Metal Balls Crush Context (and nothing of value was lost) · 2:01pm Jun 23rd, 2013
Today, this was posted on my user page,
metal balls
are jealous of glass cubes
with the challenge that I “think about it.”
Well, here is about two minutes worth of thinkage,
For a while, I’ve been meaning to do a couple blogs on the radical subjectivity of language. If I ever get around to doing that, this will be the practical introduction. If I don’t, then I guess this will have to suffice as enough said.
Literature, written or spoken word construction, has a special subjectivity. In real life interactions, and even in a movie, there is a context provided by the environment. Someone asking about your suitcase is referring to the real and present referent, your suitcase. Maybe it is plain, black and with a simple handle or maybe it is huge and canvas or maybe it has wheels and you drag it behind yourself like a fucking jackass, any and all questions relating to your real world suitcase can be answered by looking at it. The context is undeniable to everyone but the most hardened schizotypal.
On the other hand, in literature, the reader has to create the context. They do it by deploying their own interpretation of each word. My first thought with metal balls was of that huge, bronze ball that rolls down the stairs and smashes a coffee shop. Why did I think about a movie I haven’t seen in over a decade? I have no idea, but the rest of the statement was then bathed in gender conflict.
Or maybe the metal ball is in a spray paint can and the "glass" cube is in a glass of scotch? Class warfare, another fun thing to do with your free time.
Not even bothering with a segue here.
Even formats like stream of consciousness are ineffective representations. I can only use my own mind as a model, of course, but I don’t think in straight lines. Even the 2-dimensional layout of that page is wrong, because it doesn’t include the smells, images, sounds and feelings that accompanied the words.
I still enjoy it, of course, for its rhythmic and poetic properties, but to claim that it does anything more than any other in particular is to suborn oneself to critical execution.
I should really try to do something like this sometime. Although I wonder if I don't just do it mentally. Can you do that? I don't know. Mine has less Fight Club anyway. :B
When I looked at that phrase I just thought "wut?" and then pretty much nothing else.
But class warfare fits best to me.
I came //dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/Luna_lolface.png
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That's what I was getting at.
How many words do you know from looking up in a dictionary, and how many do you just know because in books and personal experience they have been used? When you're learning to read, they teach you to pick up the meaning of words from context, because it is by the individual context that we understand meaning. Once the context that individual word has been established (jealousy=violent conflict, metal ball vs glass=fight club) you're stuck with that.
And even that 2-D representation of my thoughts was limited by the format (words) and the exact moment I encountered the statement.
One of the reasons why learning a new language is so hard is that you have to start building that sprawling, three dimensional web from scratch.
Interesting how you can write words without number, and yet of the four questions pseudonymously and implicitly posed to you, you managed to duck every single one.
Still, you raise some hard questions of your own in return. I confess to imperfect understanding — realizing there's some secret hidden within your text, but unable to find its meaning; able only to respond in kind.
So what's up with that?
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Are you asking for a duck story? I’ve got a number of duck stories.
So, four years back, I’ve just arrived in this new town, call it whatever, and I meet one of the guys I’ll be working with. I ask him about what’s going on around town, and he says I seem like the kind of person who’d like Hard Wang’s.
I agree, of course, I love wangs. So we go back and forth talking about how hot and filling and delicious it is. After about twenty-four minutes, I realize that Hard Wang’s is a restaurant. Really embarrassing, but the guy was cool about me grabbing his crotch.
I mean, obviously, he didn’t come to eat with me after that, but we both realized it was just a silly misunderstanding. Now, if you’ve never been to Hard Wang’s, the place is super authentic. A real find, I’m glad the guy recommended it. The hostess even greeted me in Chinese, I had no idea what she was saying, but I appreciated the effort.
One problem though, when I find my menu, it’s all in Chinese as well. But, in accordance with old Chinese menu tradition, all the entrees have a number. So, I look at the menu for a minute and pick number four.
After a while my food comes out, and there’s the rice and the tea and this huge with a lid on it. The server sets the pot down in front of me, and I could swear I see the top of it move. I’m not sure, though, maybe I’m just seeing things? I find a sip of tea helps calm me down sometimes, so I pour myself some.
While I’m doing that, the lid lifts again. This time I can see two eyes staring at me. Well, if this is a hallucination it is a vivid one. I don’t want to be rude, so I figure I’ll just eat some rice.
The third time the lid lifts, I know something is up. So I signal for the waiter, and I ask him what’s going on with my food? Why does it keep looking at me?
And the waiter says ...
... this is the best part of an animal joke, right here. The pause. Like the whooshing sound a guillotine makes. You can’t see what is coming, but you know it will be horrible. The anticipation, just being drawn out ...
Ok, so the waiter says, “Of course, you ordered the pee-king duck.”
The moral of the story is, If you ever find yourself going to Hard Wang’s, don’t order the duck. Get the number five instead.
I'm no closer to understanding the hidden message in your original post, but I'm glad I asked anyway.
For some reason, the thing that sticks in my brain like a thorn in the paw after reading through your amusing little shaggy dog story is that the number four is traditionally considered unlucky in Chinese thought. Man, no wonder that duck was so rattled.