Okay, not totally sure yet.
But I'm thinking about this:
The God of reason is usually equated with the sun. This is how Apollo is talked about in Nietzsche (in contrast to Dionysus) and Jesus is often shown in the center of the sun, playing on the pun in English. Blake's creator god was also shown in the center of the sun with his compass in hand, measuring out the dimensions of the universe.
So, if the world of God, dualistically seen as seperate from this world, is the world of light and reason, then this world is the world of darkness, where we see with our vegetable forms, and according to Plato and Blake, we miss the bigger picture.
Elliot says, to let the dark come upon us, and that this is the way to discovery. He also says that the way up is the way down. So, if we can truly be here we will finally acheive the mysterious mental manuever of snatching the Kingdom of God from out the sky and slamming it down to earth: making it real and manifest in all things, because all things are contained here, in the rose: "a lifetime burning in every moment."
When we know this we have gnosis, recognizing the God Abraxas within us and without (with the double meaning of 'outside' and 'lacking'). Perhaps then we can know the wheel from the immovable hub, recognizing the unity of plerosis and kenosis, the yew tree and the rose. After that, Malloy and Mussert (both ghosts trapped in the illusion of the bardo, clinging to the past) can let go, see the remnants of the past in the present and fade, fade, fade away...
Friday, April 9, 2010
Mussert: prophet or putz?
I read James' blog about how Mussert is never really living and, to paraphrase "let one girl ruin his entire life."
I hadn't really thought of loathing the character, myself. Actually, I liked him, even found his bookish, sort of nerdy refusal to leave home, kind of endearing in a pathetic kind of way.
I did, however, see his problem with clinging to things which are already gone, or dead, his love life the former and latin and himself being the later.
BOth of my roommates have now enjoyed the book, after my ranting about it for an entire weekend, and they had some things to say on the subject.
Roommate 1:"He's such a self serving, snide little fuck."
"Snide?" I said, "Fuck?"
"At some point he even says he's practiced the art of getting people to leave him alone by using big words..."
"I remember that"
Roommate 2: "He makes fun of that chick's husband for being athletic just because he loathes the world outside his apartment."
Roommate 1: "Yea, I think she even says that he could stand a couple of situps."
"But he fades into universal oneness, embraces all casts all faces and all nations (to quote Wu Tang) and ascends to the level of the acceptant dead where there are all those colors and then the one, radiant, white light!"
Roommate 1: "Yea... but he's a fucker."
"???"
"Look, the fact that the one thing in his whole life he wants to spend any time thinking about is this brief affair with some woman, the climax of which is him tearing through playground, getting his ass beat by her husband only so that he can go into a depression because DIndia dies and he could never admit to himself that he found her attractive..."
So there you have it. It seems allot of people sort of hate Mussert. The man deffinetely has (had?) some problems, but I dont know. Does anyone else want to weigh in on this one? How did you like Mussert as a person? As a narrator?
I hadn't really thought of loathing the character, myself. Actually, I liked him, even found his bookish, sort of nerdy refusal to leave home, kind of endearing in a pathetic kind of way.
I did, however, see his problem with clinging to things which are already gone, or dead, his love life the former and latin and himself being the later.
BOth of my roommates have now enjoyed the book, after my ranting about it for an entire weekend, and they had some things to say on the subject.
Roommate 1:"He's such a self serving, snide little fuck."
"Snide?" I said, "Fuck?"
"At some point he even says he's practiced the art of getting people to leave him alone by using big words..."
"I remember that"
Roommate 2: "He makes fun of that chick's husband for being athletic just because he loathes the world outside his apartment."
Roommate 1: "Yea, I think she even says that he could stand a couple of situps."
"But he fades into universal oneness, embraces all casts all faces and all nations (to quote Wu Tang) and ascends to the level of the acceptant dead where there are all those colors and then the one, radiant, white light!"
Roommate 1: "Yea... but he's a fucker."
"???"
"Look, the fact that the one thing in his whole life he wants to spend any time thinking about is this brief affair with some woman, the climax of which is him tearing through playground, getting his ass beat by her husband only so that he can go into a depression because DIndia dies and he could never admit to himself that he found her attractive..."
So there you have it. It seems allot of people sort of hate Mussert. The man deffinetely has (had?) some problems, but I dont know. Does anyone else want to weigh in on this one? How did you like Mussert as a person? As a narrator?
