Visible

Given the bravado of my last post, I’m only slightly shocked that the canvas is still blank.  That’s not meant as a metaphor – the canvas is quite literally still blank.  I may have sabotaged my own intent by making such a bold and truthfully, somewhat unfounded public proclamation.  I’m acutely aware of the fact that sometimes saying a thing out loud destroys the thing all together.  If that’s the case, I’ll more than likely barrel down some other dimly lit path – no harm, no foul.  I doubt that occurrence is in play, but reserve no apprehension that it might be thus.  Even if said is so, it will hit me again.  When it does, it will be unprecedented and I’ll do a year’s work in a weekend (again deceivingly confident, no?) 

Blah, blah, blah... So, I recently finished Klosterman’s The Visible Man. Outstanding work and a definite upgrade from his previous novel – put it on your list.  The premise is so simple that it pisses me off that I didn’t think of it first but as all good story-tellers do, he makes the obvious fascinating.  What are people really like when they are alone?  The question in of itself is a commentary on the voyeuristic nature of modern American society and our fascination with all things “real”.  I won’t bore you again with my feelings on reality television and the like (it’s buried somewhere in one of last year’s rants) but I do think that Chuck and I share a similar playful contempt for this not-so-recent cultural phenomenon.  He acknowledges without ever acknowledging that we all seem to be consumed with and even obsessed with what the other is doing and thinking and feeling at all times, at least in a digital sense.  The primary assertion he makes is that what or who a person is in public or online is not who or what they really are and that the only way to ascertain the true nature of a human being is to observe them in their natural, private state.  All manner of shenanigans ensue along his quest to obtain this knowledge and affirm his thesis.  This isn’t a book review, but if it were I would give it (2) enthusiastic thumbs up; even if one must suspend their disbelief that humans have the technology to render themselves un-seeable.

As is often the case after reading a good book, I reread the book mentally for several days after I was finished.  Dissecting the items of interest or skepticism or whatever I hold until I am satisfied that no matter how outlandish the tale being told might be that it could possibly be true.  (I think I’ve mentioned my predilection toward documentary film – I have an odd need to make all things documentarian in spirit.)  It is an interesting concept though, to ponder the idea that no person one knows or has ever known for that matter is truly who one thinks and absolutely, unequivocally might believe them to be.  That statement at first blush seems ridiculous, but are you truly visible to the world?

I think that it’s human nature to create a construct that we present to the world, our closest friends even.  It starts at an early age I would imagine, having only a rudimentary understanding of sociology.  And it is probably founded in all manner of environmental stimuli; family and your perceived station in that family, your family’s perceived position in society, how you are treated when you do something stupid or exceptional or unimaginable or completely ordinary etc. etc. etc.  No (2) public human displays are the same and they are all formed for specific (if unknown) reasons or reactions or insecurities or idiosyncrasies or a million other words that are hard to spell.  How close are you to the construct that you present to humanity?  How close should you be?  How would I know the answer?  How does anybody?  I'm not saying that people are fake or that who a person publicly is isn't truthful.  But it is a variation of the truth – it's only what you are willing to share of your true self.

Throughout the book, this guy sits silently in a corner and observes solitary human behavior without the human being observed ever knowing that he is there or that they are being observed.  Think about that for a minute:  what if when you are alone, you were not really alone.  Had the protagonist been in my house with me this weekend I wonder what his assessment of me would have been.  He would have seen a grown man occasionally curse the Sunday rain and lament his indifference toward his Saturday lawn activities.  I sat for hours this weekend staring blindly into the eternal blackness of an empty white canvas with the usual artistic triggers hidden away, unlockable.  Here is the typical, everyday part of my life that he would have observed – me talking to my dogs.  Not just talking to but carrying on full conversations, epic discussions presented in full character for each player, me included.  When I converse with the pups I do so in a voice that can only be described as a mix between a mildly-retarded Elmer Fudd and a Southern, drunken, elderly African-American women.  Maynard responds in his cynical, cigar and cognac soaked, unimpressed Jimmy Durante / Frank Sinatra.  Belle dances around the fray in high-pitched excitement repeating the same thing again and again and again.  But, but, but, but what about the ball, the ball, the ball…? Did you say ball?  Where is my ball?  I haven’t peed all weekend!  Have you seen my ball?  (She was born in Dahlonega, so there is a latent, almost imperceptible Southern accent in her diction.) Regardless the topic, nobody breaks character and this goes on for hours sometimes. 

Having said all of that, his assessment and yours are most likely similar – this guy’s lost his mind, right?  Because I’ve allowed you that glimpse, does that mean you know who or what I am?  Would you know the difference?  Is that part of who I want you to think I am or who I am really?  Does it matter?  Does sharing a simple piece of a thread allow you to see the quilt?  Of course not.  I’m still not visible.  If you are 100% honest with yourself, you are not either.  Which begs the question: should we be 100% visible?  The answer is a resounding no and that is exactly as it should be.  That’s how God or whatever you believe in made us to be.  The gold is in the not knowing.  The mystery makes the whole fantastic, that’s what keeps it interesting.

No one is fully transparent – therefore no one can be visible.  

(it doesn't suck as bad as it sounds)