Tag Archives: Colour

Loving the fear for the lie

There are people in this world who talk about fear and love as if they are each other’s opposites. Some of those people frame it as a choice between two pathways: do you take the path of fear or the path of love? You may have met them. Some people also categorize acts into ‘fearful and loving’ behaviour. This scene from Donnie Darko puts it poignantly. It makes me wonder how it has happened that these two simple words are now so deeply embedded in the human understanding of their lives.

What strikes me most about the way society understands fear and love, is that both are very tightly connected to our will. Ask a person what he or she fears, and many times that person will speak of something he or she likes to avoid, while if they talk about something they love, they’d bring up a situation they would like to attract. There’s a movement of the mind towards or away from some object. If both are indeed movements, aren’t fear and love ultimately very similar things? Or seen from a different angle: how would fear and love look if we imagined ourselves out of the equation?

Perhaps my objection here is not with this immature definition of fear and love, but rather with the omnipresent understanding of all things as having a dualistic nature. I think this whole yin yang thing is a veil over a colourful reality. The reason it is so popular, I think, is that our minds prefer to contrast themselves to the background of their own projections. And how do you better do that than in black and white? Then again, since I am perceiving the world through my mind, I am per definition not the right person to contest a well established truth as dualism. After all, it is possible I am unknowingly objecting against the nature of existence itself. My mind can not know reality without it, but then again, whose mind could? How can we be sure duality exists? Or does not? Isn’t this very question dualistic in nature?

Something you fear can turn into something you love, something you love can turn into something you fear. You can love fear, and you can fear love. You can even fear and love a single thing at once. If you dig into it, you find vast varieties in what people perceive as their fears and their loves. They can be emotional states, but they can also be lingering presences in our conscious or subconscious perceptions with, admitted, influence on our choices. A triggered fear can lead you anywhere, and a triggered event of love could lead you to exactly the same place. They can be directed towards something that actually exists, but they can also confront something imaginary, something that we have made up, yet presents itself to us as lively as anything else.

To talk about fear or love is to talk about two mountains in the own emotional landscape. We don’t usually clarify if we are talking about the peaks or the base, the tree line or the sound of the birds. Are we talking about the act of climbing these mountains, or sliding off from them? Instead, we are tempted to just place one mountain on the opposite side of the other and say: well my experience is either of the two. What is the benefit of doing that?

Perhaps downsizing the richness of the inner world makes it easier to lead your life. Or maybe it is part of an evil plot serving to control our behaviour by fragmenting our inner coherence and scatter our will. Or am I overcomplicating things and are fear and love indeed poles of our mental existence? Poles we can simply pick a direction from. Maybe I’m justifying my incapacity to do so myself. Am I guided by my fear of the lie? My love for the truth? Or maybe I’m just playing around.

A fearful loving fool would know.


Innocence or lust?

Just so you know: I’m writing this in pink. In fact, I extravagantly took a picture of it.

Pink was my favourite colour as a kid. And I mean bright pink. It later changed to flower field yellow, then to green. Now I prefer turquoise for sure. That’s lovely shit.

Our society has an intense love-hate relationship with pink. On the one hand, it’s the colour of little girls. Not women, but the ones that were born last week, or at least those that have not reached puberty, when their differences with boys are smallest. Even so, if you put pink clothes on your little boy at that age, the least you are is a strange parent.

When women are older, those who still wear pink are the ones who want to express girlishness. Not femininity, but something innocent and weak that needs protection. Once again if you’re a guy: forget about it. Even if you have a big gray beard, sunglasses and ride a Harley Davidson, if your leather pants are pink, people mentally reconstruct you into a pussy.

Then there are the gays. I don’t believe that there is any social movement that impersonates a colour so thoroughly as they do. Who says gay, thinks pink; who says pink, thinks gay. We are conditioned that way. I get back to this girlish innocence and my first thought is: “huh?” How the hell did gays manage to pull this off? Then again, if some gays would in fact be little girls, I’d understand their behaviour better. Still, the fact that they’re gay is not because they hold hands.

Which brings me to erotic attributes. Dildo’s, feather scarfs, fluffy handcuffs… Walk into a random sex shop in Amsterdam and the dominant colour you’ll find there is pink. Or, if you’re not around: Google “sex toys” and take a look at the pictures.

To sum up: the colour pink, in our society, is attributed to two things: baby girls and sex. Slightly twisted, no?

Oh and by the way: don’t think about pink elephants, please. That would be off context.