One wonders at the differentiation. There is an instinct to live quietly, humbly-- to not make a fuss. But there comes a point where you have to imagine that this is a kind of cop-out. What you are doing instead is hiding from the world, exercising an avoidant personality, afraid of ever truly giving your best. What is one to do in such circumstances? 

There are twin fears, as most of us know. The one is the fear of failure, that you will find some essential quality lacking in yourself, the fear of inadequacy. The second one is the fear of success, that you will find yourself now under the burden of heightened expectation.

Hiding in a closet and waiting for death to overtake you is probably no kind of life. After all, death will arrive inevitably, so you might as well do something interesting in the meantime. Being circumspect will not alter that dreadful hour, nor will it spare you from having to face the supreme terror.

Hiding in closets,
Watching warily as a fox

'Til your eyes become twin black holes--
It avails us nothing.

So what if your flesh crumbles?
So what if your chest heaves and burns?

The best of men have flagged and failed.
Keats breathed his tubercular last

In a Roman room, despondent,
The last breath pining for home and love.

Oh, well. Never mind.
Better men than you have been exiled

And it is no shame
To shake a little before that deadly cold.

No point in hurrying it along, either.
Be as circumspect as you may

Or reckless as a shrike.
In the fullness of time

The ink has already dried.

I turned-- as children do,
When hurt or affrighted, to their Mama--
To say to my guide:
"There is not one gram of blood
That does not tremble in me now--
I recognize the signs of the ancient flame!"
But emptiness only was there
Where a moment ago Virgil had stood.
Virgil, sweetest father;
Virgil, to whom I had entrusted
The safety of my soul.
And in that moment,
Not all the Garden that our ancient mother had lost
Could stop my cheeks--
Which he had washed with dew--
From being newly stained with tears.

Dante, "Purgatorio"

1. The occasion of the day to write a letter to whom I please-- like Eris' golden apple, "Kallisti"-- "to the fairest". To praise those I think deserve it (your supremely eloquent face). In all your face there is nothing timid or indistinct or half-hearted; every inch and every angle has all the power and intention of a galloping horse. Terribly beautiful and terribly dangerous-- not like a white tiger, for there is nothing surrealistic, icy or remote in your spirit as I see it-- but like a jaguar: sultry, languid, imperious, lethal. (So, of a sad necessity, there are those that would seek to curb your bloodlust).

2. Those who seek to trap it up, shut it away, clap it in chains-- having found it, they think only of keeping it; keeping it, they think only of neutralizing it. But what is a cat without claws, a rose without thorns, a hawk with clipped wings. X is deathly afraid of losing Y, and so loses her. Having seen the person of the desired image-repetoire, Z seeks to change an essential facet of the loved one and so alters her irreparably. Hades abducts Persephone and Spring vanishes. The malignant spell of half-life: I will possess half of her, and be content with this moiety, but only if the rest of the world possesses none of her. This grotesque and unkind will-to-possess.

Born to Lie

Lana Del Rey, born under the sign of Gemini, is symbolically represented by two people-- in this case, maybe more. (Hell, it's appropriate to wonder about who's really singing here. "Lana Del Rey" isn't even her real name).

There are a few different people present on this album. They all have a common undercurrent, a thread, but the sense of fragmentation persists, making it hard to listen to any one song all the way through-- they all seem about a minute too long, with one possible exception.

So what's the roll call? Well, most of the personae on "Ready to Die" have a distinctly 1960's feel-- the early part of the decade. Del Rey's image on the cover is a major hint in this direction-- she's telling us that this is from when dissipated (key word #1) girls would lounge on hardwood floors, smoking cigarettes, and wish they were starring in black-and-white French films. The proto-Tumblr generation, maybe-- a kind of hollowness that seeks for romanticism, and if it can't find it, settles for the romanticizing of hollowness itself. (It's too spoiled to be true weltschmerz, though. It hasn't even found its way out of the suburbs yet).

So with that in mind, watch in wonder as Del Rey tours through all the components of this particular slice of Americana, but never gets them to cohere. This (for me, at least), is where the interest and the aggravation of the album are located. This is a collection of phrases, not poems. Del Rey has got a talent for finding the little hints and pieces of the gestalt, but can't quite put it all together into one big, satisfying package.

I mean, for the most part, we've seen these pieces before. The biblical, doomstruck lust of "Blue Jeans" has been P. J. Harvey's stomping ground for years. The drunk-on-wine, lounging-at-the-poolside languor. Her slightly exaggerated, California-girl sighs and enunciations (which clash oddly with her British pronunciation of "vitamin" on "Radio"). The corny chirpings that make you wonder if Debbie Reynolds might not have had a granddaughter we didn't know about. Little stylistic choices, most of which seem to get picked up and dropped at random.

