THIS FUCKED ME UP..
The Hälssen & Lyon Tea Calendar by Kolle Rebbe, Hamburg
The Hälssen & Lyon tea calendar is the first calendar in the world to feature calendar days made from tea leaves. Finely flavoured and pressed until wafer-thin, the 365 calendar days can be individually detached and brewed directly in the cup with hot water. The tea calendar was sent exclusively to selected business partners.
Anonymous asked: I think it's a bit ignorant to criticize someone's use of vocabulary for sounding "too smart". It is difficult to verbalize a specific argument without using specific terminology, especially when character limits are involved. It is okay if someone knows more than you about something. Knocking someone down for being eloquent is a bit gradeschool, and shows an unattractive level of intellectual insecurity.
I love smart people. I love big words. I even use them from time to time. But if I’m talking to a group of people who know nothing about photography, I’m not going to assume they know what the inverse square law is. I’m not going to casually mention a Bayer filter without an explanation.
I did not find that person to be eloquent and I don’t think they chose their words for specificity’s sake. Using niche terms that are not common in most people’s vocabulary is classic tactic to help one sound intellectually superior. The idea being, if people don’t understand, they will assume you are correct.
I want to live in an intellectual world, but I wish it to be free of arrogance. When I listen to people like Bill Nye or Neil deGrasse Tyson, I feel like they are enthusiastic about sharing all they know with anyone who will listen. When I read that person’s message I felt like they were just trying to say, “I know more than you, so I am right.”
This is absolutely understandable, but I’d ask people to also have patience. For some — particularly those who do not speak to people often — certain ways of talking come more naturally, and it takes strenuous effort (or a delay in the transition from thought to speech which is untenable in verbal intercourse) to correct their diction to accommodate others. And I don’t mean “accommodate” in a pretentious sense. I just mean in the same sense we “accommodate” others in having a filter and basic decency and courtesy. Communication is difficult, and difficult in different ways for different people.
Plus, sometimes even given the time to think through and try to phrase things in a more colloquial way, it can feel strange or untrue or clunky to use the simpler terms. For example, I wrote “verbal intercourse” because “speaking” sounded ugly and redundant since I used “speak” earlier in the paragraph. These little sensibilities guide the way we talk, and they don’t always match those adopted by the people we’re talking to. I ask for patience and understanding when dealing with all kinds of people who use all kinds of words.
Today. I am an upright piano. Sitting on the wood floor of an old New York city apartment building. An iron warehouse-like building of lofts and dust and quiet. Empty and waiting with a piano inside. And a man with youth and a beard and hands wider than an octave sits upon it writing a poem about a woman far away as the moon with a heart in his chest sitting like a fist of bees trying to be petals in the water. No one watches him but the daylight and the sky, both peeking through the tall windows. At his feet are stacks of her sheet music. He misses her. She pulls at the East Atlantic. Writes the ocean with her body. Waxing and waning the phases of her embraces. A library where nothing is allowed to be checked out. Nothing is allowed to be pulled from the shelves. When inside her, walking the rows she has organized, he touches the spines of books as he passes them, trying to read them with the tips of his fingers. Her rafters are tense without her realizing this. The birds sneak in and quietly sit above, watching him. The books are filled with whispers and smiles when alone. He sits on the floor waiting for the moon to rise outside, hoping to see himself in these reflections of her. All this he writes down, outside of her, sitting on his piano, wishing he had the knowledge to pull its garden of music into the air. But all he has are the hands for it and a song that sits on the soft grass that grows inside her, just on the other side of her stones, as he listens trying to find the words to put this music down with.
steward over many men, and he
in his turn fathered gallant Obaid
whose sons were twins, Bilal and Wasim
skillful at every kind of clever doing.
in manhood they embarked on the low valley of Neelam
for the wild shrublands of Ephedra to gain
the hunt, and to wait in the wind lands
and have air. Here Death hid them both.
Modified lines from Fitzgerald’s Iliad (V 625-633)
From Little, Big by John Crowley