I Just Don’t Like Things..

by Peter

..as much as what’s between them.

I love transitions.  I’ve always loved transitions.  I’m infatuated with transitions.  Allow me to sit down and arrange things, and I am happy.  Ask me what those things are, and I may be lost.  I love theories and systematic or synthesizing such-and-suches.  I live for metanarratives, structures, form.

This is often inconvenient.  For example, I am almost laughably incapable of writing Facebook statuses.  It simply requires too much exertion.  How on earth can I introduce this tidbit to the world without a proper context?  How do I come up with the tidbit in the first place?  Ack.  If I’m ever compelled onto Twitter, pray for the agony of my soul.  More vitally, I come up dumb in conversations more often than I’d like.  Give me a topic, and we could probably have fun playing in it together for quite a while.  Ask me to introduce something, and I may freeze.  If I don’t, I’m likely working hard.

On the other hand, it’s probably the underlying facilitator of some of my better attributes.  It means that I love arranging disparate things (like freely obtained furniture for a cheap apartment or abstracted and disconnected ideas) in ways that maximize their order and bring out pleasant relationships between them.  It means that I can generally fit in fluidly with most (already active) conversations.  It allows me to recognize beauty in odd places and disassociate my aesthetic reactions to things from my symbolic associations with them.

This blog is testament to my preoccupation.

Exhibit A: The static theme of this electronic location has become gradually less and less its own thing.  I want a visual space that accommodates a variety of content, and I cannot trust just any color, shape, or format to do that.  You will notice that this post is currently surrounded by huge swathes of white.  Omnicomplementary white.

Exhibit B: Actual, meaty, independent posts are thin and few between, but I can pound out a Twenty once a week while hardly batting an eyelash.

Which brings us to Twenty, Exhibit C: the love-it-or-trivialize-it romp through visual and intellectual relationships I find myself obsessing over incessantly and producing weekly.  It’s hard for me to think of something that deals with things in a more intelligently, intensely heedless way.  And I love it.  Er, them.  The relationships.  The transitions.  The production of smooth visual and mental movement from the Mona Lisa to a Theo van Doesburg.

Now, it’s true: I can often discover that I like things, but almost only in retrospect.  I may suddenly find myself saying that I loved something at length.  Nevertheless, in the moment I encountered it, I was likely enjoying the movement from something else to it or from it to not-it.  And oftentimes, I suspect I ended up liking the thing merely because the transitions and relationships around it are captivating.  Or else for arbitrary reasons (because it was nearby and I find it easier (and, conveniently, think it better) to like things than to dislike them).

It (perhaps) goes without saying that I like this liking I have, even with its inconveniences.  But it does lead me to suspect that it has been/is/will be somewhat easy for me to lack pure love, devotion to objects, and all that sort of thing because of it.  I may be more likely to fall in love with love than with a beloved, and that seems bad.  The error isn’t the same thing as my tendency, but I think it could easily stem therefrom.

Perhaps, perhaps not.  Whatever the case, it seems like a nasty bit of hypothetical behavior and may take some concerted effort to contain or prevent.  In the meantime, huzzah for the go-betweens, the highways and byways, the relationships, the transitions, the ‘twixts and the ‘tweens.  Huzzah for the settling, smacking satisfaction of harmonious interactions.  Huzzah for the place where beauty is.

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