(un)Reality

I am reading the most earth-shattering, heart-breaking, mind-fucking masterpiece that I have ever read. And I have read many a book. It's called "House of Leaves" and is about a man who discovers a trunk of papers in an old dead man's apartment, and he constructs the book we're reading. The papers turn out to be the old man's commentary on a film that doesn't actually exist. We know this author has constructed a narrative out of ficticious subject not only because he hints at this himself at the very beginning, but because we discover he has coffee with Pierre Menard, author of the Quixote :P The film is about a man who discovers a hallway in his house that cannot possible exist, because the physical dimensions of the house do not allow for it.

At any rate, this novel has made me think about the different levels of reality. Reality is certainly a construct of our senses, but it is more than this. In it is contained the very nature of unreality. Reality exists, because it does not NOT exist. But it does not exist, in the fact that it also isn't. But what it isn't, it is and must be. Where it isn't it is soon to become. Reality is the macrocosm in which even unreality figures. Or perhaps, more accurately, Unreality is the macrocsom in which even reality figures.

Language

Words are meaningless.

This axiom is a lie.

While words in and of themselves may possess no meaning, there is a world of meaning summoned by their presence. Every word in the english language carries with it associations that are personal to each individual. When we communicate, we use specific words in order to convey a message, but the most important message exists between each word. These pockets of silence, the pockets of absence, would not be possible without the use of language. Can language really be seen as arbitrary then?

We must learn to hear the voices that speak to us in silence. We must remember to hear that which is unspoken, and relate to each other on the emotional level as well as the rational one. We must not unlearn the language of our ancestors.


I think an entire essay could be written on the connotations of the word "a".

Solitude vs Community

I've come to an interesting revelation about myself, about that within which drives me to act in certain ways. The other day I was boasting in a letter to someone that I was certainly improving on the strange, inhuman expectations I have about some people. I was quite impressed with the fact that I had not lost respect for an individual because he was not aware of a particular philosophical concept. However, two days after writing this letter, the man acted as a man and not as an intellectual icon... he showed an insensitivity and acted emotionally (or so it appeared to me). After observing these actions, I became very sad. I became aware of this gentleman as a man and not as the artificial ideal I had constructed on and around him.

This has made me realize that I love ideals, I love concepts... but not people. I have no interest in people as individuals... only in the abstract value I can deconstruct them into. I prefer to keep to myself, and quite often I distance myself from social interaction. I find it to be a diversion, an untrustworthy obstacle that tears me from my chosen path... it leads away from wisdom and contemplation. I don't like people, because they remind me that I, too, am human. And to me, being an imperfect human being seems like something that should be corrected.

This is foolish. I understand this. Elevating and debasing yourself both lead to the dehumanization of the Self. One must marry the two aspects, in order to find balance. In fact, I am beginning to wonder if perhaps the meaning of life is not found in Solitude at all... or rather that while the meaning of life can be found through Solitude,it can only be applied and UNDERSTOOD through Community.