Of Speculation and Silence

"I seen it over and over-- a guy talkin' to another guy and it don't make no difference if he don't hear or understand. The thing is, they're talkin', or they're settin' and still not talkin'. It don't make no difference ... It's just the talking. It's just bein' with another guy. That's all."

Once you carve through John Steinbeck's blatant sexism, you may find in his words an illustrious meaning and allegorical symbols, perhaps a commentary on the essence of human existence. Despite the quite irksome flaw of inherent misogyny in all of his works-- if a female character is not the physical incarnate of evil or lust, then invariably she steps out of line at some point and is beaten back into her place with none of the other characters thinking ill of it-- ahem, despite this, Steinbeck is one of my favorite authors. If you've ever heard me speak of East of Eden, you know I have for it an unbridled enthusiasm and somewhat obsessive passion. It is not only the voice of his writing but the aquifer of poignant metaphor that flows through each and every one of his works.You won't find an author more dedicated to pronouncing the reality of the human condition (Except, side note, women actually do have souls. Just thought I'd mention.)

In the past two nights, I've been reading Of Mice and Men and The Pearl cover-to-cover in one sitting each. East of Eden is a walloping and formidable endeavor, possessing a great length of text- albeit undoubtedly worth it-- while these two books both have approximately 100 pages, give or take (in the editions I've been reading). I could write 10,000 words on only one facet of these books alone, but for the sake of your sanity, I shall not. I compile this post today to briefly delve into a shared concept that runs through the philosophy of Steinbeck and expound upon the consequences of its application.

The theme is: Silence.
For all the folks at home; what follows will contain some impressive spoilers.

As I was reading The Pearl, I realized in it a dual and contradictory philosophy to be present, contrasted in my mind by a significant ideology embedded in Of Mice and Men. In chapter four (OMAM), which, by the way, is actually closer to the end of the book than its beginning, we finally meet a character who shows that Steinbeck is not only extremely sexist, but racist! However. In works such as The Pearl, Steinbeck presents many well-rounded, heroic, insightful characters who are, in fact, people of color. His apparent racism in Of Mice and Men is to coerce the reader into considering what unjust treatment African-Americans have been forced to endure. If these are truly his motives, then I can forgive them. Anyways, on to this character.

Steinbeck has a habit of forcing incredibly detailed descriptions, in a single wall of impenetrable text, onto the reader out of nowhere. Just to provide a bit of background on these quotes, here's what we know about the speaker:

• Crooks:

• African-American man
• Stable buck
• Has to bunk in the harness room because he can't quarter with the whites
• Crippled back from being kicked by a horse
• Instinctively angry against white people, all of them, because of how he's been mistreated
• Reads books, unlike everyone else in the story
• Definitely a loner, but also lonely
• Scarred past
• Somewhat pragmatic and aloof

Two of his most profound quotes are at the very beginning of this post and directly below.
Context? He's rambling on and on, now that he finally has someone to listen to him. No matter that the other person doesn't comprehend and isn't listening anyways, because he probably couldn't care less.

"Books ain't no good. A guy needs somebody-- to be near him ...  A guy goes nuts if he ain't got nobody. Don't make no difference who the guy is, long as he's with you. I tell ya, I tell ya a guy gets too lonely and he gets sick."

Steinbeck, unfortunately, forms him as an "angry black man" stereotype, and that doesn't sit well with me. Nevertheless, Crooks serves as a metaphor for the desolation and depravity of loneliness, and the kind of desperate character it inspires. No matter what he does or how many books he reads, he can't seem to fill the gaping need for human acceptance and interaction, however superficial.

Well, I could contend with that. And thinking on that quote a couple nights ago, I began to mull over a concept (which I'll come to later).

