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Dec. 8, 2004 We do enjoy our communication, don’t we? We have our phones and faxes, pagers and cell phones and computers and Internet access, we’ve go holsters for our gadgets and belt clips for our holsters. We even have GPS gadgets to let us know exactly where we are while we communicate. One thing we don’t have, or it’s certainly on the decrease, is the ability to communicate. Certainly we talk up a storm. Some of us spend more time talking, usually at a gadget, than doing much of anything else. Some of us even get paid for talking, be it via gadget or otherwise, holstered or unholstered, with blinking status lights or without. But again, most of us don’t communicate. When was the last time you sat down with someone you knew, a friend, a loved one, and talked to a human being? As a human being? I’m sure that it’s been a while. I’m so sure that it’s been such a while, in fact, that you’ve forgotten how to do it, that it can be done. We bandy about a lot of phrases and jargon having to do with the tools of communication and the dynamics of it. For instance, we use words like ‘lens’ and ‘filter’ and ‘perception’ and phrases such as ‘past experience’ and construct sentences with them such as, “When you talk with someone you must realize they are seeing the world filtered through the lenses of their past experiences and, as such, their perception of the world around them will not be the same as yours.” What we don’t do is think about that much. We don’t see the implication of those lenses and filters, how they apply to us, how we use our own, how we are, in fact, handicapped by them. We don’t see, because we use them in our communication almost exclusively, how they keep us from communicating, how they keep us from sending true (uncorrupted) information and receiving true information. Simply stated, when you “talk” with someone, you are having your collective lenses and filters, which are at least one level removed from you, ‘communicate’ with the other person’s lenses and filters, which are similarly one level removed from them, and so produce a conversation that is at least two levels removed from either of. Imagine when you were born you were equipped with something like a great latticework of pigeon holes, the kind found in a hotel lobby and in which the desk clerk stores messages. Except this latticework, or matrix, is made up of infinite pigeon holes, and the holes themselves, rather than being uniform in shape, are all of different shapes. Imagine that as you receive information, before you even analyze it or think about it or otherwise mentally taste it, you slot the information into one of the pigeon holes according to a pattern. That pattern may be a shape, or a color, or it may be governed by some other adjective. In the course of your life, you will slot a great deal of information according to a large number of patterns, and those patterns result in what we call ‘lenses’ and ‘filters.’ And you will accumulate a vast array of information, for everything you see, taste, touch, feel, experience, dream, hallucinate or in any way perceive or not perceive will be slotted into this matrix. It is a great thing, this matrix, for you do not have to actively participate in the slotting of information in order to use it. It is always there, ready and willing to provide you with the information you need to go about your daily business of living and breathing, of making value judgments, of being. For instance, you don’t need to carry around with you all the information relating to a friend. You need only think of your friend, and suddenly a wide array of knowledge springs up: past experiences shared, your friend’s likes and dislikes, marital status, shoe size, birthday, etc. When you no longer need access to that information, it’s put back into storage to await the next time you need to call it forth. And so it goes; every moment of our lives the process of adding to that matrix continues, as the patterns evolve and grow more complex or information is shunted from one to the other, a tweak here, a change there, an interest grows over in this part of it, an interest wanes in that part, and rarely do we need to give this a thought. We should though. Because most of us tend to position it forward, this latticework, as personal as it is, is not as private as we’d like to think, it is not perceived strictly mentally, solely by you. It is what stands before you and all else, everyone else. It is, after all, your collection of filters and lenses, and would not be able to function as a hands-off tool, as a gadget, if it was positioned elsewhere. And while that gives it the perhaps unfortunate characteristic of always being on public display, it also gives it the interesting trait of simultaneously being one of few things you can truly call your own and not under your sole stewardship. It is, after all, on public display. It is, after all, gathering and collating information whether you like it or not. It is, after all, as easy for someone to stick their finger into your latticework as it is to, well, stick an envelope into a mail slot. To parathink Chekov: Close your eyes and don’t think of a polar bear with blue eyes. You may not have gotten the blue eyes, but you did imagine the polar bear. With your eyes open, for that matter. And that’s not a big deal, you are thinking. Words do that, expand into images and such as soon as one reads them, because they are, well, words. And they do this even when one hears them, for they are, after all, words. It is how we communicate. So where is the problem? You ask, What is the malfunction in communication you alluded to? First, let’s tackle the problem of positioning. Most people position themselves behind their latticework without knowing it. In this way the matrix operates in autopilot mode, taking in and disseminating vast amounts of information without you necessarily being aware of the process. Which is great for allowing you to drive down the road while talking on your cell phone. Or for allowing you to not have to think for yourself, to not have a single original thought in a day, to not be able to form a meaningful opinion that derives from your own thinking, to not have access to your own thinking, to not receive information in the form that it is sent, but rather receive it in the form it is molded once it gets through to you from your latticework. Conversely, any information you send goes through this process first, before it ever