Word

The Short Story

“Story-writing isn’t plot-driven, it’s idea-driven.  And it often references itself on multiple levels,” says the writer.  “’The Short Story’ is a perfect example of this.  From the very beginning, the reader is pulled along by the writer’s use of self-reference.  He breaks the fourth wall implicitly through the use of direct quotations that address the reader.”

The reader continues reading the story, at first confused by the writer’s unorthodox narration, but then enlightened as to the true nature of the text. 

The writer says, “There’s more to this story than you know.  But please, continue, because I wrote this story for a reason.   I felt uneasy laying my thoughts down on paper, but I decided to do it because if I didn’t, this wouldn’t exist.  I wouldn’t exist, you wouldn’t exist.  There would be nothing.”

As the reader anxiously treads from word to word, he gets a small urge to scratch an itch. 

“The story is enjoyable, though at times obfuscated and tangential,” the writer elaborates.  “The writer talks about the infinite regress that occurs when he discusses when the writer talks about infinite regresses.  Two mirrors facing each other, an infinity of infinities.”

Curiously, the reader re-reads the last bit about infinite regresses because the writer asks him to, implicitly.  Then he re-reads the sentence about re-reading the last bit about infinite regresses, and finally he re-reads the sentence about re-reading that.

The writer continues.  “The reader still has autonomy while reading the story.  He is able to ignore the writer’s suggestions, and he is aware of this ability.  The writer’s goal is to convince the reader that the writer’s world is his own.  This can be difficult because acknowledging the reader’s existence can bring him out of the story. However, the writer is not hoping to suck the reader into the world of the writer, but rather to show the reader that the world of the writer already exists in his own world.  They are one and the same.”

Although the writer seems relatively coherent, the reader is unsure of what to make of the story.  But there’s no way he is going to stop reading now; the reader feels obligated to keep going. 

“The reader thinks about the story but also about himself, and about the writer,” says the writer.  “Intermittently, the reader thinks about random things that are unrelated to the story, like something that the writer doesn’t describe.  But most often, while going through the story, the reader thinks about things that are related to it, or about the story itself.” 

The reader stops reading what the writer says, and then starts reading it again.

“The plot in the story is limited,” says the writer, “but it is enough to convey a message and hint at larger themes, many of which are rife with plots of their own.  In effect, the plot of the story is limited to the imagination of the writer and the reader, working together to create meaning.  The story does not exist in a vacuum, solely to analyze its imagery in relation to its characters.”

The reader will more clearly understand the writer with the use of a familiar example.

“Two mirrors facing each other form a closed circuit on the outside, but contain immeasurable possibility within.  The reader and the writer can be interpreted similarly, reflecting each other to the point where they are inseparable – their worlds collide.  Eventually, the mirrors become mere containers for creative light, bouncing forever and wherever as the radiation transcends its original dichotomy.”

This text is starting to seem more poetic to the reader, who is more comfortable now (than in the near future) because of his increased grasp of the story. 

“He is able to float through sentences with cruise control retinas, somewhat unaware of the aforementioned, currently-involved nuisances, because of his familiarity with the story.”  Even the title “The Short Story” now resides in the front of the reader’s concentration, because it was mentioned again.

You are going to die.

I Feel Like An Unmade Bed

This is my 100th SITP blog post.  Damn.  I created this blog freshman year, sitting in the common room of The Ocho because a few friends made blogs also.  I never thought that I would keep this going for 2 1/2 years, but I'm really glad that I did.  Looking back at my earlier entries is like opening up a short-term time capsule and discovering a photo of myself when I had long grimy hair.  Actually, I still have long grimy hair.  But I think I'm gonna cut it tomorrow because I'm about to head to Croatia for spring break, and I heard that the cool Croatians all have short hair.

I just re-read the previous paragraph and am in minor disbelief.  If you told me all this when I was 18, I never would have believed it.

I had been planning on doing something special for the 100th post, like throwing a walrus party or something.  But in order to do that, I would first have to find out what that means and then I would have to actually set it up.  Maybe for the 200th post.  I think I'm just gonna chill on the walrus party for now.

Today I went inside the Colosseum and the Forum with Ryan and Travis.

I would really like to write something wholly coherent and meaningful, but my mind itches whenever I try to concentrate and plan out my thoughts.  It's easier and more realistic to type the words as they take shape; unfortunately, this results in several quasi-paragraphs of incompletely intersecting ideas and aspirations.  And sometimes phrases that don't make sense, like several quasi-paragraphs of incompletely intersecting ideas and aspirations.  And repitition.  Also, walrus parties.

 Naples

 Pamphili (Rome)

 Florence

 Naples

Amsterdam

But Really it Doesn't Matter

Stale thoughts/Housekeeping

It’s unusual that most truck drivers aren’t multilingual, considering that they have countless hours to listen to language-learning cds.