Crooks makes some intense points, as the dialogue continues, about the need to reflect experiences-- with only one mind, I have one dimension of a viewpoint. With another mind, there is stretched from my experience another dimension, and the space in which I can process, interpret, and edify my understanding is exponentially increased. From a singular line there now comes a plane of thought.
This is the source of Crook's misery; that he cannot achieve the simplest, yet most complex, and most pleasurable of human experiences. It is intriguing, then, that he at first adamantly refuses to speak to anyone or let his space be violated-- perhaps it is because he anticipates that he himself will be made not to speak, just as in the scene where Curley's wife threatens to lynch him (She does three things in this book: attempts to seduce men, complains about her life, and threatens to execute someone because he told her t get out of his room.)

So it seems that John Steinbeck's philosophy is that there is a necessity to express to one another, any other, human being. This is understandable; we humans are social creatures, we thrive on connection. The error in this reasoning comes in that there is no true connection in simply speaking. It does, in fact, make a difference whether "he don't hear or understand". Communication, language itself, was invented in effort to make raw the soul. This is the true human need; to be bare and authentic, and loved in spite of or because of it.
Otherwise it is dull, shallow, and false.

Yet, in reading The Pearl, a contrasting philosophy emerges.Steinbeck, speaking of the close relationship between Kino and Juana, says this:

"She knew him and she knew she could help him best by being silent and being near ... She knew he would ask when he wanted it."

And, this:

"There is not need for speech if it is only a habit anyway." 

In Steinbeck's eyes, this must be the ideal relationship. They work together nigh-flawlessly, as one being, the only conflict coming when Kino's wife dares to defy him. Juana is obedient, quiet, supportive, and in Kino's own eyes, strong-- she never cries in pain, not in childbirth or even when Kino beats her half to death (In love, of course, because that's definitely what you do when you love someone.) This theme of beautiful, wordless communication is present throughout the entirety of the story, in which there is little dialogue whatsoever. So, if this is the "ideal relationship" to the author, what can we gather?

Abuse aside, which may be dismissed for the moment as a cultural thing, this couple harmonizes very well. Kino and Juana need no excess of words; knowing each other so openly, they must only exchange a touch or a glance to communicate with the same authentic vulnerability. When words are thought necessary, they are spoken with little inhibition. The rest is sung through actions, much like a delicate, interpretive dance comprised of gentle three-note songs and affectionate touches.

My compromise is this: Perhaps we speak too much or not enough, and either of these impedes the deepest desire of our soul to be felt and cherished as we truly are. When our words become necessary, we should let them come freely. But more meaningful than this, more intrinsic to connection, are the knowing exchanges and clement touches passed between two souls who are already exposed to true understanding of each other. The purpose is true, authentic connection, and verbal expression is but a sometimes necessary means.

Hey, Steinbeck fans!
Want an equally profound novel in which neither sexism nor racism prevail?
Look no further! I recommend Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, which you can purchase on Amazon here








When I first read Of Mice and Men, I was so rival to the philosophy of this superficial "connection" that I devised to test against it by taking a vow of silence, to any linguistic communication, for the duration of a week. Now I see that these two books harmonize with each other like the songs they are, ancient, of the family (openness) and the ocean (inner thought). Steinbeck's meaning is not evident in one work alone, and still, from any book we will derive our own meaning. Therefore let us traverse in intimate, infinite dimensions of reflection, gleaning from each other what we ourselves alone cannot.

People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening, people writing songs that voices never share, and no one dare disturb the Sound of Silence.

-William Shakespeare

Faure Out

A Halloween Experience

Feel that tingling chill drifting through the air? Hear wind tugging at the bare tree branches? The person puking their guts out after having eaten too much candy?? Yepp, it's that time of the year again. I hope you brought the sixteen layers of wool coats your Mom forced on you to go trick-or-treating; because my argument against Halloween is about to strike a cold blow real fast.

