Darkness
Moving on from one ghost to the next, whiteness gives way to darkness. Darkness, distinctly not blackness, mind you. Darkness is seen, and see through, whereas blackness is malleable in its sham-absoluteness (nothing called "black" is ever truly so; a black screen on a television still has a glow and a black night is just light dying off second by second and as it reaches it's last breath it catches again and relightens.) Whiteness and Darkness, a matched pair and opposited fittingly.
1.
Darkness can be applied to stationary objects simply by blocking the light source that shines onto them, as is the case with a Shadow and a Shade. This definition has certain metaphysical implications, of course, and one need only think of several trite and true cliches: a dark heart has been wounded and overshadowed by tragedy, a dark force that compels most transparent characters in fiction and beyond to commit immoral offenses, the way actors are lit in movies and how they move into and out of dark patches of the set, a dark cat frightening a man on some stray alley or street at night is oft a bad omen, depression is deeper in the dark, the almost-final plague in Exodus was that of darkness, and when dealing with coding colors among the world of computers those that are darkest are usually represented by zero's (yes, numerical nothingness!)
2.
The Dark-eyed Junco is a not particularly stunning specimen, nor is it very appealing visually to those orinthologists who know no science other than what their eyes deem "pretty". Often mistaken for a simple Sparrow, which it does resemble, the bird varies in color but is often slate gray with a cold tinge of azure with a crisp white belly. Eyes can be called all sorts of things: round, oval, dewy, shut, sad, smiling, green, bloodshot, wild --- but no adjective is as romantic and tragic at the same time as "dark" is. Black would be too beady while Dark implies a tense straddling of two opposing ideas at once: lightness and its opposite. The Junco's eyes would not be special, at least not special enough to name the bird after, had they been anything but dark. More facts: the bird enjoys the cold of winter (coldness and darkness are kissing cousins) and usually nests in coniferous trees (which are the darkest sort of trees that usually make up woods and forests, scary or otherwise.) It enjoys the icy cold, and it makes its home among the knotted and densely protected trees - Fir, Juniper, Pine, and the fatherly Redwood. Their nests are often constructed of leaves and grasses, woven tightly and well concealed near the ground around the bases of these monolithic softwooded trees.
There it is, perched on its branch with a drift of snow wafting amidst the day. The ambiguity of Darkness: delicate bird with heavy name. If this dark bird flew against the dark night's sky it would still probably be visible to the eye, though had it been a black bird on a black sky the whole pretty picture would be awash in the single dead tone of color. In this way, darkness is always referring to something everchanging and can equally be pinned to a set of eyes, the color of its wings, as well as the environment in which it lives and still remain as readily seeable to the eye, and though each might carry a distinct sort of darkness with it, they are all housed under the single expansive roof of the word. A gradient term, yet still as precise as a needle's tip.
3.
Will Oldham sings a song called "I See a Darkness" on his album of the same name:
1.
Darkness can be applied to stationary objects simply by blocking the light source that shines onto them, as is the case with a Shadow and a Shade. This definition has certain metaphysical implications, of course, and one need only think of several trite and true cliches: a dark heart has been wounded and overshadowed by tragedy, a dark force that compels most transparent characters in fiction and beyond to commit immoral offenses, the way actors are lit in movies and how they move into and out of dark patches of the set, a dark cat frightening a man on some stray alley or street at night is oft a bad omen, depression is deeper in the dark, the almost-final plague in Exodus was that of darkness, and when dealing with coding colors among the world of computers those that are darkest are usually represented by zero's (yes, numerical nothingness!)
2.
The Dark-eyed Junco is a not particularly stunning specimen, nor is it very appealing visually to those orinthologists who know no science other than what their eyes deem "pretty". Often mistaken for a simple Sparrow, which it does resemble, the bird varies in color but is often slate gray with a cold tinge of azure with a crisp white belly. Eyes can be called all sorts of things: round, oval, dewy, shut, sad, smiling, green, bloodshot, wild --- but no adjective is as romantic and tragic at the same time as "dark" is. Black would be too beady while Dark implies a tense straddling of two opposing ideas at once: lightness and its opposite. The Junco's eyes would not be special, at least not special enough to name the bird after, had they been anything but dark. More facts: the bird enjoys the cold of winter (coldness and darkness are kissing cousins) and usually nests in coniferous trees (which are the darkest sort of trees that usually make up woods and forests, scary or otherwise.) It enjoys the icy cold, and it makes its home among the knotted and densely protected trees - Fir, Juniper, Pine, and the fatherly Redwood. Their nests are often constructed of leaves and grasses, woven tightly and well concealed near the ground around the bases of these monolithic softwooded trees.
There it is, perched on its branch with a drift of snow wafting amidst the day. The ambiguity of Darkness: delicate bird with heavy name. If this dark bird flew against the dark night's sky it would still probably be visible to the eye, though had it been a black bird on a black sky the whole pretty picture would be awash in the single dead tone of color. In this way, darkness is always referring to something everchanging and can equally be pinned to a set of eyes, the color of its wings, as well as the environment in which it lives and still remain as readily seeable to the eye, and though each might carry a distinct sort of darkness with it, they are all housed under the single expansive roof of the word. A gradient term, yet still as precise as a needle's tip.
3.
