Are You an Autodidact?

The hobbling Polyphemos with the charming poise shall lead the legless and the blind prematurely to their inevitable demise at the base of the Lemming-cliff. Splat.

Schools are an astonishing achievement of modern man. The intended purpose of these institutions is to serve us as educational, social, and cultural hubs: eclectic, cooperative monuments to the power and progress of the human mind and the collective hive mind called society that human minds make up. But, as anyone who has ever attended one of these institutions knows: they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.

Arbitrary homework, watered-down coursework, lack of hands-on demonstration, avoidable ideological bias from teachers, memorization-based testing (as opposed to knowledge-based testing), ridiculous tuition costs, and unnecessary prerequisites: it’s all there. Should a young engineering major really have to spend two years taking things like Pottery and Racism-Is-Bad-In-Case-You-Didn’t-Know 101 while juggling a job at McDonalds and a social life in order to be qualified to get a low-tier engineering job that they, had they any real passion for engineering before they began attending college, were probably qualified to perform in terms of real world skills? Why pay so much to have a teacher waste ten minutes getting their shit together, twenty minutes masturbating their intellect, another twenty minutes playing show-and-tell with a textbook you already have, and ten minutes telling you what you need to study in said textbook for three hours when you get home? Shit, why not just buy the textbook and try to read and understand it yourself in your free time?

Oh, wait. There are people who do that. They’re a philosophical minority called autodidacts, and in all their unconventional, uncertified, independent majesty, they trek the streets of a country where the contents of an inflated résumé or a degree are often viewed as more important than the contents of one’s mind, all the while attempting to gain knowledge for the sake of knowledge… and, get this, they sometimes succeed!

As someone who is currently eighteen years old, unemployed, not in college, and trying to start a career in freelance writing: autodidacticism is a part of my everyday existence. With any given article I write, whether I end up publishing it or not, I end up learning new words, new ideas, new concepts; I expand my intellectual arsenal, and thus, what I am able to contribute to the world. And trust me, I aspire to be more than a couch philosopher.

For the longest time, autodidacts were primarily “street-smart” people and library junkies: but now it seems that the Internet, due to its endless collection of free information (both legal and illegal in nature) has become their home. With a little bit of searching on torrent networks, one can find large zip files containing scanned copies of school textbooks for free. Be wary of course, as this is illegal in some cases, and I’m not suggesting that you do it at all. The oath of the autodidact is “Knowledge for the sake of knowledge”, and that’s what I’m giving you. *Wink*

Autodidacticism does not work for everyone. If you’re the kind of person who would rather be lead to a societal niche by a template system than have to innovate a fast-paced education for yourself, AND you have the money, too: go to school. Autodidacticism also requires an intense amount of patience: a different kind of patience than what formal education requires.

How do you know if you’re an autodidact? Just ask yourself these questions:
Am I disillusioned by formal education due to…
• Arbitrariness?
• Slow pace?
• “Watered-down” content?
• An inflexible schedule?
• Biased teachers?
• Tuition costs?
• Cramming- and quota-based curriculums?
If you answered “Yes” to any one of these, chances are you might just be autodidact material. If this has you worried for any reason, don’t feel bad. You’re in good company. So is Benjamin Franklin, Earnest Hemingway, Tom Cruise, Stanley Kubrick, Quentin Tarantino, Steven Spielberg, Mark Twain, The Wright Brothers, Frank Lloyd Wright, Ted Turner, Bill Gates, Malcolm X, Robert Frost, Albert Einstein, Frank Zappa, Henry Ford, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, and countless others. Join the club and start teaching yourself today.

"Drop out of school before your mind rots from exposure to our mediocre educational system. Forget about the Senior Prom and go to the library and educate yourself if you've got any guts. Some of you like Pep rallies and plastic robots who tell you what to read." - Frank Zappa

“I never let schooling get in the way of my education.” – Mark Twain

“It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education” – Albert Einstein

“I consider myself one of a number of those who write as they learn and learn as they write.” – St. Augustine of Hippo

Yojimbo was a Samurai Spaghetti Western before Spaghetti Westerns and Quentin Tarantino Even Existed

Genres are fickle, subjective things and are open to interpretation. And I'm sure there are a number of film-savvy folks who'd look at the title of this review and either nod their head in agreement, cringe with disappointment, scoff with elitist amusement, or perhaps even raise an eyebrow in confusion. But regardless of any of these things I meant every word of what I said.

