I did it. I took the vow of silence, starting it first thing today. It would be alot more effective if I didn't have to talk at work, but rent reigns supreme, sadly. But I am trying to keep my words to a bare minimum at work, which is damn hard. Not just to chatter with those in the building and such, but not to talk to myself. I've been a solo flyer for so long, work and home, that it is amazing how easy it is to fall into vocalizing thoughts directly from brain to mouth. I found myself unable to think certain things without speaking the thought at the same time. I'd like to solely blame my past hermit tendencies, but if it was that, I wouldn't feel like I want to chew off my foot, with not even a single day of the vow passing. One of my negative tendencies I've elevated to proud celebration is how enamoured I am with the sound of my voice, since I've made a lifestyle out of making sure it is really the only voice I hear. I am not enamoured with my own voice, I am addicted to it. I expect to get the sweats and the shakes as I yank hard on the neurons that help direct this behavior. Language is a wonderful thing, really, considering the amazing complexity of internal and external factors that had to develop in the simian mind for thousands of years just so we can ask where the bathroom is, and watch out for that large bus coming right at you. But like Krishna says, you easily lose sight of the meaning when you revel in the means.
Language as blunt force trauma. Least that's little of a surprise, considering that just having dinner with my parents ranked in decibels somewhere between the first three rows of a The Who concert, and a low-yield thermonuclear device. I tall like a tourist in a farflung land, where I am certain I can convey what I want in my language to them, if I just speak it at the top of my lungs. This is going to be an insane week, because I am feeling already how vunerable I am without my Battle English.
I did finally realize what it is about The Man, owner of the fine house I live in, that always makes me feel somewhat uneasy around him. I used to think it was because he was managing his life so much better than me, or that old universal chestnut, that he was surely getting much more sex than I. But, no, it is because the Man is actually the Anti-Jew. That sounds bad, actually, he is the happiest Nazi in Seattle. Lets say that he could considered the Mirror Jew. In a show of deep geekiness, I will now refer to the alternative mirror universe in Star Trek. You know where people are generally the same beings, but flip-flopped. Except, the Man isn't my evil twin nemesis or anything. It's just that he is so Jewish, at times. He has the monetary sensibilites of a Good Jew, very thrifty, and he tries to keep his business within his circle. And he has the nose of a Morty Fishbein. Okay, I am exaggerating, it's more like an Aaron Greenblatt. Still he is the anti-Jew. He's so damn quiet and concise. He doesn't seem to raise his voice even when he's mad. I nearly had an aneuryism the first few times I called him, because he would only hear me in Trinary, meaning all questions must be answered "Yes," "No, or "Derrr...." I've even picked up this habit in all my calls, and I still feel like I must be rude, if I hang up after the main meat of the call is done, without complaining about my lower lumbar, or waffling more than an Eggo factory. Okay, and there is fact he has the least religious beard I have ever seen.
Just a note, the whole not talking to myself has already worked. I came up with an idea for another life-action. I am going to hold a pie fight. It would be cool if I got a platoon of pastry-pasting people, but I'll work on 3-5 for now. I'll work on the details, since I won't get started until I release myself from this vow. I just need to remind myself that slapstick is a truly empowering thing, when done with abandon. I've been much too serious again. Time to consider a return to Comedy as the truest expression of my beliefs. That, and I really want to see if I can get complete strangers to throw pies at each other.
More to come. I'm offline from chat and other interactives, and I'm avoiding the web. But I still will be checking email, and mostly, writing here in the KPC. I'm interested to see what kind of writing I will produce, when this is my sole point of record and release.
Language as blunt force trauma. Least that's little of a surprise, considering that just having dinner with my parents ranked in decibels somewhere between the first three rows of a The Who concert, and a low-yield thermonuclear device. I tall like a tourist in a farflung land, where I am certain I can convey what I want in my language to them, if I just speak it at the top of my lungs. This is going to be an insane week, because I am feeling already how vunerable I am without my Battle English.
I did finally realize what it is about The Man, owner of the fine house I live in, that always makes me feel somewhat uneasy around him. I used to think it was because he was managing his life so much better than me, or that old universal chestnut, that he was surely getting much more sex than I. But, no, it is because the Man is actually the Anti-Jew. That sounds bad, actually, he is the happiest Nazi in Seattle. Lets say that he could considered the Mirror Jew. In a show of deep geekiness, I will now refer to the alternative mirror universe in Star Trek. You know where people are generally the same beings, but flip-flopped. Except, the Man isn't my evil twin nemesis or anything. It's just that he is so Jewish, at times. He has the monetary sensibilites of a Good Jew, very thrifty, and he tries to keep his business within his circle. And he has the nose of a Morty Fishbein. Okay, I am exaggerating, it's more like an Aaron Greenblatt. Still he is the anti-Jew. He's so damn quiet and concise. He doesn't seem to raise his voice even when he's mad. I nearly had an aneuryism the first few times I called him, because he would only hear me in Trinary, meaning all questions must be answered "Yes," "No, or "Derrr...." I've even picked up this habit in all my calls, and I still feel like I must be rude, if I hang up after the main meat of the call is done, without complaining about my lower lumbar, or waffling more than an Eggo factory. Okay, and there is fact he has the least religious beard I have ever seen.
Just a note, the whole not talking to myself has already worked. I came up with an idea for another life-action. I am going to hold a pie fight. It would be cool if I got a platoon of pastry-pasting people, but I'll work on 3-5 for now. I'll work on the details, since I won't get started until I release myself from this vow. I just need to remind myself that slapstick is a truly empowering thing, when done with abandon. I've been much too serious again. Time to consider a return to Comedy as the truest expression of my beliefs. That, and I really want to see if I can get complete strangers to throw pies at each other.
More to come. I'm offline from chat and other interactives, and I'm avoiding the web. But I still will be checking email, and mostly, writing here in the KPC. I'm interested to see what kind of writing I will produce, when this is my sole point of record and release.
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