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Christina's blog is off the chain!
Allright, as far as most influential blog overall, this is hard, one because they all offer so much and two because I, sadly, have not been really aware of all of them very long. Technology! A computer! -NOw there's something you can throw, Christina.
ANd with that I will say that, right now, the most influential blog I see is Christina's. Her blog on "THe three hour tour" in responce to what Sexton said about having only three hours to live, serves as a kind of reminder to me. NOt a reminder of my 'truest self' but of the state of illumination in general.
Shw writes:
"Even now, as I have no idea when my end (beginning??) will be, I have a sense of taking everything into myself. I used to be obsessed with the idea of capturing all the....beauty....the value of this world"
And I have known this feeling. Back before what I lovingly refer to as my own personal descent from grace, I experienced a period in which I shunned friends and social gathering, not from fear or lack of love, but for certain alchemical practices whereby I might have caught the burning embers of hell within my hand and cried out to the ebbing tounges of flame and called them roses.
I sat beneath a mulberry tree nightly, pouring all my attention into it, then focusing for long periods on putting all my attention into nothing: pointlessness, I would even sometimes walk the four acres of our ranch, in mimesis of the Islamic journey to Mecca, counting out three small steps before enacting a three part bow.
In this slow pointlessness I felt I could truly percieve the world.
She writes:
"It was, rather, a certain process. I would be struck by something....the exact light of a tree-branch lit by a street lamp....the quality of the sound of a single drop falling from an icicle into a mud puddle...the divinely infinite reflection of the sky on a street wet from recent rains. Rather than seek to capture it, memorize it, assimilate that vision into myself, I would identify it. I would give it the time and the attention it deserved in that moment, and having paid that spark what it was owed, I let it go."
In this state, the state of actual and raw experience, perhaps a portion of this is what Lear meant by "the thing itself" or 'the bare forked animal", we do not need to fit things into philosophies, capture with images or words, or even think a damn thing. This is Malloy sucking stones, but not in the kind of frenzied or obsessive sense, but a revrential sense of the innanity of life, the awareness expressed, not by Malloy, but by Beckett, who is aware of the whole P2c2E, creates it, spins it as a yarn out of nothing. He knows who malloy is, even if malloy doesn't, and we know who we are when we prostrate ourselves before the beautiful, take arms against despair and lift our hands to the sky.
Yes, this is not just personal realization, but apotheosis, a joining with the highest forces of the universe that exist behind the veil, bursting through the cracks with a radiance we only sometimes are capable of noticing.
But I see another parrallel here, and it is maybe less universal.
You see, I too would concern myself greatly with rather or not I was living fully, and would make sure my practices and secret rites were performed nightly, for the cult of Apollo was never my bag, and I would chastise myself if I missed a night for it constituted a lack of fidelity to the devine -the adultury against the holy by entering into the worldy that our Hebrew brothers spoke of.
At some point my practice wained, and I told myself that my impulses, all of them, were part of this world I was lifting.
I stopped being so goddamned highbrow in my practice of enjoying very mundane, or lowbrow, points of beauty in the world.
I accepted my impulses and in many ways became more whole for it. But this acceptance gradualy dimmed my radiant eyes, the edge of my knife grew duller, and in this spirituality I see the notion of the wheel of fortune. Samsara. Auroboros, or the more recent name: the eternal return.
Have any of you ever read THe Devine INvasion, by Phillip K Dick?
In it, a boy is born of Yahwey, who, in an attempt to avoid the satanic and tyranical government on earth, has been hiding out on a distant planet. The boy is Yahwey's spirit, or at least a part of him, and he is always saying that he "has come to bring a sword." That is, he is sick of that which is unholy in the world and wishes to bring about its destruction. But when he spends more time with a young woman, who is another devine emanation or aeon, he learns that all things are one. They see the beauty in all things, the most transcendent state. But then they even understand the purpose of the devil, and though they have locked him up, he turns into a cutesy wootsey little goat that they pick up out of the cage and admire. Her they are echoing Lao Tsu's idea that 'the high rest upon the low' or Jesus' idea that the kingdom of heaven is when the high becomes the low, and that this is the true kingdom of god. Of course when this happens satan escapes that he might again sow distrust and anguish in the hearts of men, leading to despotism, tyranny and another turn of the wheel.