As a little kid, I didn't exactly "like" Halloween all that much. Something miraculously changed during the past year, once I finally realized and took advantage of the fabulous candy sales-- I now have at least three full bags of chocolate stuffed in my room. My opinion of this holiday used to be not just a grim disdain but a presence of utter loathing, directly correlating to the existence of these teen "parties"- or whatever you extroverts are calling them nowadays-- and my family's "traditional" dependence on those $2 home costumes over the years including but not limited to-- ballerina, fairy, fairy ballerina, doctor, 80s chick, nerdling, and hobo (as seen in the Dennis the Menace movie). Really, the only reason I tolerated Halloween was because of the candy. And then my mother stepped into the picture, rather forcibly, consuming everything in her wake and blaming it all on the elusive "Tax Fairy". We're on to you, Mom.

After that, Halloweens went very far downhill. And for 8 distinct reasons:

          1. There was a great and glorious abundance of candy. It prevails even to this day. This, for me, is no great mark against Halloween whatsoever. Bring on the cavities, I've got three times my weight in candy corn! However, the issue arises the following day, post-sugar crash. You wake up sick and fatigued, and half of your friends aren't at school. Because they're sick too, of course. It's comparable to dengue fever, except, worth it.

Now, of course, I believe that I'm responsible enough to moderate my candy consumption. Am I, really? Absolutely not!! But isn't that the fun of it?

          2. My mother fervently opposed the notion of referring to Halloween as a holiday (holy-day), and firmly impressed this into all of our minds. I'm blessed to come from a very loving, downright amazing family. A drawback, however, to having my mom around on holidays is this: She only accepts an occasion as a holiday if it allows forced family bondage- I mean bonding!-- time, and if all the sweet treats can be detracted and supplemented with kale chips.
We had an interesting childhood.

          3. I was always a little too versed in my history studies for the average forth grader. Did you know that Halloween originated as the Druidic holiday of Samhain, upon which it was believed that all the dead were granted passage to the world and the living wore elaborate costumes to ward off the roaming ghosts? As a nine year old, I did, and was none too pleased with the thought of spirits dragging me off into the shadows because my costume wasn't cool enough.
And then, disaster struck. My mom, inevitably, deemed the weather too cold and forced me to wear a coat that COVERED UP MY COSTUME.

Even before this, I had issues with the whole "coat or no candy" thing. This one year, I remember being excruciatingly upset at my parental units because I had to wear a jacket over my otherwise GLORIOUS costume.

          4. There exist magnificently spooky things which I lack the coping mechanisms for. The unbeatable problem with me is that I hate being scared, but I'm also totally addicted to it. So, when Halloween rolls around, I get all excited about the haunted mazes and creepy decorations and stuff. Artistry, the eldritch avant-garde, everywhere!!

And then I remember, I'm me.

A similar thing happens in haunted mazes, since my adrenal response isn't "flight or fight" but "punch and then faint". Oh, and the night after scary movies.

One time when I was watching Oculus with my friends I screamed so loudly that their parents thought someone was being murdered in the basement :/

          5. It's a war zone out there. Stampedes of children are trampling each other into the ground to get to the houses with the best candy. Going out with my sisters becomes the actual scariest thing I've ever done. "Ack! I almost tripped there. Oops, watch your step. Woah now, be careful. There's a two year old right in front of-" [BAM! WAH!!!]
I think we all know where the idea for the Hunger Games came from.

          6. Walking door to door with other people is like trekking through the Alaskan Tundra with a person who's had their leg gnawed off by a rabid antelope-- It takes FOREVER. I'm not the slow one, I never am. It's a get in get out operation, the sole mission being the acquisition of candy in as great of amounts as humanly possible even if such a number is not remotely consumable. This is probably why I've given up on door-to-door trick-or-treating-- There's always the one who moves at the pace of an amputated snail, and they still won't stop complaining. And you're not allowed to go ahead of the group. It's just a barren stretch of nothingness invariably resulting in a total metal and physical breakdown by the fourth house. Especially in our neighborhood, where houses are set 1,000 feet back from the sidewalk, I swear...

