Journal 一月二号2006
Biography- The Writing of a Man
“I should live no more than I can record, as one should not have more corn growing than one can get in. There is a waste of good if it be not preserved.” Pg 596 The Creators by D. Boorstin
What questioning and prying goes deep enough into the eye to unlock an image and source of what an individual is? It is true that we can’t ever fully know anyone or anything, for the question of knowing is limited by the fact that we have only a singular perspective in knowing that subject, requiring our descriptions to embrace a kind of ignorance before knowledge can even be sought after. People experience only their own convictions, ones that they may not even gather as establishing who they are; how we think and where we choose to go when our self-inflicted governance has already been set in motion becomes the more curious anecdote.
Our goal here is not to seek an omniscient almighty or to encourage circles of faith, whether in the chicken or the egg. What is left to be captured by exploring these cages and caves of seemingly sporadic shifts in the individual’s emotional attention? It has all been done before, the steady and miniscule dissecting of one’s life and time, a psycho-analytical approach to comprehending the causal relationship between a human being and the mind he or she possesses. The questions pile higher than the replies… so seems the world of this humane and ground-breaking ever-present…
For it isn’t so much as to whether we can learn bout the man and his mind, his ’self’, but from what perspectives or point of departure can we begin to see this man? We must choose to see this man in some way. Our disposition can only last for so long before our judgment comes out of its child-like state and declares what that man is. After all, he is. However, by perspective and relativity are we even capable of seeing "what it is to be" a man? Are we fooling ourselves into believing that a man can be known? I couldn’t say that I "know" myself if this means to define oneself… Isn’t the question itself a hook, a dead hook, to latch onto you and keep you chasing shadows in a room full of candles? Let us say that a definition is not required at all, but that observing the man is enough, recording him, documenting his space and time to the point where the reader begins to question the fiction of the author yet never doubts his authenticity. Authentic. Singular. Sincere record.
This man toys with what most men take for granted, much like a virus prospers in a place most foreign to its own. He chooses his self so as to abandon the modern for the moment in order to warm ancient impressions in his super-conscious, stir them about and re-envision them as resolute, complete. He then begins to, in this new feeling, recapture a fresh instance of the modern, to see the now in a new light, a light that says "we’ve seen these thoughts, behaviors, and problems before and we know what happens." He looks into the ancient and hears the ringing tones of what ideas meant and under what conditions they were believed to have existed. We see in our recovering of the past different motivations behind ideas of friendship, patriotism and freedom. What we learn most from our past is this cure from knowledge, called forgetfulness… keeping the present ever-exciting and on the edge of itself…
