The Introvert
Goose! (Duck, Duck)
As always, mods, feel free to locate this thread to the place you see fit.
Backstory:
The Encounter:
I make my way to the door and prepare to leave. It's cold out, but not freezing; I'm enjoying the night as I prefer it to be cooler rather than hot.
As I make my way down the sidewalk, I hear a voice from the street calling my attention. It's an older gentleman, long scraggly and grizzled-grey beard, a grey-brown worn safari-cap, and thick glasses. He's wearing a shabby black coat and carrying an unusually carved sturdy cane; the handle was exquisitely hand-crafted and the wood seemed to be of very high quality. Upon first seeing him, I took him for a drunk vagrant asking for money. After seeing the cane and relatively cleanliness of his clothes (despite their wear) and hearing the resolution in his voice (that is, he spoke clearly and intelligently) I walked nearer to the street to see what he wanted.
He was pointing up at a window above the bar, with shining neon-colored lights that reflected different objects in a spinning motion. He told me that was his apartment, and he was "experimenting". He shuffled across the street and asked me to follow him. I was nearly entranced, so I followed, and he explained that he was working with optics and trying to master his craft; by standing at various points of reference, the machine in the window projected different colors and shapes. After assuring me the light wasn't "computer-generated" (and that it was all mechanical, whatever the hell that means), he explained that he developed around 95 iterations of this project, and this was his third prototype model - the best one yet! He rarely gave his show on Saturdays, and usually only left it on for an hour or two.
I was fascinated by this man. Of course, he was noticeably strange - for God's sakes, he was spending his time playing with silly light machines in a crummy overlooked neighborhood in the middle of a cold January night. But there was something about him that was interesting (although, as a spoiler, he is probably mentally disturbed) and he wasn't violent or threatening. I continued to talk about him, and was curious as to why he took this project on.
He explained that he used to live on the other end of town a long time ago, when it was a budding art district. After a few years, the "rich people" came in and turned what was his idea of a genuine creative community into a flocking place for people to blow their money (what is now called the short north). He affectionately called this part of town the anti-short north - this dirty, run-down and forgotten place, barely afloat (it's a wonder I didn't see any boarded-up buildings) and certainly not a place you would like to spend your Saturday nights, if you could help it.
Then it started getting strange...
The Stories:
Thus began the man's stories about his youth, and what he called "another day in hell". Mind you, I just met this man not 10 minutes before. He is telling me stories like any other person would tell. I'm not sure why I stayed to listen, because I knew the guy most likely had some problems.
He begins by asking me if I had ever been to jail. I told him I had not. Apparently he was a member of the Jesse Jackson campaign - the 1988 edition - and was arrested for some sort of publicity stunt. He says he threatened to speak in front of the court, and have his testimony recorded in history. What did he have to say?
"I have no rights".
I was confused, and intrigued. What was he talking about? Is he just some looney upset with the power of the national government, or some paranoid schizophrenic fearing the FBI was chasing him? Probably. He told me his phones were tapped (late '80s), and he had a warrant for his arrest back then, which is why he was in the courts - for what, exactly, I'm not sure. But what did he mean by "I have no rights"?
Long story short, (as I'm beginning to lose the point of the thread with the details within) is that I'm pretty sure the guy was some kind of advocate for a living constitution. Among many other philosophical inquiries the man and I had (whose name I eventually discovered was Adam), his main points are as follows (and I can give information as to what he was talking about ITT at a later time, if someone is interested).
Bigger Questions:
1. What is Justice?
2. What are you? (boiled down version - he phrased it two separate ways, attempting to show the confusion that can occur when things aren't explained properly)
2a. What does it mean to be human? What are the implications of this answer?
3. How do we define intelligence?
4. What is Love? (I don't actually have much on this as a bunch of people started filing out of the bar at this point, we were both getting cold from being out so long and I was ready to move on)
Discussion:
So, I know this thread is vague, and there's a lot of fluff here. Basically what I want to do is talk about these questions and try to answer them through his voice, to see how they might stand up. A sort of Maurice Blanchot approach (of course nowhere close to his level). I'm also willing to talk more about this man and other bits of information about him to clear up details and construct his thought processes more eloquently than I have here.
Afterthoughts:
Backstory:
Last night I went to see a few hometown friends of mine play a show at a local bar - the opening act. Some of you may know the drill; cluster into a standing-room-only tiny shack of a building, buy a few beers, stand and tap foot or bob head until show is over. Rinse and repeat.
I felt uncomfortable, which is not unusual for me but perhaps a bit out of character recently. I enjoyed the music genuinely, but something seemed out of place. I left without saying goodbye to my friends (the musicians as well as the ones that went to see the show). I felt as though I didn't really belong there, and partially I didn't; all of the people there were about 3-4 years older than I am, and I'm really only connected through mutual friends and the occasional party/ meetup/ what-have-you.
I felt uncomfortable, which is not unusual for me but perhaps a bit out of character recently. I enjoyed the music genuinely, but something seemed out of place. I left without saying goodbye to my friends (the musicians as well as the ones that went to see the show). I felt as though I didn't really belong there, and partially I didn't; all of the people there were about 3-4 years older than I am, and I'm really only connected through mutual friends and the occasional party/ meetup/ what-have-you.
I make my way to the door and prepare to leave. It's cold out, but not freezing; I'm enjoying the night as I prefer it to be cooler rather than hot.