          7. Some people give out pencils and stickers. Honestly, it's more productive to go to one of those awful parties, stuff all the candy in an inconspicuous sack, and make a run for it. Chances are that people will be too focused on the actual party to notice you getting away with everything that makes a social occasion worth it: Food.
Introverts: 1   Extroverts: 0
But anyways, back to the main point. One could argue that with the merge of the Roman celebration of Pomona and the Druidic holiday Samhain to create Halloween as we now know it, and with the history of the pencil originating with the sharp metal styles of Latinic Rome, a pencil would be an appropriate gift to commemorate the holiday.
Such people, however, are the reasons I've grown cynic to the world.
No more pencils. Please. No kid goes trick or treating with the intention of rounding out their collection of writing instruments. Although, I could walk 1,000 miles for one of those mechanical ones. Maybe some Carmilla stickers, do they make those? I'm also the kind of person who would keep coming back around to the kindly old lady giving out apples. Especially if they're caramel.

          8. Over the years, the various shenanigans associated with my costumes have landed me in some rare and unfortunate situations. Let me take you on a tour.

2009- Ah, yes. The first year of mischief.

And the second time I went as a fairy princess.

2010- The family consensus this year- Well, fine; parental consensus-- was to begin making our own costumes completely from materials gathered at home. This posed some challenges for me. So of course, I raided my mom's closet for some supplemental gear.
So I wore a ripped fishnet "Sex Pistols" shirt, a flamboyant tutu, glow sticks, crimped hair with scrunchies, sparkly high heels, and I think also just one glove. However true the sentence, it was apparently "entirely inappropriate." Couldn't wear it to school.
When I was ten, I thought the 80s were the coolest years of fashion ever, and that my mom had definitely been glammin' it up. After that, I didn't stop raiding her closet, seeking to emulate the totally hip style of my mom. I sincerely believed that crimped hair was still the coolest thing ever. She was proud, and looking back on the photos of that following year, I was definitely not.


2011- This is the year I started getting really into the character development of my costumes. Unfortunately, I went as a hobo.

2012- I went as the alternate reality version of myself in which I was left unattended watching Baby Einstein for much longer durations of time in my toddler years.
Explanation required? Alright, fine.
I raided my mom's closet for her "engineer wear"(white polo, khakis, loafers, and argyle socks), clumped my hair into scrunchies (which I'm apparently quite fond of, costume-wise), put tape on the bridge of circular wire glasses, and hung upside down from the bed for ten minutes so my voice would get more nasal. I really went all out.
So, every time someone would open the door, I would recite an entire script in a squeaky, nasal voice: "Hi, my name's Brianna. I'm intellectually capable." I'd sniffle and wipe the imaginary snot all over my hair. "but my mom says I'm not very social. Would you like to sign this petition against introvert abuse?"
The entirety of this monologue went on for approximately five minutes. People would close the door on me, and then I'd just knock and start all over again. Remember the movie Up? You know what scene I'm thinking of.

2013- This year I went as a peacock. Well, at least my "character development" would be dignified and graceful.... right?
Wrong. You are so, so wrong.

I won a costume contest. Ha.

2014- By this point, I'd decided that I was absolutely DONE with Halloween forever. Why? Well.... I wanted to just buy a bag of on-sale candy at the store and sit in my footie pajamas watching Nightmare Before Christmas. To my despair, I was pushed and pushed and finally convinced into a pair costume with Cody. I went as an angelic assassin with an actual saber sword. Thank goodness I didn't get too into character. We kinda modeled it after one of his favorite books, This Present Darkness; he was the embodiment of alpha and I was that of omega. Day and night. Somehow, I actually really enjoyed the party we went to. I met some amazing people and didn't figure out the rules to "Never Have I Ever" until I accidentally made myself lose. Plus, I got to smash pumpkin pie in his face on a dare. Success.


2015- I'll keep you posted, lovelies ^.^ I'm petitioning Cody to stay in and watch a scary movie (psych. it'll be another animated feature.) with me while we eat straight out of several bags of candy and end up bloated and/or barfing with what I'm sure will be pure bliss. Wearing either pajamas or full costumes, of course. He, however, probably wants to go to yet another party where we'll definitely end up in whipped cream war again or getting an abandoned TV a hitch-hike with a stranger, "for the lols".

