On Silence.

“I want to write a novel about Silence,” he said; “the things people don’t say.”

Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out

Silence can often be more powerful than words, although this is not an excuse to not use your voice; it is not an excuse to be afraid. What it is, is an opportunity to listen. Oftentimes it is easier to yell your opinion over the din, operating with the arrogance and audacity that people should listen to you and not the other way around. That is the reason for conflict, the reason for hatred (that and fear, of course, but that is a subject for another time). The failure to listen is also the failure of understanding and understanding is known to breed peace, love, innovation, knowledge.

The lack of noise is related to tranquility and peace for a reason. To be subject to words infringing on the very essence of your own being will drive you mad; to have incessant declarations made to you and expectations forced on to your conduct will provoke you–if not to violence–to shut yourself up in a room of your own devoid of such savage impositions. However, those that do so are often scorned and called recluses, hermits, depressed, expressed with a passively aggressive upturned nose and snarky remark. But what if those people–the ones scorned–are the most happy? Society is quick to judge and slow to forgive, but possess no power if you simply do not care. But that is easier said than done.

Keeping quiet is cowardice, courage, and weight all at once. Not saying anything when witnessing a cruelty will secure you the hottest place in hell, but listening to someone you do not agree with is a pure form of courage. As to silence and weight, the weight of silence can be the loudest thing in a room, demonstrating the impact of words and the spaces that separate them.


On Mirrors.

Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?

Pablo Picasso

A mirror is simply a looking glass. At least it should be. I don’t know who decided to make mirrors distort images–make the reflection not a reflection, but another subjective perspective–but I whole-heartedly disagree with it. Mirrors were only supposed to be reflections, tools to objectively observe oneself in the best way one is able to. However, now they are something different. Now, certain mirrors are only tools used to manipulate images–to enhance this, reduce that–and sell products.

I could be reading too far into it. Maybe I should operate with Hanlan’s razor, although there is always a fallacy: sometimes situations should be attributed to malicious intent. Then, how do we do differentiate? Extremes are never really the answer, we shouldn’t ban mirrors as a whole like abnegation in Divergent. Mirrors are not representations of vanity or low self-esteem. At least they should not be.

Humans are too human: we continually convert something objective into something subjective; we give perspectives to tools that wouldn’t normally possess a perspective.


On Brevity

It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book.

Friedrich Nietzsche

I am not laconic by any means, nor do I claim to be. Is it desired? Of course. Do I often receive what I want? No, not really. The thought expression of today will most likely be contradictory–I will write about brevity without the slightest of intention of being brief. I will be so bold as to ask you to bear with me.

It has been a great aspiration of mine to write wondrous meaning in the least amount of words. But It has been a long and painful voyage. I attempted a 100 day project where I only wrote a simple 100 words every day–I failed around day 15–and I always seem to exceed every word count–no matter if it is 500 or 10,000 words. I am at a loss as to how people can convey the most incredible and unbelievable importances in so few words. Perhaps it is my redundancies–I often find various ways to express the same thing–but I feel it is more than that.

I absolutely adore stringing complexity after complexity, one behind the other. At times, I feel like the only way to tell what I mean, tell my complexities, is through numerous words. Obviously, great writers have proven otherwise, but there is something I admire about a sentence of “important nothings”, a phrase coined by Jane Austen whose dialogue writing is incomparable.

Perhaps a laconic disposition is something that comes naturally with time and age, plus a continued practice. I’ll keep practicing, but until brevity shows its face, I will be an idealistic and young daydreamer who has not yet lived enough–nor experienced enough of the world–to be terse.