Pretty things

Material conundrums make me feel ashamed to be a greedy human. There are two guitars I need: a Rickenbacker 330 in Jetglo (meaning black). That one I have. The other one is a shiny, shiny Strat. I feel a little shame when I admit it’s because of Johnny Marr, but everyone’s got their hang-ups like that. Too many people want(ed) to look like Hank Marvin anyway. It’s not my fault Johnny Marr has good taste in guitars (but maybe not in music, post-1990).

Now, I’m in the process of trying to get an olympic white strat with a mint green pickguard. It was originally anchored in my brain when I saw ONE picture in which Johnny Marr had one (but I’ve always wanted a Strat in general). The problem is that it might not be available if I want to get the best model, so I would have to get the wrong shade of white. Which is unacceptable, seeing how the whole semantic field “Strat” is taken up by the one model, this one:

Now, this is very pretty. I think it’s the prettiest colour. Now, the problem is that I just found out that mr. Marr also had a 1963 sunburst, like this one:

Now, the realities of available models and idol worship collide! It’s now OK to get a sunburst Strat, because it has been included in the general set of “Strats” because of Marr’s sunburst. So it would solve the problem, and I could get the model which is better built and apparently sounds better.

But the white is prettier!

But the other one is available!

But.

But.

Like I said, I feel ashamed for wanting, so I will include a nice Barthes quote, for free:

“There are two musics: the music one listens to and the music one plays.”

So if the aesthetics of the second music includes mental, occipital imagery, I should not feel bad for wanting. I think.

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Russian is pretty

As I looked through my battery of pictures of lakes (and whilst composing such genitive-rich noun phrases such as the latter), my thoughts yet again stumbled over a poem that takes full advantage of the brain’s ability to understand regardless of collapsed grammar. Swedish grammar is easier to collapse and hence the Swedish original is published first: a tale of anguish, тоска and a world as seen through Paustovsky’s mind.

*

Molnen hopar, dundrar åskan

Går iden under vassen

Droppar regnet, barnet skyndar

Hunden skäller gällt

Lingonbusken, spindelnätet

Faller blåbär tätt

Skogen blånar, tjärnen svart

Sitter paret under björken

Daggdroppa, spindelnät!

Myran skyndar hem

Grumlig botten, gör vi klar

Fisken jagar dystert

Kommer knallen mot ett träd

Tystnar trasten tvärt

Fjällen glänser, plumsar vattnet

Ser vi vattenhop

Katten jamar, dundrar spisen

Skogen lyser klart

Hugger iden, skrapar tassen

Kommer barnet snart?

*

And in Russian:

*

Сгущают тучи

Идет голавль под тростником

Каплет дождь, спешит дитя

Раздастся собачьи лай

Брусники, паутина

Падают черники густо

Синеет лес, чернеет озеро

Сидят двое под березой

Пролей, o паутина, росу!

Торопится муравей

Мутное дно, сделаем прозрачным

Ходит рыба грустно на охоту

Раскат над деревом

Затихнут вдруг дрозд

Сверкает чешуя, плескает водой

Видим кучу чернилы

Мяукнет кот, печка гремит

Лес сияет ясно

Клюет голавль, шаркает лапой

Придет ли скоро дитя?

*

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Sometimes I realise…

…that Sweden is a pretty country. I think that it is sometimes easy to confound a nation’s genius with its aesthetics, especially when communal self-deprecation is a most vital part of the national psyche.

Also, the true meaning of Verdi prati from Alcina only comes out on long walks in the forest.

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Books, books, books!

I love books! When you’re poor, there really is nowt better than pretending to buy stuff on Amazon whilst pumping out Cheryl Cole’s epic book buying anthem Fight for This Love over the steppes of Skåne.

The Top 3 Books of Today Not Currently Owned by Me are:

1. Translation Translation by Susan Petrilli – because it’s the best collection of translation essays to date. If they included something by Jiří Levý it would be perfect.

