Stop Making Sense!

What is spoken that cannot be understood I do laud.  Yes give me the figurative!  The ironic!  The paradoxical!  These are the veins that must be mined.  There is too much sense.  Yes Mr. Byrne, STOP MAKING SENSE!  Embrace the nonsensical, champion the irrational, the illogical, the absurd! and do away with the commonsensical.  In such an existential predicament, there is nothing to lean on, only something to fall off of.  The disassembly of all rationale and infinite perspectives can engender, or rather, unveil a world beyond systematic nature.

Can’t live any moment twice.  Perhaps it’s better that way.  Every thing is a reflection of something else because everything is constantly in a state of flux.  The grand flux mirror.  Concealing and revealing, enlarging and shrinking, sheening and blunting, reflecting and distorting.

Musations.  So it seems many are concerned with the self.  Also, many are concerned about others.  The middle way maybe is where it’s at.  Think it’s easy?

Everyone is a Philosopher

What is it that everyone is open to?  Existence?  Undeniably.  Religion?  Hardly.  But perhaps in some form, with or without label or consciousness.  Ethics?  To some extent this must be as such, for it would be of great power of emotion and psyche to override the natural impulse to protect and value some part of the self and deem it sacred.  The self would then use the materials of empathy to connect to the rest of the world on the other side, forming a bridge of ethics.  The nature of this bridge is contingent upon the character of the individual.  Aesthetics?  Ah, now we move closer.  It would seem that at some point everyone would be able to embrace this level of existence, though some are raised or chanced into the world in a lot which guards against such a lifestyle.  And so it must be passion.  Yes passion.  This is what drives our movements.  Forget reason.  What a sham.  Reason is but passion dolled up in a cap of logic, a cape of sound judgment, a belt of mindfulness, and boots of broadmindedness.

So many lost souls in this place.  Placed in a place where no one can find a place.  If one wants to find a place in this place where he and she have been flung, then one must look at the place around them.  Meticulously of course.  Then realize that you can never get away from your personal place.  Your personal life place.  This you must carry with you to every place you go.  This, however, will be the vehicle by which you explore every place.  Use your personal life place to guide you in how you want to explore in the rest of the place.  This will surely lead you to the right place.

Everyone is a philosopher.  Especially the ones that deny it.

Who’s Writing This?

 

We only know the story because of who?  How do we know the story?  Well someone would’ve had to have lived the story.  Then someone would’ve had to write or tell the story.  And then someone would’ve had to listen to or read the story.  And then someone would’ve had to remember the story.  So who started it and how come everybody and nobody remembers it?

Who is the single most important person in Western Culture?  Hm…. So many options.  How about…Zappa.  Aha yes.  No maybe not.  Camus? Shakespeare!  Jobe?  Well it can’t be Adam.  Eve!  Gertrude Stein eh eh.  Einstein??  Kafka.  Van Goh~  Well it is such a debatable question that any answer would carry with it the implication of affirmation and we certainly do not want to do that now.  But let’s indulge this nonsense further.  Whoever it is, anything before them would have to be historical, and everything after them, mythical.  Yes that must be.  Abraham!

What of Utopia?

Depart.

To be anti-utopian.  Seems to be a much easier concept to champion for anyone who is at all privileged.  However, I see there to be many flaws in a utopian society.  For one, there would be no source of driving and engaging creative inspiration.  Out of tragedy arises the beautiful muse in her most necessary and apposite form.  Times of calamity cause the blood of the primordial urge to create to boil within the soul and burst forth in a wellspring of inventive juice.  Dread always soars faster but never fear to chase it.

Smuggle it in.  Smuggle it all in.  To this life that is.  Meaning (Camus), ethics (Kierkeggard (Abraham)), clarity (God!), empathy (everybody).  If you feel murderous, then kill something.  \\\\\\\\\\\  It can be good to be a murderous cat.  Killin’ it here, killin’ it there.  I mean not to befuddle, but you you and you know what I’m talking about. Right, ya ok, moving on, can we? Shall we? Please? Ok thanks. I know you don’t mind.  I just gotta kill this.

Terrifying Farm Scenes

`Born in a barn.  That would be something….a good start.  Nine siblings.  You are the youngest.  Raised only by your mother.  A raving atheist.  She studies art.  She gets wrapped up in an affair with a minister.  She makes a deathbed confession: she killed her husband when she was pregnant with you.  She also admits she has always believed in God, though she professed otherwise.  And, she affirms she never cheated on your father.  You see yourself as a modern Van Goh.  You finish your degree in art and meet a fellow painter, Reggie.  You become friends, and soon something brews strange inside you.  Your homoerotic feelings blossom and are reciprocated by Reggie.  You confess that you foresee a life in which you both share a home and paint and live and die together.  Shortly after Reggie acquiesces, you consciously decide to abandon him.  You skip town and proceed to paint a series of paintings in which you depict yourself having a beautiful affair with a gorgeous woman while Reggie always appears in the picture, but does so as blind and unknowing and oblivious.  This of course is a farce, but succeeds, and Reggie, upon seeing the paintings, has nothing but utter disdain for you, and goes his own way.  You begin painting like a madman.  Terrifying farm scenes.  In the back of your mind you had always hoped and indeed believed that Reggie would come find you and beg for you to come back.  As this never happened, you believe yourself to be a failure.  You make up your mind to sacrifice yourself and join the father that you never met.`