The result is a kind of maddening collage of all the girls who would namedrop Nabokov for one reason or another (her not mentioning "Lolita" at some point or points in this album is almost inconceivable, and sure enough, "Off to the Races" has her murmuring "light of my life, fire of my loins"), mixed with a healthy dollop of Nancy Sinatra, with some bemusingly anachronistic dancefloor-DJ touches. Imagine Charlotte Gainsbourg produced by Timbaland. (There's even a spoken-French interlude on "Carmen").

I had mentioned earlier that there's one place where this particular construction comes together and holds. Of course I'm talking about "Video Games", where Del Rey's affected, distant delivery suddenly finds itself a tune and texture good enough to make it transcend itself. The essential fakeness of Del Rey's whole attitude works in this song, as we're invited to picture a girl making maudlin, sweeping love-declarations to herself while her boyfriend, incurable romantic that he is, drinks beer and plays video games. She's off in the corner, congratulating herself on her affair for the ages-- "this is my idea of fun, playing video games", she says, fooling no one-- while he is completely unaware of his emotional makeover at her hands. On the rest of the songs, the guy is a figment of Del Rey's melodramatic imagination-- he's a bad boy, a rebel, a dangerously sexy pegged-jeans-and-Lucky-Strike character-- in other words, he doesn't exist. On "Video Games", he's a real person, probably not too interesting, drives a car, plays pool and darts, someone who is filtered by the singer's imagination, not created by it. The difference is conspicuous.

Maybe that's the key to the puzzle of how to make a basically fake attitude convince us of its sincerity. Del Rey is at her least convincing when she's selling it straight, acting as if these hot times and forbidden schoolgirl stirrings were the whole truth of the matter. What's far more interesting (at least to me) is when we get clues that the singer is making the whole thing up, that these are the songs born of a girl with a rather humdrum life, that have been draped in lipstick and romanticism just to make the occurrences more interesting and livable. I can't believe that Del Rey's character stayed at the Chateau Marmont in the 60's, but I can believe that she wishes she had.

So if I were to offer advice to Ms. Del Rey I would say: don't try to trick us-- make us complicit in your escapism! We're all willing to join you in the Los Angeles of your imagination. Just keep an eye on the dreary realities that you're singing to get away from-- it will make the reverie all the more appealing.

Emotion ---> Cogitation

The most sophisticated systems of analysis are those that are not hard-edged, but are biological or "soft" in their application, fluid to such a degree that the postulates and underlying assumptions of said algorithms change instantly in response to that data which is input. Associated with the human phenomena of perception and intuition, this would give rise (presumably) in a sophisticated person to the idea that their fundamental operating procedures would change quickly and smoothly in response to external stimuli, even that which is unfamiliar or unexpected. A shorthand way of depicting this is to say that you would change based on what you were observing, or rather that what you were observing would change you. This comes tantalizingly close to some of the conclusions drawn of late by quantum physics, in particular the idea that by observing some solid-state phenomenon, the observation itself has the property of altering the outcome or the very reality of that which is being observed. To return again to the idea of human intuition (something so subtle yet widely disseminated throughout the whole of the human species as to be poorly understood), this rapid restructuring of one's self-concept or modes of behavior would happen so smoothly and completely that for all intents and purposes it could border on precognition. Nevertheless it must be said that this is probably a characteristic of the fluid or "water" type of personality, often described as one of the four cardinal personality categories. There is another mode of behavior which is to assert oneself as basically inalterable, to such a degree that the external reality is obliged to reshape itself in order to mold around this incontrovertible expression of will. This is another neat duality (to go on the almost infinite pile thereof)-- whether to change, or allow oneself to be change. The aforementioned intuitive capacities could be reasonably expected, if we can apply this kind of second-order thought-- to provide us information on when to resort to either of these two modes of behavior. To put it another way, we can intuitively know when it is time to be intuitive, and when it is not. This type of abstract thinking would seem to preclude those who are not in touch with their own inner landscapes, as this paradoxical and occasionally contradictory thinking and byzantine operating instructions can easily give rise to brooding, labyrinthine analysis and re-analysis, trapping the intellectual aspirant in unproductive loops of thinking.

(There may be some physiological benefit to these thought-loops. In much the same way that a treadmill may be used to burn off calories and nervous energy, the glucose-consuming hamster-wheel of the mind may be used to reduce the cogitator to such a degree of exhaustion that acceptance and enlightenment are more easily reached).