Word of advice: For the sake of your own sanity, don't date an extrovert.




And there you have it, The INFP-certified list of reasons to loathe Halloween. But despite this, I implore you to go on absolutely adoring it! Remember all the lovely things, like pumpkin carving, haunted mazes, amazing costumes, cherished time with friends and family, stealing candy from bab--

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

On the Malaise of Monetary Gain

When I first began to read The Best Things in Life by Peter Kreeft, my parents could not have known that stuffing me full with Socratic dialogue was about the worst possible thing they could have allowed, for both themselves and anyone exposed to my shouting range. On the other hand, I can't and don't blame them for the intellectual chaos that ensured-- Nope, that was definitely all me.

The Best Things in Life is a piece of contemporary philosophical literature, written in the form of a script, that can be best described either by smashing together the concepts of "moral justification" and "conjecture of the truth of others to be fallible while determining the truth of oneself to be undoubtedly accurate" OR by a general outline of the topics discussed and conclusions reached. I find the latter to better depict the underlying message of the book.

1. An introduction to the the flaws in the educational and occupational systems, dispelling both hedonism and labor futile in meaning.
1. Introduction to Socratic philosophy
1. Assume no truth
2. Say what is
3. Ask the great question of "Why" -- obtaining all of the answers and none of the questions is a useless pursuit
4. There is no such thing as a last question. "The unexamined life is not worth living". When we sit in complacency, we forfeit our meaning. 
2. As a society, the vast majority go to college and study that duration of their lives away to get a degree, to get a good job, to earn respectable wages, to buy things and raise a family, to send children to college.
1. When a trajectory is circular without reason, it is devoid of meaning. Why waste our time on this useless pursuit? 
2. There is a general attitude of self-indulgence in our culture clashing violently with the concept of delayed gratification. People desire immediate leisure, but give up everything to misery in the present to obtain it in an uncertain future. 
1. The hope of pleasure is in and of itself no sufficient reason to deny gratification now
3. The most valuable lesson is that which inspires you to become your own teacher.
2. It is a better and more fulfilling practice to serve the true design and meaning in our lives than to comply with societal standards of what should and should not be done.
1. The world's most practical decision-maker is logic, though philosophy can often impede philosophizing. 
1. Questions are more important than their answers. "They are the road, and only those of us who use the road find their way home"
2. We choose everything as a means to happiness, the ultimate goal. Even enlightenment serves us to happiness. Our choices should depend on what best leads us to those ends, not just in the present, but in the future.
1. Philosophy is useful because it helps us to identify what is good and true. Without knowledge of these concepts, nothing can be discerned as true or untrue, good or bad (countless numbers of synonyms could have been supplemented, as these four words are at the cornerstones of our lexicographical language.)
3. Money is good for nothing unless it is assigned meaning. Take the dollar bill, for instance. Without the government to assert that it has economic value, it's just paper.
1. The value of money, then, is what we choose it to purchase; but none of these things-- houses, cars, yachts-- is an end in and of itself. This acquisitions do not guarantee us any amount of happiness.
4. Is there a common and universal end sought by everyone?
1. Happiness, pleasure, and joy
1. Preservation of life-- health, food, drink
2. Connection-- love, companionship, loss of loneliness
3. Self-actualization and meaning
5. Is the value of serving humanity in the pursuit of truth?
1. Our time doesn't often think of truth as a close means to the ends of happiness. We instead desire monetary gain or the acquisition of  power, but power is as futile a purpose as money.
2. Making the world a better place to live in should come second to the more intimate improving of the self, which directly concerns life, more so than the outside world. 
1. There are practical sciences and productive sciences. Practical improves practices, productive improves products. 
3. We should seek knowledge for its own sake. While we can improve our practice and the world around us, philosophy improves our self. Our true being.
1. No matter what our career or path in life, we are called first and foremost to be ourselves, as human beings, serving the pursuit of knowledge. 
1. Know thyself.

