Patterns...

I have been thinking... this is rarely a good thing.

Today though, I have also been meta-thinking. To be exact, I found myself feeling slightly sleepy at a gig this evening and thinking about the relationship between various guitar chords; the barred A, open E, and open A, to be precise. I found myself thinking about this relationship and how wonderful it is that they make sense in the context of one another, and how beautiful it is that music is based upon systematic patterns but that the composition and appreciation of music transcends these patterns. Then I found myself thinking about how this is a very "stoner" thought...

It is this final thought I am going to focus on. In some sense, it is perfectly natural that I should have stoner thoughts while sleepy; both states of mind weaken the psychic barriers between the conscious and the unconscious. It's what the Surrealists were all about, y'know. In the Surrealist manifesto they write that; "Surrealism does not allow those who devote themselves to it to forsake it whenever they like. There is every reason to believe that it acts on the mind very much as drugs do; like drugs, it creates a certain state of need and can push man to frightful revolts." Although I'm fairly sure the Surrealists were rather too intense to partake in such things regularly. If you marry a Surrealist sensibility to a propensity for getting stoned you end up in psychedelia, which is something very different indeed.

But there is more to the concept of a "stoner" idea than that, I was sure. So what could this be then? The key, I feel, is in trying to find a similarity where there might appear to be difference. There is a famous anecdote about stoners sneaking into the second half of 2001: A Space Odyssey during the interval so as to lie directly beneath the screen for the trippy second half of the film. Absorption into visual and auditory sensation is a cliche of the stoner experience. Being high can also heighten physical sensation in rather wonderful ways.

The other cliche of stonerhood is a great receptivity to connection; the way that ideas that correlate take on a great sense of significance. The "wow" factor at something which makes sense. And I can happily testify to taking great pleasure in logic puzzles while stoned; I find something intensely pleasurable about the neatness and sense there is to be found in a closed system of signification and the elegance therein. An experience which at first glance probably seems quite far removed from zoning out in front of the iTunes visualiser (something I consider best saving for other drugs, by the way).

But, there is a similarity there too.

The way I see it, it largely comes down to patterns. What physical, auditory and visual sensation and cognitive absorption have in common is that they both rely on the human capacity for pattern recognition. What we take pleasure in, in both cases, is how we perceive something in terms of the patterned qualities they present to us. The relationships between different colours or sounds, for example, comes down to variations in vibrations and wavelengths. The ability to perceive the vibrational regularities is a form of pattern recognition. Similarly, the ability to make links between different ideas and the absorption into a logical or mathematical system of some sort relies on the ability to at least unconsciously comprehend the rules to which these forms of cognition cohere, and to recognise the patterns with which these rules operate.

For many people, being stoned heightens receptivity to these patterns. As such the cliches of stonerdom are born.

It is worth dwelling at least briefly on the mention of vibrations and wavelengths in that last passage, as they provide an interesting touchstone for the connection between the sciences and the arts. Even as I write this, my inner purists (both scientist and artist) are screaming in dissent, but we'll allow ourselves to be softcore for now. Waves and vibrations are both very useful concepts for describing many physical properties in the sciences (albeit often in quite a simplified way). In the arts this finds itself manifest in the fact that what we perceive can always be reduced, on some level, to these physical properties. Painting relies partly upon our perception of colour and shading, which comes down to different wavelengths of light. And music is all, ultimately, vibrations. Of course these are things which many artists consciously factor into their work, but even when it doesn't it would be naive to overlook this (anyone who has ever been to a drone rock gig will testify to that, I would hope). Perhaps the ultimate manifestation of this kind of connection is in the idea of synesthesia, wherein different sensory experiences are conflated. Meditating on a Kandinsky can be a very rewarding experience, from this perspective. Music too embodies this kind of connection very well, because of how it relates to mathematics (itself the language of physics).

But on another level, one which relies equally upon the place of the arts and the sciences in our lives, vibrations and wavelengths have a great emotional and moral importance for us. They are terms in our language that describe our relationship with the world. The atmosphere of a place of situation can be described as having a particular "vibration". If we connect with another human being we say that we are "on their wavelength". If an idea strikes us in a particular way we speak of it having a certain "resonance". It is no coincidence that we have adopted these terms into wider human discourse. The reason we do so is because we perceive even the aspects of our lives that cannot easily be reduced to what are broadly physical qualities in terms of patterns and regularities, and these words describe these things for us. The idea of character and habit, that which makes us the people we are, is largely the accumulation of various regularities in our thought and our behaviour. Our minds are simply set up to be receptive to these things, in one way or another and to varying degrees.

