the bottom of the beaker. When you're lucky, they resemble something that came to you once. So it is at the speed of inspiration.


a metaphor 4 that thing
they make French fries from

A word might remind you of a potato, especially if that word is potato. But this only works when you know what a potato is. If not, it'd be next to impossible to pluck either one from a bowl of alphabet soup.

Simile and metaphor work with a functional vocabulary, hence der Erdapfel and la pommes de terre. Even so, one can't be sure their conveyance won't get all mucked up or go, "Muckety muck!"

Then somebody say, "Wuh'?"

D'you ever - in taking an unusual route from one familiar place to another - approach a word you've known like lunch, but from an angle you'd yet to observe? This can be enlightening, even empowering, which, by definition, means it can also be disconcerting and discouraging when you turn around and find yourself in a strange neighborhood surrounded by sentences you'd do well to shy away from. In particular when you catch somebody using them to instigate a reaction.

None of this means that this convention is phony. I mean, most of us don't invent words as a way to get lost. The narrower the direction, the clearer the path. Likewise, language was not created in order to deceive. As a matter of fact, the more distinct the diction, the purer its palpability. Sure, there are practitioners of the deliberately obscure, but there just might be as many good people out there using language creatively to get to the bottom of the others' bullshit.

Presented as such, theater seeks the truth.

Yet beware the man who tells tall tales; be wary of those who're the first to reveal who that'd be; and be leery around tattle-tales. That which characterizes itself as the truth is most assuredly fiction. Theater parading around as reality is patently false.

But don't take my word for it. Ask B.J. Clinton. He can tell stuff reel good.

__

Can you chew on this?
If they tell you to put your money in silver, find their silver and steal it from them. If you have to, leave them bleeding to death in front of their screeching children. Just kidding. Send the kids to a movie.
First.

Really, though: wouldn't the world be a better place with a few less people who can look at you with a straight face and sniff, "Safe bet's silver"? You don't have to agree. It's a rhetsterical question. And I'm comfortable with your wondering what's putting such thoughts into my head. As long as you're comfortable with my wondering what could've led to your silver-dealer fetish.

If told,
"Invest in gold!"
stock up on corn flakes*


But cereally: maybe you "moved your money" yesterdee? Maybe you moved it a long time ago. Maybe you moved it to where MoveOn.org told you you should. Good for you.

However, it's one thing to take your money out o' th' big, bad bank and put it into a community credit union you feel you can trust, or to close an account because it costs more than it's worth or simply sticks in your craw to hafta pay a recently established "maintenance fee" when they got one less person maintainin for 'em with each fiscal tick of the time-clock.

But if ye tink you're gonna find a safer bet of a bank when the chips are down - when your chips are down, when, for example, the next time some earnest-acting suits are lined up at a table facing sombre-looking agents of the greater & lesser of your two-ly elected evils tasked with presenting serious sounding questions about what tragedy might befall uns when the wheel stops spinning and the little ball settles into its colored number - don't bet on it.

At the end of the day, the only thing that is liquid is something you can drink. And unless you know of a pistachioed avocado-papaya river somewhere that's not already filled with Nestlé's PissTM, you're prolly gonna need to eat.

Am I saying you should stuff all your rent/mortgage money into your mattress and spend the rest on provisions? Heaven forfend & hells yeah-NO! My latest research shows that that'd make me a tinfoil-hat wearin' crank, and I need my tinfoil whatfer to fireproof m'money I put in m'mattress.

All's I'm saying is "Diversify, man!" And it couldn't hurt to ponder the meaning of diversify while you're juggling that equity.


*As to the corn flakes, proceed with similar caution. Enjoy this Kodak moment. That's yer Sundie Paper;-d