Will Oldham sings a song called "I See a Darkness" on his album of the same name:
Well, you're my friend, that's what you told me
And can you see what's inside of me
Many times we've been out drinking
And many times we've shared our thoughts
But did you ever, ever notice, the kind of thoughts I got
Well you know I have a love, a love for everyone I know
And you know I have a drive to live - I won't let go
But can you see it's opposition, comes arising up sometimes
That it's dreadful antiposition, comes blackening in my mind
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you, you
Can save me from this darkness
Well I hope that someday buddy
We have peace in our lives
Together or apart
Alone or with our wives
And we can stop our whoring
And pull the smiles inside
And light it up forever
And never go to sleep
My best unbeaten brother
This isn't all I see
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you
Can save me from this darkness
Yes, it is a common request to be saved from darkness. People go to church for that very fear, people fall in love for that fear, people go into deeper darknesses because of that fear. Generally, though, the darkness is paralyzing only as long as it surrounds and it is often during the dawn of a new light that we secretly pray thanks to that darkness. Like a heartbreak that, at the time, has you prone on the floor in a fit of fumbling tears shouting to please just stop stop stop so much so that the only hope for reprieve seems to be to fling your stupid body through the stupid window and have it land with a dull thud and a shatter of glass -- even this darkness, even this death and despair, even this gripping noose of tragedy will soon be something to thank god for, something to even polish and present like a badge of some sort. Yes, one might even grow to feel lucky for having had that darkness. A ghost is only dark after death, it grows increasingly lighter with time. I know, more ambiguity to appreciate!
4.
Lightlessness - but only just so.
Think of a camera, think of its lens, think of the photograph it will later produce. Place that camera on the floor at night so that its blinkless eye is staring at your ceiling and click a picture. Keep the camera where it is but correct the shutter speed to something much slower, reduce from 1/500 to 5 (these numbers refer to the time that it takes the shutter to open and then close: 1/500th of a second and 5 seconds.) Yes, we are back in an introduction to photo class, please forgive the pedestrian nature of this example - its beauty does lie in its simplicity. Compare the two photographs: the first will be almost entirely black while the second might show the ceiling's skin with its dips and dabbles of texture and maybe some striations of light slashed across it from the blinds covering the windows almost so. Same room, same night, same available light - yet one photo works and one does not. Darkness and its relation to Time: a ghost is only darkest just after death, it grows increasingly lighter with each ticking moment. The eyes of a person (or any such animal) will perform in the same way when presented with an instant of lightlessness: stand still long enough in it and it'll dissolve. I think of yet another song I like to sing to myself: "Don't think I can't see you/ tiptoe across the room / I can see in the dark/ I've been here for quite some time."
The faster we move, blink, think - the darker it remains. Conversely, the slower we move, blink, think - the lighter it becomes. Oh room, happy happy room, cloaked in a secret! All one has to do is sit still inside of you and your dim and oppressive grip loosens and the slower one is, the lighter you get.
5.
Metaphor, emphasis, symbolism. A devout following. A dry empty tearduct.
And can you see what's inside of me
Many times we've been out drinking
And many times we've shared our thoughts
But did you ever, ever notice, the kind of thoughts I got
Well you know I have a love, a love for everyone I know
And you know I have a drive to live - I won't let go
But can you see it's opposition, comes arising up sometimes
That it's dreadful antiposition, comes blackening in my mind
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you, you
Can save me from this darkness
Well I hope that someday buddy
We have peace in our lives
Together or apart
Alone or with our wives
And we can stop our whoring
And pull the smiles inside
And light it up forever
And never go to sleep
My best unbeaten brother
This isn't all I see
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you
Can save me from this darkness
Yes, it is a common request to be saved from darkness. People go to church for that very fear, people fall in love for that fear, people go into deeper darknesses because of that fear. Generally, though, the darkness is paralyzing only as long as it surrounds and it is often during the dawn of a new light that we secretly pray thanks to that darkness. Like a heartbreak that, at the time, has you prone on the floor in a fit of fumbling tears shouting to please just stop stop stop so much so that the only hope for reprieve seems to be to fling your stupid body through the stupid window and have it land with a dull thud and a shatter of glass -- even this darkness, even this death and despair, even this gripping noose of tragedy will soon be something to thank god for, something to even polish and present like a badge of some sort. Yes, one might even grow to feel lucky for having had that darkness. A ghost is only dark after death, it grows increasingly lighter with time. I know, more ambiguity to appreciate!
4.
Lightlessness - but only just so.
Think of a camera, think of its lens, think of the photograph it will later produce. Place that camera on the floor at night so that its blinkless eye is staring at your ceiling and click a picture. Keep the camera where it is but correct the shutter speed to something much slower, reduce from 1/500 to 5 (these numbers refer to the time that it takes the shutter to open and then close: 1/500th of a second and 5 seconds.) Yes, we are back in an introduction to photo class, please forgive the pedestrian nature of this example - its beauty does lie in its simplicity. Compare the two photographs: the first will be almost entirely black while the second might show the ceiling's skin with its dips and dabbles of texture and maybe some striations of light slashed across it from the blinds covering the windows almost so. Same room, same night, same available light - yet one photo works and one does not. Darkness and its relation to Time: a ghost is only darkest just after death, it grows increasingly lighter with each ticking moment. The eyes of a person (or any such animal) will perform in the same way when presented with an instant of lightlessness: stand still long enough in it and it'll dissolve. I think of yet another song I like to sing to myself: "Don't think I can't see you/ tiptoe across the room / I can see in the dark/ I've been here for quite some time."
The faster we move, blink, think - the darker it remains. Conversely, the slower we move, blink, think - the lighter it becomes. Oh room, happy happy room, cloaked in a secret! All one has to do is sit still inside of you and your dim and oppressive grip loosens and the slower one is, the lighter you get.
5.
Metaphor, emphasis, symbolism. A devout following. A dry empty tearduct.