At the gig, Robert Brook spoke briefly of the idea of psychic geography, and how even small changes in our milieu effect us in profound ways. This is because we make sense of the world in terms of deviations from regularities. The physical environment we are familiar with provides us with a constant by which we make sense of everything else we experience. There are, of course, canonical deviations that we take in our stride (we are rarely sent reeling by the fact that it is raining today when it was dry yesterday, because we are familiar with the idea of rain and that the weather changes). But if a tree at the bottom of the garden, something we are familiar with but take for granted, blows down we can be left with a faintly uneasy sense that something isn't quite right. In psychoanalysis this is referred to as the "uncanny"; the idea that something can be both familiar and unfamiliar at once, and unsettling precisely because the familiarity which we rely upon is disturbed. The pattern, so to speak, is slightly wrong.

As such it is no surprise that mind altering substances should respond to this capacity for pattern recognition, both altering it and heightening it in various ways. Our lives are infused with patterns and deviations from patterns in every moment. A "stoner thought", I think, is one that revolves around these patterns; either in terms of absorption into them or in the creation of them, just as watching the iTunes visualiser is a case of absorption into and recognition of visual patterns.

I've occasionally meditated on the idea that pattern recognition is a basic attribute of what it means to be alive. For a plant to thrive, it has to be able to respond to the patterns of the seasons and of the movement of the sun. This isn't to suggest that plants have to put effort in to this, but simply that they wouldn't be if they didn't respond in such a way. Animal life relies upon deeply ingrained instincts which can also be perceived as a form of pattern recognition insofar as they involve regularities in responding to environmental stimuli. And everything which makes us human, from the ability to learn and use tools to the formulation of great works of art and systems of thought also rely on patterns in a similar way.

Quite whether any of this has any human significance I don't know. Partly because it is all nonsense, of a sort; I simply use the very broad idea of patterns as an interpretive grid to understand various aspects of life and the relationships between them. There are any number of different ways in which one can approach the world and the manifold things in it. And if one were to attempt to come up with one single specific use of the word "pattern" which applied equally to all aspects of life, I am sure it would be in vain. These are, to be frank, the thoughts of a stoner. But I would hope that you would at least entertain the idea that I could be on your wavelength.

Batman

I have been to the Green Man festival. Was very good. Whilst there, I ended up writing a song (on an empty paper bag stained with donut grease). It is undoubtedly the most cutesy and twee song I have ever written, but I came up with the conceit and had to follow it through...

I wish I could be Batman
You'd be Robin by my side
Riding in the Batmobile
And beating up bad guys

Searching for the signal
That tells us where to be
We'd spend our nights together
As a crimefighting team

Girl, I could be Thelma
And you could be Louise
Cruising in a cadillac
Our lives a road movie

No-one understands us
Why we do the things we do
So head for the horizon
We'll ride in to the blue

And I will be the Morecambe
To your Ernie Wise
Dancing through the kitchen
For the rest of our lives

People would raise eyebrows
At things best left unsaid
But we would be together
Side by side in bed

But if I could be Batman
You would almost certainly
Turn up as the Joker and
Try to kill me

And here is the song.




My iLike page for music (under the name David Jane) is here, by the way. It features this song among others. It's definitely a work in progress kind of thing.

Mo' Lyrics...

I'm all angst and despair whenever I write anything at the moment... Which makes me wonder if there is anything in particular I'm trying not to acknowledge... Usually I'm quite good at knowing what is bothering me... but right now I'm largely opaque to myself... Never mind...


I think it's easier this way
All those things I don't have to face
Looking for someone else to blame
For every evening being the same
And I just don't try any more
Turns out that no-one's keeping score
Sure I've got a few regrets
But they haven't killed me yet

And I know that I hurt you
But honey, what else could I do?
That was then, this is now
And I can't do that again
So c'mon darling
Give up the ghost
We can be happy
Without hope

You tried to show me someone cared
Everything you did & everything you said
But I was never there for you
Never noticed that your eyes were blue
Until that colour drained away
Until your heartbeat slowed
But you never came to hate me
Even if that's what I deserved

And I know that I hurt you
But honey, what else could I do?
That was then, this is now
And I can't do that again
So c'mon darling
Give up the ghost
We can be happy
Without hope

Limbo

I'll follow you
Farther than you know
Protect you
From the men that
Hunt for you
In limbo

The day is gone
So please stick close
I'll hold your hand
Won't let you go
Down
In limbo

I'll start a fire
I'll burn the skies
We'll watch clouds ablaze
As ember rains
Start to glow
In limbo

It's dangerous
To be alone
To wake up in
An empty bed
Unguarded
In limbo

It won't work out
We both need to grow
And I beg you stay
You say that I will
Find myself
In limbo

The more I see your imperfections
The more beautiful you are
I miss being lost
In conversation
And I miss late nights
With you

An Innapropriate Clash of Cultures...