Faith Must Begin Where Reason Leaves Off

Change!  Landscapes, beautiful, reflective, peaceful, tumultuous, violent, wild, calm, serene, unceasing givers.  MMmm expectoration.  Yes yes, often the most effective and pure creative stream.  And the most FUN.  If you could take a leap of faith into something what would it be?  Well, the absurd of course!  No no that’s absurd.  Out of the absurd and into the rational perhaps, eh hemmmm.  Nah stick to the ludicrous.  Faith must begin where reason leaves off.  For this reason, one cannot successfully have a rational argument about religion.  You cannot get to God systematically.  Many have tried: Douglas Adams, my friends Riko and Baylor.  They would argue incessantly, as Riko is a devout believer in science and logic, and Baylor is a pious Christian.  They could never get even remotely on the same page, save for a few miraculous moments when one would a bit hesitantly acknowledge a well presented point, but that was the extent of agreement.  Riko didn’t seem to even understand how one could have faith in something that was intangible and omniscient, as this was well beyond the bounds of rational thinking.  Baylor on the other hand had known no other channel of thought, being raised a Christian, and certain events in his life further bolstering and cementing his stanch loyalty to his beliefs.  Riko often concerned only with the outcome of the argument, would stop it nothing to be regarded as right, and therefore would yell and endeavor to bully and intimidate Baylor to the point where he would at times shed a tear or two.  However, the uncompromising and unfeeling nature of Riko’s being, and the sensitive, but serious nature of Baylor’s being created a futile dynamic that ultimately seemed to leave each worse off than when the argument began.  The source, however, I believe, has been identified, and aforementioned.

Another comment on faith.  You have to be willing to give something up and get it back in this life.  This would be the most immediate form, with the most direct and tangible results.  Albeit, it would be up to the individual to make judgments based on their personal lot and the nature of the employment of the faith.

!Anti-System!

Anti-system.  I do like the concept.  System seems to be inexorable, however.  Yes, far too immediate and ubiquitous.  Even in consciously adopting an anti-system policy, one might end up falling into a sort of non-system system.  Perhaps just a characterization, but nevertheless a plausible reality.  I am personally inclined to randomization, and constantly exercise the prospect that I am conditioned and unfree, and therefore often refrain from affirming, opting, and siding.  However the antithesis of this behavior is prevalent, though not equally, and mindsets fluctuate, so, esti.

The Dread Feedback Loop

Individual dread.  More potent than collective dread?  Well a multitude of perspectives arise, as with any inquiry.  In the case of individual dread, the trepidation is one’s alone, and therefore all the more horrifying, as no other human being shares this feeling with you, ultimately exacerbating the emotion and state of mind to utter anxiety and forlorn fear.  In the case of one’s being kidnapped, the terror is the victim’s and the victim’s alone (apart from the captor who simply enjoys and appreciates the dread he or she has imparted rather than shares in it), and therefore a strong sense of despair would necessitate out of an uncanny helplessness and desperation.  On the other hand, a collective dread begets an entity of energy that thrives on the mass input of terror.  This creates a dread feedback loop in which the dread inevitably continues to mount as more and more individuals submit their fears into the throng, and as the host increases, so too does the collective dread augment.  The grandest example of this collective dread feedback loop would be the circumstance of apocalypse.  The impending destruction of the earth’s inhabitants would indict every individual of living, and naturally bring about the inescapable prospect of death.  The absolute certitude of death’s arrival, and undeniable aspect that there would and could not be a single survivor engenders a trepidation that cannot rest in an individual’s soul alone, but must bounce out to the billions of other souls to be affected in the same way.  This network of dread could result as one of the most frightening of situations imaginable (only perhaps rivaled by a scenario in which every individual in the world would have to take a turn giving a five minute speech to the rest of the global population, and if one refused, the result would be death.  This to my mind would produce many deaths and suicides, as public speaking is inconceivably exalted in the minds of billions of people, only highlighting a combined dread of the self and others).

To the Garden, Epicurus?

Well let’s say we can’t handle the world.  And so, everything turns to shit.  Let’s retreat, party, don’t worry about the rest of the world.  High ideals must decay, yes, get outa that eroding palace in the sky, and loaf in the flourishing garden on the ground.  Don’t forget what’s going on though.  Make sure you look out from the inside.  Practice the arts, and cultivate the pleasures of the mind.  Keep it safe?  Up to you.  Flirt and even sniff danger, but guard against harm.

So we can’t alter some things.  And so, we must learn to control our emotions.  Channel them, use them like Cyclops uses his eye-beam.  Contained, yet able to summon intensity and calm when necessary.  By this you may find contentment if that is what you desire.  Let go of what you can’t control.  Mmrmrmrmrmrmrmrm……Decadence?  Culture?  Let’s dismantle.

Leave and travel. 

For Aren’t We All But Imaginary Numbers?

What of the I?  A placeholder.  A non sequitur disguised as that absolute and timeless logician.  Much more than autobiographical.  Perhaps more akin to the i, imaginary number, of mathematics.  For aren’t we all but imaginary numbers?  6.997 billion imaginary numbers trying to live real lives.  O please don’t degrade us to numbers!  We are so much more than that!  Blood, organs, cares, anxieties, fears, hairs, odors, taste buds, desires, feet, eyes, visions, thoughts a million, words, dignity, honor, connectors, dreamers, occupiers of space, owners and protectors of rights, affirmers, deniers, sweat, tears, blinks, tattoos, etc!  So c’mon.  But, let’s not be too idealistic shall we?