ANd with that I will say that, right now, the most influential blog I see is Christina's. Her blog on "THe three hour tour" in responce to what Sexton said about having only three hours to live, serves as a kind of reminder to me. NOt a reminder of my 'truest self' but of the state of illumination in general.
Shw writes:
"Even now, as I have no idea when my end (beginning??) will be, I have a sense of taking everything into myself. I used to be obsessed with the idea of capturing all the....beauty....the value of this world"
And I have known this feeling. Back before what I lovingly refer to as my own personal descent from grace, I experienced a period in which I shunned friends and social gathering, not from fear or lack of love, but for certain alchemical practices whereby I might have caught the burning embers of hell within my hand and cried out to the ebbing tounges of flame and called them roses.
I sat beneath a mulberry tree nightly, pouring all my attention into it, then focusing for long periods on putting all my attention into nothing: pointlessness, I would even sometimes walk the four acres of our ranch, in mimesis of the Islamic journey to Mecca, counting out three small steps before enacting a three part bow.
In this slow pointlessness I felt I could truly percieve the world.
She writes:
"It was, rather, a certain process. I would be struck by something....the exact light of a tree-branch lit by a street lamp....the quality of the sound of a single drop falling from an icicle into a mud puddle...the divinely infinite reflection of the sky on a street wet from recent rains. Rather than seek to capture it, memorize it, assimilate that vision into myself, I would identify it. I would give it the time and the attention it deserved in that moment, and having paid that spark what it was owed, I let it go."
In this state, the state of actual and raw experience, perhaps a portion of this is what Lear meant by "the thing itself" or 'the bare forked animal", we do not need to fit things into philosophies, capture with images or words, or even think a damn thing. This is Malloy sucking stones, but not in the kind of frenzied or obsessive sense, but a revrential sense of the innanity of life, the awareness expressed, not by Malloy, but by Beckett, who is aware of the whole P2c2E, creates it, spins it as a yarn out of nothing. He knows who malloy is, even if malloy doesn't, and we know who we are when we prostrate ourselves before the beautiful, take arms against despair and lift our hands to the sky.
Yes, this is not just personal realization, but apotheosis, a joining with the highest forces of the universe that exist behind the veil, bursting through the cracks with a radiance we only sometimes are capable of noticing.
But I see another parrallel here, and it is maybe less universal.
You see, I too would concern myself greatly with rather or not I was living fully, and would make sure my practices and secret rites were performed nightly, for the cult of Apollo was never my bag, and I would chastise myself if I missed a night for it constituted a lack of fidelity to the devine -the adultury against the holy by entering into the worldy that our Hebrew brothers spoke of.
At some point my practice wained, and I told myself that my impulses, all of them, were part of this world I was lifting.
I stopped being so goddamned highbrow in my practice of enjoying very mundane, or lowbrow, points of beauty in the world.
I accepted my impulses and in many ways became more whole for it. But this acceptance gradualy dimmed my radiant eyes, the edge of my knife grew duller, and in this spirituality I see the notion of the wheel of fortune. Samsara. Auroboros, or the more recent name: the eternal return.
Have any of you ever read THe Devine INvasion, by Phillip K Dick?
In it, a boy is born of Yahwey, who, in an attempt to avoid the satanic and tyranical government on earth, has been hiding out on a distant planet. The boy is Yahwey's spirit, or at least a part of him, and he is always saying that he "has come to bring a sword." That is, he is sick of that which is unholy in the world and wishes to bring about its destruction. But when he spends more time with a young woman, who is another devine emanation or aeon, he learns that all things are one. They see the beauty in all things, the most transcendent state. But then they even understand the purpose of the devil, and though they have locked him up, he turns into a cutesy wootsey little goat that they pick up out of the cage and admire. Her they are echoing Lao Tsu's idea that 'the high rest upon the low' or Jesus' idea that the kingdom of heaven is when the high becomes the low, and that this is the true kingdom of god. Of course when this happens satan escapes that he might again sow distrust and anguish in the hearts of men, leading to despotism, tyranny and another turn of the wheel.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Alchemy, Gnosticism, Noteboom...
