Friday, December 10, 2010

Beethoven's Ninth Symphony

So I know I'm a little late to this one (almost 200 years really) but I just listened to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony in its entirety for the first time about a week ago. Since I did that, it is the only music I've listened to at all, with a slight exception today while I put on Dirty Gold (a cool young band from San Diego) while I was packing to come home. Anyway, the Ninth symphony is the first piece of music that has actually physically moved me. I was sitting at my computer listening to it when the string and wind instruments start to soar in the first movement. I had to move. I sat up and my eyes got all big and I couldn't really believe what I was hearing.
Then I came to the second movement and the same thing happened to me; I almost had to stand up. There was something about it that was just blowing my mind. I can't explain it. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. When the fourth movement got going and the sopranos held the note on some German word I was on the bus going to class and I sat up and opened my eyes real wide and almost lost my breath. I'm not sure if that is strange, but nothing like that has ever happened to me before. So I haven't stopped listening to it for the entire week.
I left my house early so that I would have enough time to walk to class and fit the whole fourth movement in; I stood outside my house because I wanted to wait until a movement finished before I went inside and had to take out my headphones. I'm not a musical person at all, in that I have no talent for playing music, but this is just so fantastic. And it's so happy! That's what is so great, and what blows my mind so much. Beethoven wrote basically the entire symphony when he was completely deaf, yet the whole symphony explodes with joy. I am not surprised that a deaf person could feel joy and write something to express that. I'm surprised that a musician or composer, after losing the ability to hear music forever, could express something so joyful.
Anyway, it's my favorite piece of classical music and my favorite piece of music in general right now.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Flux

Post-structuralism (or Deconstruction) presented itself to me today, and the implications of this literary theory are a bit daunting. Nothing has a fixed meaning. Meaning is always elsewhere, elusive, unattainable. This is not to say that nothing can have meaning. Certainly I can assign meaning to anything I read, but the meaning I assign to what I read is not the only meaning; there are an infinite number of other meanings I could assign to what I read. I cannot achieve or grasp a complete and total meaning of anything. Derrida said Meaning is an endless deferral of meaning.

The post-structuralist concept of Aporia, which is roughly translated 'an impassable pass' is a figure of speech for the idea that we are inscribed within a place (language)that we cannot command. And Language doesn't reveal truth but our effort to explain the truth. We can never quite reach truth because we explain truth with language, which cannot ever completely assign meaning.

(Please bear in mind I have only a rudimentary conception of Post-structuralism, if that.)

Now this probably seems pretty boring to you, but I starting thinking about looking at my own life as a Post-Structuralist, and it was a bit strange to consider. I mean, no real meaning? That essentially means (please forgive me) that whatever happens to me in my life, I can interpret it however I want, and that's one in an infinite number of interpretations of that event, and maybe I'm completely wrong. How do we know if we are interpreting our own actions and the events in our own life in the correct way? And does it even matter?

I think a post-structuralist would say we shouldn't be delving into the meaning of our life anyway, because we are presented with this 'impassable pass' the minute we attempt to gain full access to the meaning of a text or in this case to our lives. And what are we interpreting the events in our own life for if not to try and understand what we are doing, where we are/should be going and all of that?

This is indeed daunting. No fixed meanings, no structural foundations, what are we grounded in? Can we even look at our own lives through a post-structural lens or will we eventually undo ourselves, just as language and tropes undo their intended purposes? Can we, by evaluating and focusing too much on the events or decisions in our own lives, in fact undo what we are trying to do for ourselves? Will we foil our own plans if we think on them too often or too much?

If we are written into a world that we cannot command, should we even worry about our plans? We obviously cannot command anything around us; can we command ourselves? Should we try? I think Post-structuralism has proved its point. What started as an investigation of the hypothetical merits of Post-structuralism as a way of looking at my own life has devolved into nothing but questions. I've undone myself it would seen.

It may help to know that Post-structuralists took their inspiration from Nietzsche.