13 September 2006

such a cute little analogy.

i don’t know if you regularly read espn’s bill simmons, but you’ve probably heard me talking loudly about how great he is from the other side of the room. now, i’m a fine arts grad student, which means i seize any opportunity to nuance and qualify even the meagerest idea into a corner, where i then furrow my brow in a professorial way and stare it down till it gives. no analogy can escape my thorough, tender-lipped scrutiny. as such.

1) i’ve heard a few different james joyce enthusiasts mention how he wrote tricks into his work—pointless little rabbit trails that the critics would eagerly wander down. and how awesome is that, that he could foresee the critical eye with so many layers of clarity that he could deliberately bury pointless leads under a complex, continuous narrative. it’s retarded trying even to imagine that; it’d be like sitting down at your desk, sketching out a few things, and concluding that as your velocity approaches the speed of light, time slows down.

2) or it’d be like being larry bird. in an article comparing the clutchness of big papi vs. larry bird, simmons says, “there was one stretch during the '86 season when he was actually bored by how good he was, so he started using his left hand more (during one game, he took only left-handed shots in the first half), then bird and walton started trying to see how many times they could run the back door play in one game, then he went through a stage when he was backing guys down on the low post just to see how many different ways he could create a basket. ... i mean, larry bird freaking experimented during games.”

3) or in one of my favorite episodes, ‘cos i actually remember it, simmons recounts “a wide-eyed xavier mcdaniel (i loved the x-man so much; he was my fave) telling the story about bird telling the x-man during the end of a celts-sonics game, 'i'm making the game-winner, and i'm shooting it from that spot right there,' then doing exactly that.” the natural conclusion from this information, then, is

4) larry legend was the james joyce of basketball.

i’m writing this thing on metaphor right now; almost inescapably my mind’s been running around trying to tie a string between every two things it sees. (“bird as metaphor” is actually a subheader in my outline.) and did you know that neuroscientists have found the neurons that are responsible for metaphor—they’re called mirror neurons, and they’re so interesting. you and i are having lunch; you take a sip of martini, and a pattern of mirror neurons fires with a given strength. then a minute later, i reach over and take a sip of your martini—and as you watch me do that, the same neurons fire in the same pattern, with the same strength. at that electro-level of the brain, doing a thing, observing a thing and imagining doing a thing are all the same thing. i love this so much.

mirror neurons operate in different parts of the brain, and in the cortex—where the really complex stuff like thinking about ideas happens—they don’t come online until the 4th or 5th year of life, which is when theory of mind starts to happen—when a child begins to understand that the contents of your mind can be different from his. the complexity of undertaking to know what someone else is thinking is what created the evolutionary pressure for these layers of mirror neurons and a cortex big enough to hold them. and isn’t that sort of staggering to think about, that metaphor (in a truly meta- sense, ie, metaphor as the function that allows us to find a second level of meaning of anything, or, as nicholas humphrey said, to reveal the solid forms in the world of shadows in which we live) is socially driven. that the task of me knowing you is so complex that it pressured the brain into developing a neural framework big enough to make art, and to engage in any higher thinking. like writing critical tricks into your novel. or like experimenting to see how many ways you can make a shot with your left hand while a million people watch.

it’s interesting too, how the impulse to experiment is such a pure one, and requires such a total confidence in yourself, and that it’s present so early in life. kids experiment constantly, and when the higher-cortex mirror neurons come online and theory of mind begins to happen, they begin another level of experimentation—known in the scientific community as “fucking with people.” your mirror neurons can not only imagine doing something but also imagine the effects it’ll draw out of another person, your teacher, your kid sister, or the dude guarding you. and our exquisite desire to fuck with people leads to a whole other corollary about the orders of mastery: you’re a master when you can successfully tweak and adjust your pitches during a game or change your song list when you see what the crowd is responding to during your set, and those tweaks and changes are forms of experimentation. but, you’re the master’s master—the guy behind the guy be-hind the guy—when your experimentations have cycled clear back around and regained a playground, fuck-with-him quality: i’m going to write in this faux-theme so the critics will spend a decade scratching their nuts in confusion; i’m going to tell him where i’ll take the shot from, and that i’ll make it, and then i’ll do just that. because i can.

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

Milkshake said...

This is scaring the crap out of me.
And maybe I'm over exaggerating mid-that-time-of-the-month type hormonal fluxes, but maybe I'm correct in thinking that drawing metaphore and correlations between events is scary enough without being confronted with the fact that it's a physicality. A PHYSICALITY. Meaning to remove this tendancy, one needs not therapy, but surgery. A surgery that doesn't yet exist.
What I mean is that I do this to a fault, and in my naivety thought I could flush it all out by writing it down. Like every quarter I've tossed into a tollbooth, a blond lock of hair pushed across a forehead, A note written on a mirror and every last sugary sweet and thick rich slice of cake in this world that I have been lucky enough to taste--and all of these things in thier poignancy wont leave me, and now I know they never will.
It's all one in the same.
Damnit.
Delete this at your leisure [or don't], because upon a re-read, my vagina seems to loud.
--M

gastrosod said...
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gastrosod said...
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gastrosod said...

This post has been removed by the Arthur. That drunk fuck.

Timmy Peanithwaite said...

"i’m going to tell him where i’ll take the shot from, and that i’ll make it, and then i’ll do just that."

This is also a tenet of a solid ad. "I'm going to tell you that I'm trying to sell you something. Then I'm going tell you why you're going to buy it. And then you're going to buy it."

And I'm old enough to have seen Larry Bird play in his last years in those 80's finals vs. Magic. Even lying on the parquet to rest his back, he was the still the best.
Now imagine how much better he'd have been had he been black.

gastrosod said...

was thinking last night, after viewing my "newpromo" (you must check it on the :roblog:, as i've trumpeted your fantastic new trope) that that rubicon we were discussing, the one between quotidian meaning and the madness just on the other side, might in fact be madness, hunts; perhaps niggas like you and me are able to traipse, now and again, into the netherworld where meaning breaks down -- and because it breaks down, it is possible to fuck with the juxtapositions, and so create "art" through new metaphor. hm. just a mid-day thunkling. off to goodman's wedding. . . .

Milkshake said...

Oh, that crizzazy Jonathan Coulton.
From LA face, to an Oakland booty, to the living dead. He never ceases to amaze me.
--M

emillikan said...

mark,
because i'm an interweb nerd and googled/myspacesearched every single student and faculty member in our program immediately after santa fe, i found this a long time ago. i just figured you should know--i started to feel a little guilty for occasionally spying on you. feel free to kick me out if you want. :)
i'm sad you & mandy & mawganne won't be at the miltons--matt and i are the only spu kiddies there. ah well. happy hour.
keep warm, drink tea,
emily