In Alchemy it was thought that purification through heat could turn base metals to gold. Some of the ancients also thought heavy metals like mercury could purify the body. Now we know they cause insanity. But there are still things we can learn from these ancient poetic expresions of truth. Though they are not always acurate representations of the world in a scientific sense, they are expressions of human thought, and metaphors for spiritual journey.
ever noticed when you salvage a bunch of pallets for a bonfire that the only thing recognizable from its original shape are the nails? The strongest, heartiest thing? Maybe our souls are like that, maybe they are as Plato says, indestructable, immutably pure and unhindered by the physical constraints the gnostics believed to be the cause of all our suffering, distraction etc. So should we all jump into a blazing inferno to dwell with the gods? No. Such a simplification is necesary in dualistic thought perhaps, but not in the modern world and not in Noteboom.
Noteboom knows the theories of transmutation and migration of the soul but will not leave off without giving us a modern interpretation of them. He denies an everlasting soul, claiming rather that his body will merge with all things, his illusory barriers seperating self from other will come down. He will nourish soil. He will feed crops with his cropse corpse.
Zach has an awesome blog in which he speaks on the pain of living, and compares the world to the matrix but is the point of alchemy really 'self knowledge', as in knowledge of the seeker, as apart form the world? Or is it harmonization with the world soul, all existence, including the physical parts, though the gnostics saw this as the part to be transcended, it is after all, the only part we pretend to be sure of, and likely the part that these spirit worlds are mirroring. And hey, wouldn't this kind of thinking transform the painful, changing world of birth and death into something beautiful, like turning lead to gold?
So, as relates to dualism in Nihlism, do we really need to condemn the physical world in which we live in order to reach a higher state of conciousness? Noteboom says no. In The Folowing Story we see that the alchemical purification is not a redemption that hates life (as is necesary under the tennents of dualism), but a union of life's ever changing forms under the recognition of it as a totality: the One God who, in gnosticism, was formed of 'profundity' and 'silence.' like the disapearance of the boat passenger's bodies (all but the eyes).
Ha!, speaking on the original God being silence: Word, according to wiki's article on gnosticism and aeons, dosn't even exist until its partner, man. So if you are looking for the language of the gods, and wish to eschew that of the demotic look no further, just shut the fuck up.
Fade like Noteboom.
And in twenty minutes, when doctor Sexton comes in with a gun, and asks you what you used your last moments on earth for, tell him you put your shoes away...
This acceptance of death is unltimately an acceptance of the conditions of life, of life itself. And I think that this is a spiritual version of the adaptations found in nature. These adaptations, Zach says: "allows for the perfect pattern of overlapping web of self-fulfillment. Everywhere in the world is found beautiful harmony, where one plant or animal has learned to live with and thrive off of the achievements of another species through a perfect expressive dance of love and sex and birth and death."
That being said, I will now be silent as the God, follow my own advice, shut up, crawl into bed and join the realm where all things are one because all of our language is, yes, I'm saying it, some six hundred pages of demotic drible... are dream interpreters and Joycean scholars alchemists?
ever noticed when you salvage a bunch of pallets for a bonfire that the only thing recognizable from its original shape are the nails? The strongest, heartiest thing? Maybe our souls are like that, maybe they are as Plato says, indestructable, immutably pure and unhindered by the physical constraints the gnostics believed to be the cause of all our suffering, distraction etc. So should we all jump into a blazing inferno to dwell with the gods? No. Such a simplification is necesary in dualistic thought perhaps, but not in the modern world and not in Noteboom.
Noteboom knows the theories of transmutation and migration of the soul but will not leave off without giving us a modern interpretation of them. He denies an everlasting soul, claiming rather that his body will merge with all things, his illusory barriers seperating self from other will come down. He will nourish soil. He will feed crops with his cropse corpse.
Zach has an awesome blog in which he speaks on the pain of living, and compares the world to the matrix but is the point of alchemy really 'self knowledge', as in knowledge of the seeker, as apart form the world? Or is it harmonization with the world soul, all existence, including the physical parts, though the gnostics saw this as the part to be transcended, it is after all, the only part we pretend to be sure of, and likely the part that these spirit worlds are mirroring. And hey, wouldn't this kind of thinking transform the painful, changing world of birth and death into something beautiful, like turning lead to gold?