Kurosawa's beard-stroking badass, Sanjuro, (whose name may be completely made up by the character himself) has all the mannerisms of a samurai version of Clint Eastwood's Man-With-No-Name. Which is perfectly suitable considering the Eastwood character was a blatant reincarnation of Kurosawa's quick-witted ronin anyway. Yojimbo was, at essence, For a Few Dollars More before it even existed and a Samurai Spaghetti Western 42 years before Kill Bill splattered the big screen with its presence and 2 years before its director Quentin Tarantino was born.

Now, this doesn't necessarily make the film any more valuable or original, but it was a cool amalgamation of genres (again, if that word even means anything) that had been done few times before.

Now that we have that silly significance out of the way, I'd like to say that this film is absolutely perfect for the time period and location it was made in. The violent, manipulative, vigilante Sanjuro's actions are guided by a strong moral compass and the pointless feud between the town's two crime bosses that constantly puts everyone in danger serves as a fantastic allegory for the Cold War regardless of whether it was intentional or not (I'm almost certain it was).



Sanjuro himself is introduced as a Ronin rambling about the Japanese countryside, trying to survive on whatever food he can get while still trying to maintain his honor and help his fellow man. The aura of aimlessness that he gives off in the opening moments of the film, walking around scratching the back of his neck, stopping to toss a stick he finds into the air, is only extinguished when he stumbles across a world full of problems to fix. Call it a stretch, but much of the Japanese population may have felt this way after the tragedies at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Sanjuro, though an unemployed samurai living in the middle of the 19th century is a hero of the maddening, Existential world of the Cold War and Post-WWII Japan. In one particularly-memorable sequence early on in the film, Sanjuro sits laughing in the center of town atop a perch of wisdom (it's actually a belltower or something), watching the two rival clans reluctantly move towards each other in would-be-Mutually-Assured-Destruction.



The film is violent, deep, compelling, comic, and these days nostalgic, all at once. A classic samurai flick that changed the way American Westerns were filmed. Essential viewing for any film buff and, well, pretty much everyone else.

A Grim Blood-Orgy of Conflicting Motives and Polarizing Loyalty. (Review of John Hillcoat's 2005 film "The Proposition")

Mostly spoiler free, with a few passing references to the events of the film.

Arthur Burns (Danny Huston), a shameless rapist and murderer, stares into the crepuscular light of the Australian sunset with two of his fellow outlaws, one a sturdy Aboriginal man named Two-Bob (Tom E. Lewis) and the other a scrawny Irishman named Samuel Stoat (Tom Budge), all-the-while philosophizing and quoting fine poetry, his soul's thirsts easily quenched by the beauty of nature. Upon using the word "misanthropes", Sam asks Arthur what it means. Two-Bob interjects, saying that a misanthrope is "some bugger who fuckin' hates every other bugger." Arthur agrees. Then Sam asks "Is that what we are? Misanthropes?" and Arthur is shocked. "Good lord, no!" he exclaims in a whisper, "We're a family!"

Then they ride.

This concise exchange seems to be the heart of what The Proposition is about: Loyalty and family. The Proposition is a woebegone Western set in the 1880s in a location that breaks the conventions of the already-loose genre: the outback of Australia. We have the lawmen, the bandits, the rebellious natives, the oppressive sun, the uncivilized frontier, and the vicious wildlife that is sometimes indistinguishable from the men around it; but it's all in Australia. And though we still have stubble-sporting, gun-slinging, stetson-wearing, cig-smoking men who live fearlessly on the edge of the known world, The Proposition resembles Joseph Conrad's literary masterpiece Heart of Darkness more than it resembles a Sergio Leone flick.



