I need to write shit out more often. I'm so....well. better for having written it
A hundred thousand things race through y head. The number isn't an exaggeration, it is an impossibility. Nevertheless they are all there,and they have stopped my thinking. The human brain can keep seven things in mind at once. When you try to shift your attention to an 8th thing, one of the first seven pops out. Maybe that's an average. Maybe mine can not hold that many. Maybe it can hold even more. One way or the other, no one's mind can hold as many things as there are trying to force their way into my consciousness.
As I sit here, there are six pages of essay that need to have been handed in on Thursday. The Thursday that has already passed. Those six pages require outside sources, so I can't simply sit down and write fora few hours and come up with something that is more or less acceptable. No, there is research.
As I sit here, there are twelve pages of "critical report" that need to be written for tomorrow. The critical journal is a kind of philosophical book report, breaking down the main ideas that are found in the text and spounding upon some, glossing over others, but giving a good summary of the strengths and weaknesses of a philosophical tract. I have two choices for books to write on. Each one is about two hundred pages long. I need to choose one, summarize it, break it into arguments and then choose arguments to argue against. To show flaws, to pry open a little crack in an argument until it grows and splits the spine of the book. Tearing in between pages without hurting any of them. When I wake up tomorrow, I have to go to a class and discuss something I haven't read. After I have listened to that, I have three hours until my 12 page critical report is due. Can it be done in that much time? It is possible, but I highly doubt it. Very highly. The next day I have an exam on things I have never read, much less studied for. and the day after that there is another exam on something I haven't read. Somethign I cannot possibly read in time.
In one small aspect, these are the things that weigh upon my mind. This is the one aspect of school, the one aspect of work that needs doing right away. There are other aspects, each with five or six or eighty little subthoughts that struggle for dominance in my mind. Freud was wrong when he said that there are "preconscious" and "unconscious" things along with the conscious. Everything is in your mind at once. It screams at you. It tears at you. Every single article is being repeated in your brain. The things that freud calls conscious are the ones that ruthlessly shove others aside to scream at the top of their lungs "ME! Your assignment! Your project! Your work! I will scream louder until you acknowledge me!"
I know what would calm me down. Yes I know I'm ranting. I'm raving. If I were standing on a soapbox on a street corner, I would be drawing a crowd because of how fast and how strangely disconnected my thoughts are. What I'm saying. But I would have a crowd because people love to see that. It is a puzzle that is a joy until you are trying to figure it out from the inside. But I know how to calm myself down.
Beside me, on the floor, there is a sword. It is a nohin-to style katana with a black sheath and steel blue cord wrapped around a black handle. It is a thing of pure beauty. It is not capable of functioning in combat because it is made only of an aluminum alloy, but it will serve quite well as a tool for practicing swordplay. If I were to pick up that magnificent weapon, to go outside, and to practice sword forms, I would calm. Immediately. I would calm before my knees even hit the ground to bow. I would draw my blade. I would hear the snkt in the darkness, and just barely see the light bouncing off of the brushed aluminum blade from the sickly city sky. I would swing the blade horizontally and then vertically for the first form. Complete the form by resheathing the blade. I would eventually lose everything else, and have only my sword and me. If I practiced for long enough, I might forget the difference. When you see a sword used, and try to explain it, you might say "the sword cut through the air at incredible speed". You might say "I never even saw him draw it." This is not how the sword works. When you watch your friend get his pay from the ATM you don't assume that his boss' pen signed the cheque. His boss signed it. He is well practiced in the art of the pen and so you see no difference between man and pen. They are a system designed for writing. When the pen leaves his hand the system collapses and can no longer be used the same way until the pen is regained. The same is true of the sword. It is not the sword that acts, nor the person that acts with the sword. The artist is almost unaware of the weapon.
When I have too many thoughts and no sword available. Or no time or space to practice, my thoughts seek that shelter anyway. My minds eye can see the unpleasant thought cloven by an imaginary me with a sword. That me defends me from many things. Emotion is reset. No anger, no fear, no impatience. He cuts the idea and we start again from the beginning.
As I sit here, there are six pages of essay that need to have been handed in on Thursday. The Thursday that has already passed. Those six pages require outside sources, so I can't simply sit down and write fora few hours and come up with something that is more or less acceptable. No, there is research.
As I sit here, there are twelve pages of "critical report" that need to be written for tomorrow. The critical journal is a kind of philosophical book report, breaking down the main ideas that are found in the text and spounding upon some, glossing over others, but giving a good summary of the strengths and weaknesses of a philosophical tract. I have two choices for books to write on. Each one is about two hundred pages long. I need to choose one, summarize it, break it into arguments and then choose arguments to argue against. To show flaws, to pry open a little crack in an argument until it grows and splits the spine of the book. Tearing in between pages without hurting any of them. When I wake up tomorrow, I have to go to a class and discuss something I haven't read. After I have listened to that, I have three hours until my 12 page critical report is due. Can it be done in that much time? It is possible, but I highly doubt it. Very highly. The next day I have an exam on things I have never read, much less studied for. and the day after that there is another exam on something I haven't read. Somethign I cannot possibly read in time.
In one small aspect, these are the things that weigh upon my mind. This is the one aspect of school, the one aspect of work that needs doing right away. There are other aspects, each with five or six or eighty little subthoughts that struggle for dominance in my mind. Freud was wrong when he said that there are "preconscious" and "unconscious" things along with the conscious. Everything is in your mind at once. It screams at you. It tears at you. Every single article is being repeated in your brain. The things that freud calls conscious are the ones that ruthlessly shove others aside to scream at the top of their lungs "ME! Your assignment! Your project! Your work! I will scream louder until you acknowledge me!"
I know what would calm me down. Yes I know I'm ranting. I'm raving. If I were standing on a soapbox on a street corner, I would be drawing a crowd because of how fast and how strangely disconnected my thoughts are. What I'm saying. But I would have a crowd because people love to see that. It is a puzzle that is a joy until you are trying to figure it out from the inside. But I know how to calm myself down.
Beside me, on the floor, there is a sword. It is a nohin-to style katana with a black sheath and steel blue cord wrapped around a black handle. It is a thing of pure beauty. It is not capable of functioning in combat because it is made only of an aluminum alloy, but it will serve quite well as a tool for practicing swordplay. If I were to pick up that magnificent weapon, to go outside, and to practice sword forms, I would calm. Immediately. I would calm before my knees even hit the ground to bow. I would draw my blade. I would hear the snkt in the darkness, and just barely see the light bouncing off of the brushed aluminum blade from the sickly city sky. I would swing the blade horizontally and then vertically for the first form. Complete the form by resheathing the blade. I would eventually lose everything else, and have only my sword and me. If I practiced for long enough, I might forget the difference. When you see a sword used, and try to explain it, you might say "the sword cut through the air at incredible speed". You might say "I never even saw him draw it." This is not how the sword works. When you watch your friend get his pay from the ATM you don't assume that his boss' pen signed the cheque. His boss signed it. He is well practiced in the art of the pen and so you see no difference between man and pen. They are a system designed for writing. When the pen leaves his hand the system collapses and can no longer be used the same way until the pen is regained. The same is true of the sword. It is not the sword that acts, nor the person that acts with the sword. The artist is almost unaware of the weapon.
When I have too many thoughts and no sword available. Or no time or space to practice, my thoughts seek that shelter anyway. My minds eye can see the unpleasant thought cloven by an imaginary me with a sword. That me defends me from many things. Emotion is reset. No anger, no fear, no impatience. He cuts the idea and we start again from the beginning.