And these are just the first two sections of the book! In order to avoid strangling you, dear readers, with an overly gratuitous amount of points, I'll say this-- To learn more, check out this book at your local library.
When faced with this looming wall of text, it seems a daunting task to carve through and begin to delve into the real meaning-- the purpose and implementation of Socratic dialogue. This work of philosophy, and Socrates himself, are not purposed to teach us what to thing. Rather, how. That grand and bold teaching, the golden lesson, is this:

Ask an infinite number of questions.

Better yet, discard your concept of numbers and build it up again, for that is in itself an assumption. Socrates instructed us to think like children, brazenly open to the impossible, daring to explore every crevice of a question, pointing out flaws in theories as boldly as any objective statement. With this in mind, let's examine Peter Kreeft.

Though I much appreciate the deviation from the usual societal standard of learn to work, work to earn, die; I disagree with Kreeft on one solid point that he did not address: Sometimes there is value in serving humanity not only for the pursuit of truth, but to help others to obtain that same happiness, pleasure, and joy, whether by guiding them to the philosophy of pursuing truth or tending to the needs of connection and preservation of life. The same follows for his point against the practical and productive sciences, or the goal of serving humanity; I argue that self-actualization can be better served not by constant pursuit of introspection, but upon the reflection of those around us. As we serve others, place their needs before our own (by pure altruism, not by some concept of gain or duty), we gain more a wisdom of our psyche than we do by the refusal to sacrifice the self. The pursuit of knowledge, of self-actualization and the happiness it ensures, is still inherent in this philosophy. However, rather than gaining it by theory, it is gleaned through the shared experiences of others. Kreeft states that we are called first and foremost to be human beings. Perhaps a more crucial distinction of philosophy is that we are called to be human beings together.

The major flaw I find in the Socratic method is that it can be used, by the right, deliberate, and tangling misconstruction of words, to conclusively prove anything. The dialogue becomes circular, and in the right form, it invariably supports itself no matter the weight of evidence against its cause.

It is this very flaw that makes the Socratic method, warped, ideal for an angsty seventh grader. At the time, I gleaned the process but not the philosophy. I learned to question to an end, not as an end. It is more important, I realize now (after those past months of haggarding my parents with unwinnable, pre-scripted debates), to appreciate the wisdom of others while leaning not on our own assumed understanding. There is an endless wealth of questions to be explored within the universe and within ourselves-- perhaps they are the same.

Socrates asserted, Know Thyself, and only this can I know for certain-- For every question that I may answer, I will come upon a thousand more. And, for the sake of my soul, may I never cease to ask them.

"We'll Call It Vermicompost Because That Sounds More Sophisticated"

(Building a Worm Farm)

I've been doing more posts lately about sustainable living... And by that I mean, I did one once, it was cool, and now I'm pretending to be an expert. That being said, I have conducted a fair amount of research into fertilizer. I don't want to explain how "worm humus" got into my search history, but anyways, here we are. It's obvious that a compost highly saturated with nutrients will prove more beneficial to plant life. The issue is the expense of such quality soil. Never fear! In one fell swoop you can dispose of your fruit and vegetable waste in a way that benefits you agriculturally and is favorable to the environment.

How so? Well, I hope you read the title. It's called vermicompost-- to be a teensy bit less verbose, it's worm manure, and it's an unbelievably powerful, natural fertilizer. Worms, particularly the favored species Eisenia fetida, are built for decomposing decaying organic material into less contaminated, nutrient-dense soil. It's like a superpower no one wants, because hey, they've got to eat that stuff!

For a long time, worms went largely thankless for their good deeds towards humanity. Now, they're utilized in both large-scale factories and backyard farms to churn out nutrients that ultimately benefit their entire ecosystem on the whole.
It's all wibbly-wobbly squiggly-wiggly stuff, but you get the idea.

In the following video, I'll walk you through the steps to harnessing the incredible power of these gifted decomposers in the form of a mini worm farm. Happy gardening, y'all! <3