Cinematographer Benoît Delhomme sets up each shot like a Realist painting with all the zeal of Captain Stanley (Ray Winstone), one of the film's main characters, an Übermensch of a lawman determined to "civilize" Australia who, upon being told by outlaw Charlie Burns (Guy Pearce)that he is "a copper... not a judge and jury", replies that "Clearly, Mr. Burns, I am what I wish to be."



The multi-talented Nick Cave provides both the screenplay and the musical score for this film, and I've got to applaud the guy because I'm having trouble deciding whether or not his deep-yet-concise dialogue is more compelling than his trippy and haunting score.

Acting is excellent all-around, and though there are no show-stealers, Huston may have changed that had he gotten more screen time.



John Hillcoat ties the talents of his crew together into one clean-cut piece of cinematic art, proving to be an excellent director with this being only his third film in a career that started in 1988 with his Ghosts... of the Civil Dead.

The Proposition is a grim blood-orgy of conflicting motives and polarizing loyalty and an original Western that takes time away from its main thesis to be humorously unsettling and analyze other philosophical issues with such subtlety that the audience can feel thought-provoked without feeling patronized.

This film however, is not for the weak-stomached. The violence is so frequent and filmed with such aesthetic care that those with frail dispositions who haven't already fainted like Captain Stanley's wife during Mikey Burns's flogging may find the film tasteless. I am understanding but am inclined to disagree.

Excellent film worth multiple viewings. Quiet and intense with sporadic shocks throughout.

Sermon on the Mouth: A Sloppy Discourse on Language, Emotion, and What it Means to be Rational

Language is subjective right down to the syllable, and as anyone who's ever watched a movie or read a book that's criticized contemporary politics in some way knows, it can be used to sway the opinions of the masses (you know, that big dumb hunk of people who always seems to be everyone but you). When it's done successfully on points you already agree with, you don't mind. Intelligent men are eloquently stating their point to persuade their enemies. They're gentlemen and scholars: juggernauts of negotiation perpetually master-debating in the faces of the ignorant. But when it's done by someone who you disagree with, they're pushing an agenda or perhaps even intentionally "brainwashing" you. All subjective nonsense, and that's okay.

I'm not going to lie: I have a pretty high opinion of myself. I still try to criticize myself occasionally for the purposes of personal growth, pointing out what are, perhaps, flaws and absurdities, if either of those words mean anything in a universe laden with what could be seen as flaws and absurdities.

I spent a good deal of my childhood and adolescence suffering from a serious lack of confidence and self-worth. Nowadays, in addition to the criticism, I like to tell myself that I'm intelligent and "going somewhere with my life". I don't know if that's true, I could die in two seconds from any number of causes and I could very well be a delusional dumbass. Taking that into account, I see my confidence as a personally-necessary form of irrationalism.

Irrational motivations and rational inquiry are buddies when it comes to human progress. No doubt it was irrational things like fear, fear that there might not be a God or that God may be malevolent for example, that lead thinkers like Epicurus to frightening conclusions (I don't know if that was Epicurus's motivation, I'm just giving an example). But they faced the fear and eventually became numb to it by thinking about it more than most people can bare. On the flip side, Johannes Kepler made a lot of scientific and mathematical discoveries in the process of trying to prove that the Universe was geometrically perfect and a testament to God's existence, among other things. Presumptuous much? Yet his religious motivation helped human understanding in the long run. My confidence motivates me to type shit like this and not feel like I'm wasting my time. Whether anyone is actually reading this, whether anyone is actually learning from this, whether or not I'm just preaching to the choir for the most part, I'm not sure. But I'd like to think that I am having some effect, and I'm fully aware that it's irrational, but I also think it's necessary for my own well-being.

The world is full of double-edged swords. Confidence is one of them, and language is another. Many people (you know, those filthy masses, the groundlings you can't possibly be a part of) don't like to grow, learn, or change any of their opinions, especially once they've become self-sustaining adults. Thus, language has developed so we seem to have two words for almost anything. People who agree with me will see my confidence as, well, confidence. He's a confident person. People reading this who disagree with me may see me as a windbag or a snob. In reality they all mean fairly the same thing in respects to one personality trait. Open and unafraid of saying your opinion and feeling correct as you do so. The differences in the words usually say more about the person who is using them than the person who they're being used for. One man's patriot is another man's lemming. Someone who changes their opinion upon learning new things could be seen as "open-minded" by one person and as a "flip-flopper" by another. Someone who never changes their opinion or compromises could be seen as "just sticking to their guns" or "stubborn, hardheaded, and ignorant."