So, as relates to dualism in Nihlism, do we really need to condemn the physical world in which we live in order to reach a higher state of conciousness? Noteboom says no. In The Folowing Story we see that the alchemical purification is not a redemption that hates life (as is necesary under the tennents of dualism), but a union of life's ever changing forms under the recognition of it as a totality: the One God who, in gnosticism, was formed of 'profundity' and 'silence.' like the disapearance of the boat passenger's bodies (all but the eyes).
Ha!, speaking on the original God being silence: Word, according to wiki's article on gnosticism and aeons, dosn't even exist until its partner, man. So if you are looking for the language of the gods, and wish to eschew that of the demotic look no further, just shut the fuck up.
Fade like Noteboom.
And in twenty minutes, when doctor Sexton comes in with a gun, and asks you what you used your last moments on earth for, tell him you put your shoes away...
This acceptance of death is unltimately an acceptance of the conditions of life, of life itself. And I think that this is a spiritual version of the adaptations found in nature. These adaptations, Zach says: "allows for the perfect pattern of overlapping web of self-fulfillment. Everywhere in the world is found beautiful harmony, where one plant or animal has learned to live with and thrive off of the achievements of another species through a perfect expressive dance of love and sex and birth and death."
That being said, I will now be silent as the God, follow my own advice, shut up, crawl into bed and join the realm where all things are one because all of our language is, yes, I'm saying it, some six hundred pages of demotic drible... are dream interpreters and Joycean scholars alchemists?
Monday, March 29, 2010
los drugas
Orsi makes a great point about drugs and how they are not neccesarily needed. The evidence that shaman/ vision seekers and mystics from each and every spiritual tradition have messed with whatever it was around that could introduce their minds to another state of being, often perceived as a different 'realm.' The Arabs ate hash, the Scythians smoked pot, avinida muscaria for everybody in Europe (there is even a picture of this mushroom on a fresco from Rome titled, 'the tree of life', so yea, maybe even Jesus was a shroom-head)... search for images on google.
But some Buddhist sects purport similar states of conciousnes just from sitting still for hours on end, and when the Lakota Suoix wanted to talk to the spirits they deprived themselves of sleep and sweated intensely, and when the Celts wanted to divine their next king they ate pounds of raw meat! Im sure, sleep deprivation and food poisoning can make you trip balls, probably the same state Mohamad was in (drug induced or not) when he ascended to heaven on the dome of the rock.
BUt what about just staying still and meditating? Could it be that when we merely stop distracting ourselves that we emerge into a kind of conciousnes not bound by normal rational rules of nature, but ones of symbolism, like those of the spirit world?
I think it is so, that we can all reach the prophetic state that Blake was so fond of, and, like Dorothy, we only need what we have to get us there -but dont make a drug your only ticket, that leads to a kind of spiritually justified dependence. And none of the ancients thought increased dependence on corporeal things was any good.
Instead, we ought to see stressed importance on drugs in spirituality as a kind of bastardization of a revolutionary state of mind, a castration of spirituality into the eunuch of blind consumerism. Borring. Dull. Predictable. But most importantly, and in the style of the water genie: sterile, impotent, degenerate, non-creative, lacking in: rigor, virility, potency, vitality, vigor, semen/vaginal fluid.
Hippies...
;)just kidding, not all of you.
But some Buddhist sects purport similar states of conciousnes just from sitting still for hours on end, and when the Lakota Suoix wanted to talk to the spirits they deprived themselves of sleep and sweated intensely, and when the Celts wanted to divine their next king they ate pounds of raw meat! Im sure, sleep deprivation and food poisoning can make you trip balls, probably the same state Mohamad was in (drug induced or not) when he ascended to heaven on the dome of the rock.
BUt what about just staying still and meditating? Could it be that when we merely stop distracting ourselves that we emerge into a kind of conciousnes not bound by normal rational rules of nature, but ones of symbolism, like those of the spirit world?
I think it is so, that we can all reach the prophetic state that Blake was so fond of, and, like Dorothy, we only need what we have to get us there -but dont make a drug your only ticket, that leads to a kind of spiritually justified dependence. And none of the ancients thought increased dependence on corporeal things was any good.