2. Time and Narrative 1-3 by Paul Ricoeur – because I want to know first-hand how the ego travels through others.

3. Linguistic Supertypes by Per Durst-Andersen – because Mental Grammar used to be my bible and that he’s like totally the coolest guy ever and that his writing is a totally perfective activity that’s intended by him and sufficient for happiness to be existing in my brain.

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Bright and light!

Preparing for the lecture on wine reviews at Lund university, after a bout of Planxty and Dubliners, we lose ourselves in the lovely world of Brighter. They make me want to go to Malmö. And Sheffield. They also make me miss Rickenbackers.

A rose

Memories of the botanical gardens in Lund.

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The Imploded Sign

The discussion of the realities of the linguistic sign seems, in a way, widely over and done with in today’s society. It’s easy to get bogged down in neuro-solipsism, disregarding such basic factors as understanding or social function (or anything that can’t be analysed at the level of the single neuron). If we, in any self-respecting post-structuralist tradition (i.e. Barthes), doubt not just the receiver-interpreter, but also the sender-interpreter and any abstract illocutionary force, we must also come to doubt the nature of whatever is being transmitted and interpreted (at both ends). Since having a blog means there is no review, it’s possible to write whatever you feel like, and if the future proves you wrong, you just write something new and forget all about the past (or finish with a glorious pun so people forget the meaning of the whole post: it implodes and goes BOOM.).

I’ve had a little obsession with what feels like an “imploded” sign. In short, any “meaning” from a diachronic point of view (where we could possibly find the historical centre of Peirce’s onion, i.e. the nucleus of any given object of semiotic research, say, a linguistic sign) “implodes” at the point of synchronic analysis, and its meaning is scattered among any number of language users. Thus, the last “point of contact” before the arbitrary time of the implosion, constitutes whatever nucleus we can agree on when it comes to the meaning of the sign, or, for that matter, any linguistic expression. People like Alexander Bain would say that the nucleus is an abstract “Definition” (with a nice 19th century capital letter), but that is far too vague in order to have any consequences on the discussion, in part because definition implies explicit agreement, something which is notoriously hard to find among language users. If anything, though, it is perhaps possible to reach a, however small, conclusion about the fuzzy nucleus of meaning.

Reaching a conclusion about the nucleus of the imploded sign and concatenating its parts back together mentally (and also beyond the mental through semiosis) is perhaps only possible taking Peirce’s pragmatic maxim into account. Without a pragmatic approach to this, the sign would never reach its interpretants or receivers and would stay an undefined mental entity (possibly measurable in single neurons). We still speak and understand what other people mean, mostly.

Also, the imploded sign would also have to be approached pragmatically if translation is to be possible (which, according to Ricoeur, it is). This is a subject for another day, but it’s worth mentioning, since it’s something that’s easily affected by how we view signs. If it’s true, however, that the sign is in a constant “imploded” state, meaning really is deferred to the future. Imagine a written note hidden in a bottle in the middle of the ocean: the note still has meaning, but it’s not complete since there is no interpreter there to interpret it (and trees falling in the woods, and bla, bla, bla.). Meaning, again, is deferred to the future. Vincent Colapietro has this to say on the subject:

“The rational meaning of a proposition lies in the future in the sense
that this meaning is what would be revealed to an indefinite community in
the indefinite future. To limit either the scope of this community or the expanse
of this time would be to imprison rational meaning in such a constricted
confinement that such meaning would wither and die.” (Colapietro 2003)

This also sums it up very nicely. However, I think it’s nice to refer to the non-agentive action through which this has taken place, the implosion.

Also because it’s a pretty word. Mmm implosion. It sounds like an ointment for Lincoln FC supporters. HAR HAR GET IT!?

References:

Colapietro, V. (2003): Translating Signs Otherwise. In: Translation Translation. Ed.: Petrilli, S. Rodopi. Amsterdam. pp. 189-215.

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Besides…

…Charles Peirce seemed to think that we never know what we mean anyway, so what’s the point? April always makes me want to discuss the nature of signs, so maybe later I can come back to the “imploded sign” discussion of last year.

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