Now an experiment for you to try:

When you're going about your daily business and you stop to talk to someone and a third person comes up in the conversation, pay close attention to the adjectives being used to describe them. Instead of thinking of the person as those adjectives, think of the adjectives as a description of the relationship between the speaker and the person being spoken of. Things might just become a lot clearer. Not that clarity is an objectively measurable thing, mind you.

Another experiment:

When you're bitching about someone you don't like or praising someone you do like to a third person, try not to use any adjectives you see as positive or negative. Try to use neutral words. Just see how it turns out. Could be interesting, could be frustrating, could be an 'introspective nightmare'.

Have fun. Peace.

The Doors of Perception: Introspective Face Analysis

I've been sitting around all day writing something that I plan on submitting to this Oregon-based literary journal/magazine thing, hoping that my labors will earn me a quick $700 and publication in addition to the experience that the labors provide in the first place. In the midst of writing however, I thought of something that I did a few days ago and I figured I'd share it with... you.

The environment around you rapes your perceptions: and justly so! Why? Because you are a part of it. You are an inseparable part of it. You are essentially made from the same universal dust that it is made of. You are, in part, your environment. And your environment is, in part, you. I was spinning around in my computer chair the other day, holding a mirror in front of my face, watching the light from the ceiling lamp directly above me crawl across it, embracing the shadows in various ways. I noticed how this dramatically changed the way my face looked as I spun. No shit? Right? But listen:

The angle I was facing in relation to my ceiling lamp made me shift between subjective quantities of beauty like "ugly" and "handsome", or subjective emotional quantities like "angry", "tired", "curious", "melancholy", and "bored". All the while I held my face, within reason, in the same "blank" expression, save for maybe little nuances like dilation and contraction of my pupils, the flaring of my nostrils, and the swaying of my hair.

I also, very briefly, turned off all the lights and stuck a half-smoked joint in my mouth and observed how the light at the end of it affected my face. This was a lot less interesting since I realized (a little late) that the light at the end of the joint would move with my face anyway.

This was just a study of light. A big-ass equation of different values of hue, saturation, and brightness dancing around the area above my neck. I wasn't even, to a noticeable degree, taking into account how the music I was playing affected my perceptions, or the texture of my walls, carpet, ceiling, and clothes, the size of my room or anything else.

Now the point of all this is: my face expressed different emotions based on how the light was hitting it. I wasn't actually "feeling" these emotions to any recognizable degree, except perhaps on a introspective level as I saw them in the mirror. If something as simple as the lighting of a setting can drastically change how other people perceive you at any given moment, then imagine how their image of you can be distorted by your surroundings over a long period of time. The fact of the matter is: everything is interconnected. You're not some predictable static character with an outline drawn by some cosmic cartoonist. The outside edges of your skin forms no border with your surroundings. Rather, they very subtly melt into each other.

Shit, thousands of tiny pieces of "you" are ripped off every day and are blown around by your air conditioning until they become part of your carpet or form an opaque layer on the surface of your TV screen that will stand between you and Spongebob until, out of frustration maybe, you finally take a paper towel that was forged from some tree (the skin of another living thing) and wipe it away. But it doesn't just disappear, it goes somewhere else, the trashcan or the toilet serving as the portal into the next chapter of its never-ending journey.

There's a bigger picture. You're a small bead of consciousness in the universe, part of some collective. I'm not implying Gods or Angels or Demons, but something a fuck of a lot more interesting that transcends any explanation: rational or irrational. And even though you'll never be able to take it all in at once because it's too much (a part can never contain the whole, after all): it's always fun to try. More often than not, you'll learn something new or at least look at something old in a new way. More intellectual growth on your part.

Start looking at things in as many different ways as possible, even if it means you've gotta stop being human for a few seconds. Whatever the fuck that means...