reaches the intended receiver. An important example of the type of malfunction I am talking about is the case of a person trying to arrange details for some important event by having his people talk to their people. Or anything that is decided upon by a committee. Or a married couple trying to have a simple discussion, when invariably a great multitude of past issues are brought up, issues that have nothing to do with the topic at hand. All these pigeon holes talking to other pigeon holes are just “my people talking with your people.” They are not “me talking to you.” It does not occur to most people that they can reposition their latticework. They can stand in front of it, or to one side of it, or anywhere besides behind it. In fact, because it is ultimately a mental construct, they can tuck it up neatly in their pocket and not display it at all. And that is not a duplicity - you may have interpreted an earlier statement to the effect that this latticework is your personality. I meant no such thing. I said that most people stand behind it, thereby offering it for public view, and the initial public view of themselves. That is the duplicity. I grow weary of daily casual conversations. I grow weary of the expectations of others that I relate to them as if I were a marionette. I grow weary of people sending me, in their speaking, glossy little mind bullets, bundles of symbols, to which it’s not even intended that I respond, but my latticework should respond by sending back similar bundles of symbols. “Hey, how’s it going?” “Fine.” “What did you do this weekend?” “Nothing much.” “Catch the game?” “No.” “What do you think of the Weevils so far this season?” “I don’t know. Hard to say.” “See in the news where The Body might leave the Reform Party.” “Yeah.” “Too bad. We need more people like him. Fuckin’ politicians these days. Think it’s going to rain?” “Don’t know.” “I hope so. We need the rain. Here comes Billy Bob. Hey, Billy Bob, catch the game?” I understand these types of conversations are just fillers. I understand that whatever else they may be, they are also place markers, verbal handshakes, the vocal nod of the head. What about “real” conversations between people? “Hey, long time no see!” “It’s good to see you. How’ve things been?” “Good, always good.” “How’s work?” “Same ol’, same ol’. And you?” “Oh, you know. Can’t hardly complain.” “Nose to the wheel and all that?” “Yeah. So how’s the family?” “Good, good. Jenny’s out now, getting some new shoes. You know how women are.” “You can say that again.” “And Carmen, she’s off somewhere playing with some friends.” “Is she still having that, uh, trouble in school?” “Nah, not anymore.” “Oh. Good to hear it.” “Yeah, they got her on some medications. Help her relax some, pay more attention in class.” “Good, good.” “So, what brings you by?” “Oh. Well. The other day at work I saw this thing on the Internet. An investment opportunity. Seems if you get a down line of just fifty people...” I know that between people that have spend a significant amount of time together, a conversational shorthand develops, and the need for full expression is sharply reduced. “What’s the matter, hon?” “Nothing.” “You sure?” “Of course I’m sure.” “Can you tell me, then, what the matter is?” “There’s nothing wrong.” “So why won’t you tell me?” “Because there’s nothing to talk about.” “What does that mean?” “It means there’s nothing to talk about.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure.” “Okay, if you’re sure.” “I said I’m sure. Just leave me alone.” “Leave you alone? Christ, all I was doing was finishing up the dishes.” “That’s fine. I just don’t want to talk about it.” “Talk about what? You just said nothing was wrong.” “Nothing is wrong.” “Then why won’t you talk about it?” “Hon, what the hell is that matter?” “Why’d you say that to Michelle?” “Say what?” “You know what you said.” “What did I say?” “Don’t play games. You know perfectly well what you said.” “You mean in the park?” “Yes, I mean in the park.” “Jesus, Hon, I have no idea. What are you talking about? That was three weeks ago.” “So?” There’s a certain type of conversation that particularly bothers me. The idle chit-chat that is induced by a person with the intention of backing up or validating their point of view. “So what do you think about this guy they found yesterday, the child molester?” “Child molester?” “Yeah. You know, the dude they found down on Maple.” “Didn’t know he was a child molester.” “Well, says here that they’re looking into it.” “Really?” “Yeah, sure. Look: ‘City police cited Jacob Mchill, a 23-year-old homeless man from Lubbock, Texas, for distributing pamphlets without a permit yesterday, at Maple and Third, three blocks form the Three Maples Elementary School. Asked if there has been any progress involving the allegations of child molestation brought against one of the school’s teachers five weeks ago by a concerned parent, city officials said only that the investigation is on-going.’” This latticework; when was the last time you looked at its contents? It’s okay to rummage through it - it’s yours, as is the information it contains. I ask because I wonder. I wonder how much thinking is your own? The thoughts you hand to me like so many Tic Tacs, are they yours, or are they your family’s, your friends’, your co- workers’? Your opinions, derivatives of your thoughts, are they yours as well? Because I see you waling down the street in factory rip-off clothes, and you tell me you spent the weekend hand-sewing the outfit, do I like it? Am I supposed to respond the way I’ve been taught, tell you the suit suits you? Or do I respond the way a friend should? Hey man, close your fly before people see. Or do I respond the way my culture tells me I should? Wow, I’ve got one just like it in my closet. That’s so weird, we sew the same things. Should I tell you I don’t like the outfit and risk your being angry at me for the day? Or do I tell you I saw it at the factory outlet store not two days ago and you’re full of shit, and risk more than a days’ anger, possibly even the friendship? So many considerations for such a simple, common everyday situation. I think I don’t want to think about it, I’ll just have my people get back to you. ------------ About the author Mark Davis: I am currently working on two books: one is a fantasy adventure, and the second is a humorous look at call centers in America. Email: teljaan@gmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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