The primarily intellectual or "air" person, I suppose, would develop their schema and hermeneutic pathways to such an elegant, complex degree that all unknown information would find itself quickly and neatly sorted into its appropriate box. The obvious drawback to such a method is that it finds itself quite useful when dealing with logical phenomena, but flounders when confronted with a non-sequitur or paradox. In such cases the cogitator must rely on auxiliary modes of self-guidance, and if such modes have not been adequately developed during the upbringing or formative years then the data will be rudely shoved into known equations whether or not it fits, leading to shrill or hostile or unreasonable behavior.

About a Girl/Woman/Lady/Child

In you represents-- perhaps not perfection, because who of us is perfect?-- but then again, "perfection" seems to me to be the word. Let me explain: not perfection as the unobtainable goal, but as the culmination. Perfection as the only logical outcome of a series of steps. Perfection as the only reasonable fulfillment of all criteria.

Prismatic is another word. To meet a person of such richness, multiple facets, and depth. Like the description of an expensive coffee or wine.

It's a good feeling, being in San Francisco and around you. The sensation of abundance is particularly present, such that any expression of personality or persona arise naturally, not affectedly. That which you see has no choice but to appear. Rather like a fountain pouring its streams onto the sick, withered seeds of my heart. Etc.

Liberalisitarianism

I do not identify as a Libertarian, although I am a big fan of personal freedoms. How do I reconcile these two positions?

I think Libertarian thought is essentially a snotty teenage attitude, written in political ink. They don't like the idea of anyone telling them what to do, for any reason. They think that every country should mind its own business. It's as big a power vacuum as Anarchy, although I've heard Penn Jillette claim that the two are not synonymous.

My political leanings remain Liberal. I don't believe that it is impossible for a government to provide services and regulations, while at the same time being fairly educated and enlightened as to the realities of human life. And what do I mean by that? Oh, things like the idea that marriage is a social institution first and foremost, and it is up to one's chosen clergy to sanctify it, if that's where your pleasure lies, and is not the prerogative of the State. Or that most human beings will respond well to concerns of safety and well-being, rather than paranoia and oppressive attitudes.

The Libertarian viewpoint is basically the Wild West, so far as I can tell. And we've already done that (I know that, because we've done everything). I suppose I recognize them as ideological brothers and sisters because both our positions are based on "liberty", literally and linguistically.

But consider the following. People like to band together, do they not? Whether for protection, efficiency, or the simple pleasure of doing so. I maintain that some of these groups will, without designated auspices, harm others for one reason or another. It's the responsibility of the lots of little people on the bottom to make sure we have a pledged group to the little people. Or to put it another way, government's first obligation is to the people. Any governmental system that says otherwise is bizarre at best, nefarious at worst. On the other hand, a corporation's first interest is that corporation itself. To hell with the people, unless they're shareholders!

And there is nothing inherently strange or wrong about this. We can acknowledge that certain groups and ideologies are in it to make money, first and foremost. That's fine. It's a large world and there is certainly a place for such groups. But where we fall flat is where we start bullshitting ourselves that these entities, without any kind of regulation, will automatically serve the best interests of the people. I just can't see this leap of logic.

To take a more specific example, I happen to like having the FDA around. I like the idea that food manufacturers are legally required to post accurate information about their product along with said product. Do I think that these food manufacturers, if they had the chance, would cut corners, add potentially harmful ingredients to their foods, and so on, assuming such practices increased their profit margins? Absolutely, unequivocally, without a doubt I do. And I hold no malice towards them for it! That's just what they do.

So let us, for our part, invest our political power in groups whose raison d'etre is keeping an eye on these other groups.

And to reiterate my point, I do not give up hope of the idea of a fairly enlightened series of regulations when it comes to this type of thing. Is this going to happen in America? Not any time soon, Jack. The system is firmly entrenched, and it's going to take something like spiritual dynamite to get any kind of change happening. But I happen to like the Scandinavian ethos. They seem, to use the word, "civilized". I suppose that I myself believe in civilization. We can be gentlemen and -women, can we not? Not in any kind of antiquated, stuffy sense. But let us assume their sense of gentility, honesty, plainspokenness, and so on. (We can do without all the class-based colonization in places like the Congo, that goes without saying).

Because what we have now is a lot of stuffy, blue-nosed, schoolmarmish nightmares. We strive to be without moral blemish while perpetrating the worst of horrors. Can we admit to a few vices, if that will help us face up to infinitely more dangerous habits? I hope so.