Scholarly Gentlemen

"You are a Gentleman and a Scholar". This is perhaps one of the most insulting compliments I think anyone can ever receive in his or her respective life. It is beyond distasteful, and offers a certain sense of mockery to the receiver. This statement almost defines what it means to insult a fellow human being, and it does so quite bluntly. You, dear reader, no doubt find my thesis repulsive, but that is simply because I have yet to enlighten you.

It is a simple matter of breaking down the sentence and words, really. When one first lays eyes upon this sentence, they are presented with two nouns, a pronoun, and four conjunctions. Conjunctions add nothing to the heart and soul of the sentence so they're out. We are now left with, "You gentleman scholar". If said fast enough and with deep enough inflection, our sentence actually sounds like someone is being called an article of clothing by a caveman.

But that is completely irrelevant.

Let us turn our focus to the nouns. We are not eliminating the pronoun, but are rather repulsed by its presence for the time being. The nouns are, 'gentleman' and, 'scholar'. You may believe I am about to give the definition of these words, but I am not, because not only would that be pathetically predictable, but also because the definition of a word--especially these words--is not always in alignment with things people associate with said word.

But I digress.

When one thinks of a gentleman, one will generally either picture a primp and oldish gentleman sporting a tuxedo and sipping a glass of champagne, or a man of any age smiling politely and holding the door for a woman. The former of these is likely much more frowned upon than the latter, and so we will assume the latter for the sake of the argument.

There is, of course, nothing insulting about calling someone that sort of gentleman. On the contrary, it is almost delightful to receive such a compliment! Now imagine someone walking up to this perfectly nice man and telling him that they believe he is dumb enough to spend the better part of ten years attending countless classes and reading countless books at an abhorring high price, then spend the rest of his life looking for a satisfying job so as to pay off the schools which sucked his creative brain--and wallet--dry.

And that, dear reader, is why you should only ever call a man a gentleman, and nothing more.

Metaphorical Commentaries

Sometimes I write. Too much. I'm not saying it's ever bad to jot down one's thoughts, but there is a certain art to holding back just a bit. This art only applies to publishing one's works, as holding back one's thoughts from oneself is impossible in every way, shape and form.

Take the first sentence of this piece, for example. It's crisp, clean, and more importantly, it can stand on its own. If a comedian were to get up on a stage, recite said line with a straight face, and walk off stage again, he would receive a much better laugh than if he were to recite this entire piece.

He would also probably feel quite silly when he got to this sentence. Especially if he was a girl.

Point in case, I should stop writing now for dramatic effect.
















Except there is so much more I'd like to say on this subject and my will power is apparently running quite low.

As I was saying, my main is that when dealing with published ramblings, less quite often IS more, and this is without a doubt due to what is called dramatic effect. To write one sentence as opposed to one paragraph speaks volumes about the character of the writer, whether they be fictional or not. If I had written nothing more than that first sentence, your train of thought and assumptions about my person would have no doubt taken a different turn.

The sentence on its own says that sometimes I write, but not right now, and gives a cheeky air to my personality. Conjoined with the following sentences and paragraphs, however, the sentence becomes a confession. More importantly, it becomes an idea.

An idea which is expanded upon, criticized, and analyzed. Instead of a sentence it becomes a thesis statement; a small part of a large piece. It is discussed in several different paragraphs, and its meaning becomes less and less significant as more and more words are put into place to demoralize and de-structure this once beautiful sentence. It is tossed, turned, and rolled through a series of debates and opinions formed by separate words and sentences. Its meaning changes, beaten into place by the words which surround it.

Finally, after being dissected beyond recognition, the thesis-and possibly the entire piece-is thrown into a conclusion paragraph, where it is labelled as a metaphor.

A metaphor as well as a social commentary.

Sometimes I write. Too much.

Awful Atrocities

I am completely taxed and derived of creativity. My mind is an endless wasteland filled with the same long, eerie, and terrifying noise. It is every writer's nightmare and their least favorite sound. It is a vibration of the vocal chords which was never meant to be discovered; an awful, humming, buzzing, and sizzling sort of sound. Not only does the modern day scribbler detest this fuzzing and guzzling, but so do radio DJ's, news anchors, actors keynote speakers, judges, lawyers, and even Presidents cannot stand this terribly awful noise. For all of its simplicity, this sound is an absolute atrocity.

"Uhhhmmmmmm...."