manifest zero
i. words don’t mean what they used to.
This is the introduction, but it’s all there in the title. Words don’t mean what they used to. As a writer – and I claim no particular talent or acclaim in the pursuit – I’ve learned over many years the particulars of both the language and the narrative tradition from Aristotle through to Robert McKee. I haven’t read as many books as I probably should have; I’ve focused primarily over the past several years over the structure of story, how it affects us as feeling human beings and, more importantly, why.
Over the years the proliferation of media from basic substance without the technology to apply style, to the advances in technology allowing for the excesses and flourishes of style so apparent in popular media having almost completely eclipsed substance. So much of popular narrative is derivative of itself, and focuses exclusively on interpersonal conflicts and relationships with zero actual consequence to the viewer. As much as art’s a reflection of life, I’d argue that life’s increasingly coming to focus on interpersonal conflict as an absolute fundamental necessity. Everyone’s looking over everyone else’s shoulder for the answers to a test no one’s grading. Moreover, there’s always an overwhelming focus on the biological imperative to breed. There’s a proliferation of division; we will only ever be one half of a whole unless we find that special one, our other half, our soulmate.
There’s division of everything. Everything’s an –ism. Everything’s different, and we’re taught to focus on how we’re different far more than how we’re the same. We’re a colour, a gender, a weight, a height, a bank balance and a job title. But those are just peculiarities of genetics and the social construct; we can influence some of them but live with others. The other thing is, though, why are we still divided? After all the centuries of conflict and war and death, how haven’t we looked back and seen the common thread? It’s right there. We evolved out of the lower species as the single most intelligent (and yeah, that is open to debate), and forget predators and prey; every species tramples on the species that aren’t as intelligent. And we climbed so high up the branches the only thing we’ve got left to fuck with is ourselves. But somehow we haven’t quite recognised that? Always we’ve been right up to the brink, peering out over the edge of self-destruction, and it’s only there that we’re quite able to realise the enormity of what we’re capable of and pull back. Of course, then we go right back to squabbling and ignoring the elephant in the room.
My man has it right; we’re monkeys with a language on an organic spaceship hurtling through the cosmos. We could catch a stray comet in the face at damn near any time, but somehow we as a species are still producing Jersey Shore? That’s what we’re beaming out into the big, empty cosmos as a calling card? Doritos ads? I think the signals we’re piping into space are our species’ portrait in the attic, and goddamn that thing can’t be looking great at this point.
But more than that, I think we need to be asking questions. Why are things the way they are? Who’s putting these conventions in place? Well, we consume them. Their content, whether it’s talking about fucking or high ideals, is always telling us we can have more, and better, and faster. So we work our knuckles to the bone to get more, and better, and faster, and goddamn if we don’t need to relax at the end of a week. By and large we’re grinding up five days to make two that we’re happy with, and that’s a poor fucking return no matter how much spin you put on it. We get drunk and kill each other in the streets. We’re hurting, and we keep trying to stuff more of what’s hurting us in to patch our wounds. It’s not working, and I want to know why. Right here and now, I want to talk about it. I don’t want to weave plot and character and metaphor around it and hope you’ll see it. So much of our world is all talk – from charity facebook statuses to ‘round the clock coverage of the tragedy of the moment – with no collective action to back it up. As long as it’s someone else it’ll be okay. As a writer, I feel like a lot of the tools have been stolen from my belt or become unrecognisable. So I just want to talk about it, and I want you to talk about it too.
ii. the best policy
People talk a lot. You probably know this already. You probably a lot too; I certainly do. Thing is, as I’ve stated before and probably will again (and again), words don’t mean what they used to. You only have to look at the advertising slathered all over the sides of buildings (or windows, or blaring on television between shows, product placement in shows, before films at the cinema, on every tab of every webpage you’ve got open, crawling through your social networks, on the tree pulp that for some reason is still stuffed in your mailbox, in the smiling hand-shakers that accost you on street corners or at key strategic locations of shopping complexes, written in the sky) to see it. How many words have been replaced as numbers? How many words are spelled phonetically, perhaps to differentiate themselves from their competition, certainly, but are they telling you that’s the case? Do you care? If you do, how often have you corrected someone on the use of their first language and had the reply shot back oh but you know what I meant?
Yes, I knew what you mean. But this is precisely my point. Intent is one thing, but it’s nothing unless it’s demonstrated by action. The idea of language is a set of pre-agreed upon symbols as having a certain meaning to them, and with those basic ingredients and common rules of usage we can weave magic. We make noises, yes, but if you want to get right down to it the use of language is a crude form of telepathy. The words we use indicate our intent, and the beauty of human interaction is as much in the gaps of understanding between people or groups of people as it is in the seamless connections. We find ourselves drawn to those that think as we do or challenge our beliefs in such a way as to catalyse internal growth. And, yes, all languages have evolved over time and will continue to evolve, but look around you. Does it feel like there’s a benevolent hand at the wheel? Or is it that intellectual shorthand’s encouraged and clear, precise use of language (and intent) is becoming unfashionable? Sloppy use of language can’t be a sign of intellectual clarity. Sometimes you can judge a book by its cover, especially when the cover’s written in retard.
Here’s the next point. Especially when the cover’s written in retard. No, I’m not saying you’re mentally disabled. Just the same as when I use the word faggot I don’t mean homosexual. But what concerns me is that these are the kind of words people are throwing themselves on in righteous crusades against bigotry and injustice. I agree; bigotry and injustice are deplorable, and we should all be actively involved in their abolition. But arguing semantics certainly isn’t going to change public awareness, especially not when you’re pinning it to individual words. Why aren’t people (and in this respect I refer to the Western, English-speaking world) up in arms over the clarity of their first language as a whole? We’ve grown soft and comfortable, and that affords us the time to argue these points. You think someone that’s starving cares what you call them, so long as they can find some way to feed themselves or die trying?
We’re running around in ancient monkey hardware with super-computers for brains, and we’ve forgotten where we came from. We tie ourselves up with muddy laws and unclear language, give over the labour of our bodies to greater and more daring intellects than our own, then spend the down-time trying to poison and fuck our way into forgetting. How many resolutions get made every time we make a lap around the sun? How many of them are full to the brim of good intentions only to get lost by the wayside when the easy little immediate-action, immediate-reward perks of our culture get in the way? We’ve forgotten, by and large, what it means to pour a thousand tiny actions into one, grand result. We’re taught that every tiny action should have an immediate payoff – in our food, in our pastimes, in our drugs – otherwise what’s the point of it?
So no, words don’t mean what they used to. We spray words like promise and love around like bullets as if we’re trying to kick start some species extinction. All our entertainment revolves around the biological imperative to breed, and the unscrupulous (and hilarious!) lengths we go to just to get a piece. We’re taught that it’s better to pour our energy into getting away with lying than to step up and speak the truth. Promises aren’t even a thing; they’re pure intent with empty mouth-noise accompaniment. You can’t say that x will feel y forever when x is forever in flux. You own an axe and the blade shatters, so you replace the blade. You keep using the axe and the handle snaps, so you replace the handle. Is it the same axe? You are not a pillar moving through time; you’re a line that moves with time.
But ask yourself: how much of your greatest conflicts have come as a direct result of trying to spare someone’s feelings, of trying to shield a house of cards from falling, of saying 2+2=5 until even you come to believe it? The crazy thing about speaking the truth is that yeah, it’s going to get you yelled at, and denied, and maybe even punched in the face. But then you know, and rather than tie yourself down to moments in time you free yourself to focus on what’s important. I would always rather hear a harsh no than a false yes.