As I make my way down the sidewalk, I hear a voice from the street calling my attention. It's an older gentleman, long scraggly and grizzled-grey beard, a grey-brown worn safari-cap, and thick glasses. He's wearing a shabby black coat and carrying an unusually carved sturdy cane; the handle was exquisitely hand-crafted and the wood seemed to be of very high quality. Upon first seeing him, I took him for a drunk vagrant asking for money. After seeing the cane and relatively cleanliness of his clothes (despite their wear) and hearing the resolution in his voice (that is, he spoke clearly and intelligently) I walked nearer to the street to see what he wanted.
He was pointing up at a window above the bar, with shining neon-colored lights that reflected different objects in a spinning motion. He told me that was his apartment, and he was "experimenting". He shuffled across the street and asked me to follow him. I was nearly entranced, so I followed, and he explained that he was working with optics and trying to master his craft; by standing at various points of reference, the machine in the window projected different colors and shapes. After assuring me the light wasn't "computer-generated" (and that it was all mechanical, whatever the hell that means), he explained that he developed around 95 iterations of this project, and this was his third prototype model - the best one yet! He rarely gave his show on Saturdays, and usually only left it on for an hour or two.
I was fascinated by this man. Of course, he was noticeably strange - for God's sakes, he was spending his time playing with silly light machines in a crummy overlooked neighborhood in the middle of a cold January night. But there was something about him that was interesting (although, as a spoiler, he is probably mentally disturbed) and he wasn't violent or threatening. I continued to talk about him, and was curious as to why he took this project on.
He explained that he used to live on the other end of town a long time ago, when it was a budding art district. After a few years, the "rich people" came in and turned what was his idea of a genuine creative community into a flocking place for people to blow their money (what is now called the short north). He affectionately called this part of town the anti-short north - this dirty, run-down and forgotten place, barely afloat (it's a wonder I didn't see any boarded-up buildings) and certainly not a place you would like to spend your Saturday nights, if you could help it.
Then it started getting strange...
The Stories:
Thus began the man's stories about his youth, and what he called "another day in hell". Mind you, I just met this man not 10 minutes before. He is telling me stories like any other person would tell. I'm not sure why I stayed to listen, because I knew the guy most likely had some problems.
He begins by asking me if I had ever been to jail. I told him I had not. Apparently he was a member of the Jesse Jackson campaign - the 1988 edition - and was arrested for some sort of publicity stunt. He says he threatened to speak in front of the court, and have his testimony recorded in history. What did he have to say?
"I have no rights".
I was confused, and intrigued. What was he talking about? Is he just some looney upset with the power of the national government, or some paranoid schizophrenic fearing the FBI was chasing him? Probably. He told me his phones were tapped (late '80s), and he had a warrant for his arrest back then, which is why he was in the courts - for what, exactly, I'm not sure. But what did he mean by "I have no rights"?
Long story short, (as I'm beginning to lose the point of the thread with the details within) is that I'm pretty sure the guy was some kind of advocate for a living constitution. Among many other philosophical inquiries the man and I had (whose name I eventually discovered was Adam), his main points are as follows (and I can give information as to what he was talking about ITT at a later time, if someone is interested).
Bigger Questions:
1. What is Justice?
2. What are you? (boiled down version - he phrased it two separate ways, attempting to show the confusion that can occur when things aren't explained properly)
2a. What does it mean to be human? What are the implications of this answer?
3. How do we define intelligence?
4. What is Love? (I don't actually have much on this as a bunch of people started filing out of the bar at this point, we were both getting cold from being out so long and I was ready to move on)
Discussion:
So, I know this thread is vague, and there's a lot of fluff here. Basically what I want to do is talk about these questions and try to answer them through his voice, to see how they might stand up. A sort of Maurice Blanchot approach (of course nowhere close to his level). I'm also willing to talk more about this man and other bits of information about him to clear up details and construct his thought processes more eloquently than I have here.
Afterthoughts:
I'm not really sure why I stood and talked to this guy for so long. As I said before, he clearly had some problems, but there was also some truth in many of the things he said. Also, he was actually a pretty intelligent person, at least from what I could tell; he spoke plainly and clearly and had (for the most part) distinct and traceable lines of thought. I do not believe he was on any sort of drug as he seemed to be calm and completely cognizant of his surroundings and his own physical and mental state (he admitted that he was an unusual person, and referred vaguely to some disturbance he had as a child that caused him to reject certain aspects of society). In fact, he claims he never smoked a cigarette or drank coffee ever in his life, as they are "slave drugs"; he refused the medication from his psychiatrist because he didn't want to be turned into a zombie. I doubt that much of his thoughts were influenced by drugs of any sort, and were rather the result of some traumatic incident as a child that caused him to suppress certain aspects of his life, whereby he read large volumes of information to keep from going completely insane.
He was interesting and friendly enough that I'm considering trying to talk to him again at some point. I know where to find him and when - he told me the times he likes to be outside - and I think he's pretty lonely. I'm inherently interested in strange people because their views of the world aren't nearly as trivial as "regular people". Even if they're batshit insane... it's nice to hear something other than "ambition" or "hard work" or "money", and more about actually stopping, looking around, and thinking.
He was interesting and friendly enough that I'm considering trying to talk to him again at some point. I know where to find him and when - he told me the times he likes to be outside - and I think he's pretty lonely. I'm inherently interested in strange people because their views of the world aren't nearly as trivial as "regular people". Even if they're batshit insane... it's nice to hear something other than "ambition" or "hard work" or "money", and more about actually stopping, looking around, and thinking.