Repetition, or Primitive Marketing

     Anything can be profound if you mull over it long enough. Of course, when considering language, shorter phrases have greater impact, because each word is given so much value. Successful advertisements definitely tap into this (note the obscure logo above).
     I think there's something in the brain that causes people to repeat things, some compulsion to latch onto simple and easily-digested (ha) bits of speech and text. Have you ever found yourself repeating a word to yourself, under your breath, until it sounds weird? Of course, you don't even have to answer that. We all do.
     This is probably biological. I mean, look at birds--they sing the same phrases over and over. (Actually, male mice do too, according to modern research!) I wonder if poetry and song is just a more advanced expression of the same compulsive repetition. It certainly has a similar function: don't birds sing for mates? Well, don't people?
     I'm not going to be drastic and reason away the human condition in all its glory, so for counter-examples I think I should mention William Carlos Williams and Ernest Hemingway. To take a few simple words and create a work of such emotional power as "The Red Wheelbarrow" (WCW) is a perfect expression of human craftiness and that constant upward thrust of progress.

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

     And then Hemingway. "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn."
     Read that again. And again. I don't care if that's amounts to the literary equivalent of succumbing to successful advertising and buying a Big Mac, just do it. But have it your way, because when it rains, it pours. (I couldn't help myself.)

Babybel

     Did you ever eat those cheeses when you were younger? You know, the creamy round ones wrapped in red wax?
     Rather, did you long to acquire a taste for them so as to seem 'grown-up' and 'mature' in the presence of your grandparents and other adult relatives? I couldn't stand the actual taste of the cheese, and though the entire wheel was about two bites' worth of food, I never actually ate more than half of one. Slowly, at that. I'd seem to savor the delicate tang...then I'd rush off to my grandma's kitchen and throw the rest away. I always kept the wax, though. It seemed special and important because it was such an old-fashioned thing: the only wax I encountered was in crayons or my ears. So I saved it and made these huge grotesque candles that I would stuff into beer bottles and then throw into the ocean, always with a note attached that read "let's be pen pals! I hope you're rescued soon"--I guess I figured that any shipwrecked person would need a candle made of Babybel wax and kitchen string.
     Well, I never got an answering letter, anyway.
    

The Quest to un-Define

     There are certain rules that govern our existence. They're present, whether or not they're pleasant. --I'm not sure exactly where I'm going with this dramatic opening, other than that I want to apply it to modern 'statement' art.
     There are certain (well this sounds familiar) fundamental laws of art such as hue, value, movement, repetiton; gosh, I don't think it's necessary to list them all.  Anyway people have debated whether art is really artsy if it follows rules. I mean, how incredibly trite, to stick to the ordinary! But this is ridiculous. People who've tried to break rules, like Jackson Pollock (see image) have only reinforced them: the lack of adherence to a code serves only to amplify its importance.
     This concept holds true for other aspects of life as well. Think of rebellious teens, for instance: by breaking rules, kids ultimately succeed in highlighting the existance of tradition and responsibility and concern for one's fellow man and cetera.
     I don't think there's a way to obliterate the codes and traditions and commands we face every day, because they're inherently human; escape is impossible for any sane member of the human race. If one could perhaps stop caring about rules and non-rules, then perhaps one could truly escape them. To achieve this while being aware of the rules would be impossible, though, because one cannot deny one's humanity. Unless one is crazy. I suppose, since teens and artists and musicians and actors and political radicals live in a constant state of heightened rule-awareness, one might argue that they're saner than everyone else. Perhaps.

Poetry in Sound

      I have this fantastic theory--here 'fantastic' is a euphemism for 'baseless' or 'ungrounded'--that a idea can be evoked by using sounds similar to those found in the word or phrase that expresses that idea. For example, if I wanted to poetically convey the pleasant feeling of receiving a package, I would try to incorporate words like 'stack' and 'past' and 'catch' and 'can' and others that included cacophonous consonants and short vowels in my description.
     This (if it does work outside of my own imagination) makes sense because words are composed of sounds and, since certain words create certain feelings, it follows that the sounds that compose these words can create the same feelings if combined correctly. Of course, then there's the whole question of accents and dialects, but that can easily answered by pointing out that different cultures have different ideals of art and beauty. Poetry is by no means a universally understood and appreciated form, and it usually doesn't translate well between cultures. That doesn't necessarily mean that one is unable to appreciate the work of someone in a different culture; it certainly makes sense, though, that it would be harder for one to understand.
     Apple. Snap, flip, popping, amble, wool, crackle.
     Alienate. Separation, ailment, innate, fail, stale, crate.
     Butterfly. Flutter, hover, flow, other, dust.
     This could be a great game.

Sort of

     It's interesting that many of the drastic changes we experience don't occur instantly. Instead, there's a sort of gradual easing into of the new reality as the old is lost or grieved. It's a bit like electron clouds, actually. Or maybe just that fun ol' Heisenberg uncertainty principle: you can't simultaneously define an object's position and its momentum. Of course, when the said object is something big and fast like a train when you're tied up on the tracks, Rocky and Bullwinkle style, you don't need to define it because you can be certain that it'll smoosh your brains out. --As an aside, that is one of the most terrifying things I can think of. Whenever I step into the street, I just know that I'm going to trip and fall backwards so that my head is exactly positioned in the path of a tire (attached to a wheel attached to a vehicle, of course, but let's preserve some clarity) and squish! my skull will be crushed. I suppose it's horrendous because I don't like to imagine something as definite as a face becoming unrecognizable. You'd lose your identity to that death, but not the rest of yourself: it'd almost be like losing a couple million years of evolution. --Speaking of identity (uh-oh, the tangents are stacking), getting killed is sort of the equivalent to the death of your first name, but becoming sterile (la la la castraaaati!) is the death of your last name. Sorry about that one; it was inexcusably random. Back to the subject at hand, then.
      Anyway, identity; death; fear; uncertainty, principle of, OH yes--Heisenberg. Change. Gotcha. So I was pondering death again, alone, at one-thirty or so last night (a blatant fabrication) and I was trying to discern that exact point of no return (pardon) at which a being ceases to be. When do all the cells say, 'let's give up, wait for it, wait for it...NOW!' and then die? Because I've definitely heard that certain cells stay alive for up to twenty-four hours after the brain shuts down. Could it be restarted? I mean, how many cells must a person lose, before you can call them a (dead) man? (Sorry.)
     On a less morbid, but perhaps equally sad, note, what about relationships? Where, exactly, does one determine that the time and effort required are just not worth it? Sometimes, certainly, one makes this decision but still pursues the relationship for weeks or even months; like death, though, the decision is usually irreversible.
     I'm beginning to get this little twitch in my left index, left middle, right thumb, left ring, right middle, right ring fingers--you guessed it, the big FREE WILL topic! But no, sorry, folks, it's just a bit much right now. We'll certainly touch upon it later.
     Egad, this reminds me of CHANGE (Ha, 'reminds'? I've been talking about basically one thing this entire time, and I haven't been referring to what's jingling in my altoid tin.) --anyway, about it being an oxymoron. You know, everything in this life/world/experience changes but change itself? How ironic that change is the one constant thing, the one solid and definite and firm aspect of our individual realities. Jeez, you know that dumb idea (des Cartes, as usual, the scoundrel) that the senses are our definition of reality, so basically whatever is perceived is true? Well I sort of think that change is what links our fragmented idea-existences together to create cultural unity, or at least common identity. But I really mustn't bother to explain myself now, because boy! am I sleepy.