I was reading Nietzsche's Untimely Meditations today and came across a quote which I had forgotten about by an Italian poet called Giacomo Leopardi. It reads:

Nothing lives that is worthy

Thy agitation, and the earth deserve not a sigh.
Our being is pain and boredom and the world is dirt - nothing more.
Be calm.

Now I know that it is arguable that this little piece of nihilism is simply an early example of emo kid ramblings (the Italian's a renowned for being a passionate people, after all; it seems reasonable that they would be ahead of the times with angst), but somehow the final line makes it unbearably beautiful to me.

As such I looked up some of his other poetry, and came across this:

To His Lady

by Giacomo Leopardi

Giacomo Leopardi

Beloved beauty who inspires

love in me from afar, your face obscured

except when your celestial image

stirs my heart in sleep, or in the fields

where light and nature's laughter shine more lovely—

was it maybe you who blessed

the innocent age called golden,

and do you now, blithe spirit,

fly among men? Or does that miser fate

who hides you from us save you for the future?

No hope of seeing you alive

remains for me now,

except when, naked and alone,

my soul will go down a new street

to its unknown home. Already at the dawn

of my dark, uncertain day

I imagined you a fellow traveler

on this arid ground. But there's no thing

that resembles you on earth. And if someone

had a face like yours, in act and word she'd be,

though something like you, far less beautiful.

In spite of all the suffering

fate decreed for human time,

if there were anyone on earth

who truly loved you as my thought depicts you,

this life for him would be a blessing.

And I see clearly how your love

would lead me still to strive for praise and virtue,

as I used to in my early years.

Though heaven gave no comfort for our troubles,

yet with you mortal life would be

like what in heaven leads to divinity.

In the valleys, where the song

of the weary farmer sounds,

and when I sit and mourn

the illusions of youth fading,

and on the hills where I recall

and grieve for my lost desires

and my life's lost hope, I think of you

and start to shake. If only I, in this

sad age and unhealthy atmosphere,

could keep hold of your noble look; for since the real thing's

missing I must make do with the image.

Whether you are the only one

of the eternal ideas eternal wisdom

refuses to see arrayed in sensible form

to know the pains of mortal life

in transitory spoils,

or if in the supernal spheres another earth

from among unnumbered worlds receives you

and a near star lovelier than the Sun

warms you and you breathe benigner ether,

from here, where years are both ill-starred and brief,

accept this hymn from your unnoticed lover.

Translated by Jonathan Galassi

The poem is about the idea of the Platonic ideal of beauty and the (im)possibility of ever finding it in this life. Leopardi is mourning the fact that he has come to realise that what he has found beautiful in all of the women he has loved is something transcendent; it is what the women embody rather than the women themselves. Leopardi also realises that the true object of his desire, Beauty in and of itself, is always going to beyond him. He is destined to always be the unnoticed lover.

I don't know how this poem was intended, but it is significant to me that it is, and could only ever be, a lament. People, especially in the Western/Judaeo Christian tradition, have always strived towards the infinite (thanks, in part, to the likes of Plato). This comes as part and parcel of having the wonderful imagination and minds that we do; we can abstract from what is and imagine what is not, and work towards making it real. However, we also get rather carried away with this. We are finite creatures, and can never know the infinite (however one might wish to imagine it being, and whatever sense one makes of such an idea). We need humility. The ideal of beauty means that we can strive and create things that we may never even have once believed possible. But it also means that we may fail to appreciate what is in front of us, as we are comparing it to an impossibility. Ideal beauty is exactly that; an idea. Human beauty is what we see in those we love, and in the world as perceived through our eyes. It is probably better to leave ideal beauty for the gods, and try hard to appreciate the beauty in our own lives for what it is.

Although I have to say I do like Leopardi's lament for the ideal. So maybe it is ok to open oneself up to the pain of the Absurd now and then, if only to bring beauty in to the world.

Having said this, for some reason I have done a very bad thing. The "clash of cultures" of the title of this post comes about because, taking a shine to Leopardi's poem, I took the next logical step of attempting to set it to the ukulele. You can hear the results in the video below...



I really am sorry...