Do I know stuff more than Socrates did back in the day?

Sunglasses company:  Tinted Vision

Is there a law that says don’t break the law?  If not, then can’t we break them?  

My age group always matters to me the most.

What does it mean to be mature?  Is it necessarily a good thing to be mature for your age?

An emergency is something that emerges.

We read Mark Twain in school and the teacher had to explain to us that it was ok to say “nigger” when reading the text in class because it was in the context of the story.  There was always one kid who didn’t feel comfortable saying it.  He probably became the most racist one in the class.

I see so many people, but so few pregnant women.  

RFD:  14.5% of men are at least 6 feet tall; 58% of Fortune 500 CEOs are at least 6 feet tall

It feels good to not be nervous.

If Martians abducted Seinfeld and let him perform stand up, they wouldn’t think he was very funny.

Soundtrack

• There Is Love in You - Four Tet
• Chutes Too Narrow - The Shins
• Be the Void - Dr. Dog
• When You Land Here, It's Time to Return - Flake Music
• Unreleased Basement Recordings - Iron & Wine
• In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel
• Days - Real Estate

View Finder

Lines Dissecting

Some things I’ve done so far:

·        listened to “The Zephyr Song” in a car with 3 Italians that barely spoke any English

·        arrived (very) late to my first class

·    got a free orange from a friendly fruit stand lady

·    said "I'll meet you at the Coliseum"

Some things I haven’t done so far:

·         slept for more than 6 hours in a night

·         paid to use public transportation – apparently this is the norm

·         washed my clothes (Italians don’t use dryers, this makes me nervous)

·         memorized my roommates names

“this new convection has left no wondering why

i can't concern myself with ordinary tripe.

like what's this morning's paper got to say

and which brand of coffee to make”

-James Mercer 

Gastromancy

"Don't try."

-Bukowski's epitaph

We can never really know what it felt like to be alive a couple hundred years ago; we can only make inferences based on available artifacts, like texts and photographs.  In the future, people will have a much better understanding of what it is like to live in this time period.  

Our society spends increasingly enormous amounts of time inputting information online.  This data creates a sketch of our thought processes and thus, who we are.  Think about the last few things you typed into Google, or your most recent tweet.  The internet is collecting unbelievable amounts of information, all the time.  

I’m not sure exactly how future humans will be impacted by the accessibility of historical data, but it will certainly allow them to become more in tune with the human culture as it evolves.

Guess what the colors represent (answer below)

“Can I ask you a question?” means “I’m going to ask you an uncomfortable question.”

I have trouble cutting my fingernails because they fly everywhere, instead of falling straight into the trash can.  There should be some kind of mechanism that solves this problem.

What "beg the question" actually means

I don’t know anything.  Or, more precisely, I don’t know whether or not I know anything, or can know anything.  I am enslaved by my ignorance, I think.   

RFD:  Lauryn Hill and Zach Braff went to the same high school.  Apparently everyone really liked Lauryn, but Zach was kind of a jerk.  And Lauryn went to Zach’s Bar Mitzvah.

The starving African children don’t give a shit whether or not you finish your vegetables.

Tattoos?  I can barely commit to a haircut.  

The Better Business Bureau is bullshit

Z e n t i p:  Spend the first and last 5 minutes of every day meditating.

The more I learn, the more wonderful things become

The graphic above shows which side of the road countries drive on.  Red is right, blue is left.  What did you think it was?

Sonic Smoke Rings

“There seems to be no alternative to accepting some sort of incomprehensible quality to existence.  Take your pick.  We all fluctuate delicately between a subjective and objective view of the world, and this quandary is central to human nature.”

-Douglas Hofstadter

Open Your Mind

When I’m actively listening to music, I tend to start bobbing my head and dancing to myself; I let the song move me.  Unfortunately, the more I dance, the more difficult it becomes to focus on the music.  Enjoying music is a struggle between focus and dance.  Reminds me of life…

A typeface is not a font.

One man’s brainwashing is another man’s education.

My Plan

1. Find out the full name of a stranger
2. Make a shirt with his name on it
3. Sit down across from him in a public place
4. Act nonchalant and avoid eye contact

Prices should be listed post-tax.  I don’t care how much money the store receives, I just care about how much I have to pay.

Stephen Hawking's Kids Book

Is it legal to not have a name?

RFD:  The title of this post comes from a Pitchfork article.

As a kid, I was shocked to learn that the computer processor – not the monitor – was the brains of the machine.  I only had experience dealing with the big bright display screen, and had given little thought to the dull box tucked under the desk.  This is similar to learning that although the eyes take in light, it is mostly the brain that is responsible for interpreting it into meaningful images.

The heath bar is the most underrated candy bar.

No Fat Jokes