Instead, we ought to see stressed importance on drugs in spirituality as a kind of bastardization of a revolutionary state of mind, a castration of spirituality into the eunuch of blind consumerism. Borring. Dull. Predictable. But most importantly, and in the style of the water genie: sterile, impotent, degenerate, non-creative, lacking in: rigor, virility, potency, vitality, vigor, semen/vaginal fluid.
Hippies...
;)just kidding, not all of you.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
the matrix-what is it?
This site has a story that is freakin awesome.
http://www.followtheleader.ca/info/resources/poems/awakening.htm
This story calls attention to the kind of paridigms that are instilled in us from a young age. These are presupositions that everyone has within our minds, the notions and values that go without saying.
THese notions shape our world view and cause us to block out stimulus that doesn't fit our meta narrative for fear of having to find a new paradigm.
But this is how we grow.
In mythologies around the world, the trickster spirit is the only one capable of really teaching humans anything because they present them with a problem that doesnt fit the world view, causing us to either go into denial, or emerge into a large shell, as Hesse talks about in his novel, Demian.
It is this notion I want to talk about as concerns the matrix.
The Matrix is not merely the world the machines have created, but the world of man as well. As the Buddhists of the order-of-bendin'-spoons say: all is illusion, all is false.
Wiki, on Simulacra and Simulation: "“ The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth--it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true.[1]"
This reminds me of a story I read somewhere about the god of illusion and suffering, Mara. In the story, Mara and one of his consorts are walking down a city street. Mara and the follower pass an ascetic who is meditating on the sidewalk with a blissful smile.
"dosn't it bother you when you see a man experiencing epiphanies like that?" asks the evil disciple.
"No," says Mara confidently, "After the experience, people usually form a belief out of it."
IN other words, experience is what is real, not any kind of formed belief.
There is no spoon, yo!
Again, the wiki article:
Simulacra and Simulation identifies three types of simulacra and identifies each with a historical period:
First order, associated with the pre-modern period, where the image is clearly an artificial placemarker for the real item.
Second order, associated with the industrial Revolution, where distinctions between image and reality break down due to the proliferation of mass-produced copies. The item's ability to imitate reality threatens to replace the original version.
Third order, associated with the postmodern age, where the simulacrum precedes the original and the distinction between reality and representation breaks down. There is only the simulacrum.[2]
Here, in the real world, Plato's allegory of the cave is alive and kicking.
We all make haste not to actually live in the real world, not to actually
muse, but to be a-mused. That is, to sit before the wretched Television box and drool, zone out, space out, click off, go tarded. This is how we quiet our inner voices, our spirituality. Video games, my space and television are socially sanctioned versions of heroine in that they allow us to continue to exist without challenging out paradigms, without entering into the beauty of always becoming, of constant and never-ending awakening to the beauty of the dream. Like the bliss that Bill Murray finds is quite capable of making even the most maddening recurrence seem fresh and new.
A friend of mine once told me her parents told her that TV was created by aliens so that they could have the whole human race distracted whilst they scoop out man-brains with a spoon.
Strangely enough, I think this statement has allot of truth, .
http://www.followtheleader.ca/info/resources/poems/awakening.htm
This story calls attention to the kind of paridigms that are instilled in us from a young age. These are presupositions that everyone has within our minds, the notions and values that go without saying.
THese notions shape our world view and cause us to block out stimulus that doesn't fit our meta narrative for fear of having to find a new paradigm.
But this is how we grow.
In mythologies around the world, the trickster spirit is the only one capable of really teaching humans anything because they present them with a problem that doesnt fit the world view, causing us to either go into denial, or emerge into a large shell, as Hesse talks about in his novel, Demian.
It is this notion I want to talk about as concerns the matrix.
The Matrix is not merely the world the machines have created, but the world of man as well. As the Buddhists of the order-of-bendin'-spoons say: all is illusion, all is false.
Wiki, on Simulacra and Simulation: "“ The simulacrum is never that which conceals the truth--it is the truth which conceals that there is none. The simulacrum is true.[1]"
This reminds me of a story I read somewhere about the god of illusion and suffering, Mara. In the story, Mara and one of his consorts are walking down a city street. Mara and the follower pass an ascetic who is meditating on the sidewalk with a blissful smile.
"dosn't it bother you when you see a man experiencing epiphanies like that?" asks the evil disciple.
"No," says Mara confidently, "After the experience, people usually form a belief out of it."
IN other words, experience is what is real, not any kind of formed belief.
There is no spoon, yo!
Again, the wiki article:
Simulacra and Simulation identifies three types of simulacra and identifies each with a historical period:
First order, associated with the pre-modern period, where the image is clearly an artificial placemarker for the real item.
Second order, associated with the industrial Revolution, where distinctions between image and reality break down due to the proliferation of mass-produced copies. The item's ability to imitate reality threatens to replace the original version.
Third order, associated with the postmodern age, where the simulacrum precedes the original and the distinction between reality and representation breaks down. There is only the simulacrum.[2]
Here, in the real world, Plato's allegory of the cave is alive and kicking.
We all make haste not to actually live in the real world, not to actually
muse, but to be a-mused. That is, to sit before the wretched Television box and drool, zone out, space out, click off, go tarded. This is how we quiet our inner voices, our spirituality. Video games, my space and television are socially sanctioned versions of heroine in that they allow us to continue to exist without challenging out paradigms, without entering into the beauty of always becoming, of constant and never-ending awakening to the beauty of the dream. Like the bliss that Bill Murray finds is quite capable of making even the most maddening recurrence seem fresh and new.
A friend of mine once told me her parents told her that TV was created by aliens so that they could have the whole human race distracted whilst they scoop out man-brains with a spoon.
Strangely enough, I think this statement has allot of truth, .
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Gypsy Punks
http://new.music.yahoo.com/gogol-bordello/tracks/forces-of-victory--60939204 (the last one I had here sucked, sorry)
Samuel Beckett's whole, "i can't go on, I'll go on" thing is pretty awesome, and so is this bad ass song by Gogol Bordello. It repeats almost the same line over and over again in juxtaposition to statements about taking out dictators.
Here I think it is important to think of Malloy. He rests over his bike, merely occupying space, and has to deal with a self righteous pig questioning him as though he had no right to be old. "There is only one law, not two laws, one for the young and one for the old... one for the happy and one for the sad."
In other words: do what you're told no matter what, don't think, don't quest/ question, don't rest on the sidewalk your tax dollars helped pay for, or an asshole with a badge (whose salary your taxes also help pay for) will throw you in the pin, where you will be waiting for a Goddot, a reprieve, or a conjugal visit that will never, ever come.
The band is a gypsy punk band and I think the lyric has to do with some of the sadness of being, like the gypsys and Molloy (or whatever his real name is), down and out, wandering from place to place. The thing is that this state is also very sacred even though you have no money with which to bribe the cops, or, in America, to convince them you have somewhere to stay, and you might just go to jail for loitering.
It doesn't matter
One day, someway, those bastards are going down and I'll be laughing.
As the song says, "just as any king before/ will be on the floor."
It is only a matter of time before the wheels of fortune spin to another season and fate. Those who now are strong will one day blindly pull themselves through wood and marsh with crutches that are useless as anything but grapling hooks.
Samuel Beckett's whole, "i can't go on, I'll go on" thing is pretty awesome, and so is this bad ass song by Gogol Bordello. It repeats almost the same line over and over again in juxtaposition to statements about taking out dictators.
Here I think it is important to think of Malloy. He rests over his bike, merely occupying space, and has to deal with a self righteous pig questioning him as though he had no right to be old. "There is only one law, not two laws, one for the young and one for the old... one for the happy and one for the sad."
In other words: do what you're told no matter what, don't think, don't quest/ question, don't rest on the sidewalk your tax dollars helped pay for, or an asshole with a badge (whose salary your taxes also help pay for) will throw you in the pin, where you will be waiting for a Goddot, a reprieve, or a conjugal visit that will never, ever come.
The band is a gypsy punk band and I think the lyric has to do with some of the sadness of being, like the gypsys and Molloy (or whatever his real name is), down and out, wandering from place to place. The thing is that this state is also very sacred even though you have no money with which to bribe the cops, or, in America, to convince them you have somewhere to stay, and you might just go to jail for loitering.
It doesn't matter
One day, someway, those bastards are going down and I'll be laughing.
As the song says, "just as any king before/ will be on the floor."
It is only a matter of time before the wheels of fortune spin to another season and fate. Those who now are strong will one day blindly pull themselves through wood and marsh with crutches that are useless as anything but grapling hooks.
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