THE FIVE KEYS TO HAPPY HEALTH
(how to live long...and want to)
1) HUG - 50 times a day...at least once with a child.
2) LAUGH - 50 times a day...at least once at yourself.
3) FUCK - any day, any way.
4) RAISE YOUR VOICE - in excitement once a day, in righteous anger once a year.
5) EQUAL TIME FOR WORK AND PLAY - and always err in a frivolous way.*
The measure of success? The sweetness of your dreams.
*Passive entertainment and physical intimacy don't count toward playtime.
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Saturday, January 11, 2020
the fucking commandments
I will never again fuck with deception.
I will never again fuck with calculation.
I will never again fuck with barrier.*
I will never again fuck a lover over.**
I will never again fuck with fear.
*Take this one figuratively or literally, and with two grains of salt - we won't be able to live it fully until our contraceptive capacities are seamless, and until humynity can assure every newborn babe of lifelong unconditional loving.
**I so much wanted to say "womyn", and not just because a womyn inspired this literary dream. Yes, the universal "lover" is more correct, as wimyn are largely what our society has made them (that is to say, heartless mimics of male selfishness)...yet it's also true that wimyn have been more profoundly fucked over than men.
I will never again fuck with calculation.
I will never again fuck with barrier.*
I will never again fuck a lover over.**
I will never again fuck with fear.
*Take this one figuratively or literally, and with two grains of salt - we won't be able to live it fully until our contraceptive capacities are seamless, and until humynity can assure every newborn babe of lifelong unconditional loving.
**I so much wanted to say "womyn", and not just because a womyn inspired this literary dream. Yes, the universal "lover" is more correct, as wimyn are largely what our society has made them (that is to say, heartless mimics of male selfishness)...yet it's also true that wimyn have been more profoundly fucked over than men.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
life among the death-deniers
Someone i love will be dead very soon.
"Soon" is relative, of course. Her heart keeps on beating, as all around falls apart. Dementia has addled her, but in her own way she's still lucid. She might keep going for a year or more...but you'd be hard-pressed to find a doctor who would bet a day's (or an hour's) salary on that. She's knocked on death's door several times already. She's been alive on this space rock for less than a century...
But not very much less.
And black nothingness is coming for her.
The pain and uselessness of her life are so acute that she talks longingly of wanting to die. As much as that thought frightens me, i want to believe her. Would i "assist" her, if the law allowed? I truly don't know. Once or twice in my life, i've brushed against intensities of pain (physical and emotional) such that i could imagine wanting to die...so maybe at a certain point, death acceptance becomes easy.
When i dig down really deeply though, a part of me thinks all that is just conceit. For her, for myself, for anyone. When she says she wants to die, a part of me wants to shout, "Liar liar pants on fire"! It's too easy to project my own fears, i know, and yet...isn't death the one thing that unites us all? No two lives are just the same, yet every single death is. It's a black wall unlike any other. The one truly incomparable experience.
Or non-experience? Language, like life, comes to a certain point and then fails.
A doctor once talked with her about longevity, and the part determination plays. As she entered her nineties, she spoke of her determination to not die. Yet now, i almost want to call her on possible bullshit. If, as she says, she has only wanted to die for the past year, WHY IS SHE STILL HERE? She believed in determination when it kept her alive, yet now that she's determined to die...nothing?
Unless of course her pants actually are on fire, and deep down she can't truly commit to the death wish.
I'll share these thoughts with her. She likes it when i bust her balls.
Like me, my friend harbors no fantasies about an "afterlife". In a serious essay for serious people, i'm embarrassed to even mention that word. It's such a pathetic, cringingly obvious fantasy. If death is the most inevitable feature of human existence, is death-denial a close second? Yet perhaps in our current culture of alienation, our natural fear of death is magnified. Perhaps in a functional, balanced society, where people unselfishly loved and cared for everyone else, even the greatest darkness of all might have much less sting. Who knows what kind of people we would be were we immersed in unconditional security and love every day of our lives?
But we aren't. We live here...in the ultimate culture of death-denial. Despite many conspicuous dissenters, deniers are unequivocally the majority. How does that affect our perception of death? Certainly it amplifies the fear, even for those doing all the denying. To invest so much energy into denying something in the face of all rational evidence, endows that reality a singular power in the conscious (or subconscious). Let's invoke a primal image, then. Let's imagine a pre-agricultural, pre-hunting human over forty thousand years ago. Imagine her or his first experience of the death of a loved one. Trembling hands reaching out to poke a corpse...yet imagine how much less frightening that moment would be if our ancestor lived in a culture of death-acceptance (as she or he very likely did)? If all their life they had been shown death openly, and encouraged not to fear it? Imagine if instead of haunted, disturbed eyes at the scene of every death, they had only seen contented acceptance? Grieving yes, but quickly overtaken by happy remembrances?
If you lived in that kind of world, imagine how much less death might sting.
I think most people don't have any kind of big-picture grasp of how staggeringly bizarre death-denial is. None of us have ever known any other reality, so the mind-blowing strangeness never crosses our mind. But let's think about it in contrast to the other most elemental human experiences. What are they? Only half of us (or less) give birth. Most of us (but not all) fuck. The only universals, then? We breathe, we consume, we make waste, and we die. Breath, consumption, waste, death.
Imagine that people started denying the inevitability of breath. What would happen? They would all die within a few minutes (and probably lose the deposit on the hall).
Imagine that people started denying the inevitability of consumption. The water deniers would be dead within two weeks. A handful of the food deniers might last another month.
Imagine that people started denying the inevitability of waste. I won't go into specifics, since i can't get a clear medical answer on whether it's possible to not-pee or not-poop yourself to death. But can we at least agree that the non-peeers and poopers would become so incapacitated that they would have to cancel their telethon, and the movement (Ha! Movement! Get it?) would die out.
One might think that the death-deniers would have an equally hard time convincing anyone they're sane. I mean, death is all around us, yes? And no one who is dead for more than a minute or two comes back - ever. But no, these death-deniers are so clever (or the rest of us so dishwater dumb) that they keep on getting away with telling us that that child who just had his sleep (and life) interrupted by his bed burning up with him in it, ISN'T ACTUALLY DEAD. Huh? Hey abercrombie, the only thing left is an ashy skeleton! Death-deniers put any magician to shame, without even using misdirection. They invite you to look at the corpse...prod it, jolt it, slice it, fertilize it if you like, and they'll still convince some of us that that person did not die. Nope, never happened. Not dead, just gone. And now for my next trick...
So...
If we can't even get everyone to agree on breath/consumption/waste/death, how in the name of sanity are we going to get the world to agree that sharing is better than hoarding, talking is better than killing, and Star Trek is better than Star Wars?
Death-denial is not some inevitable facet of human nature. It's easy to think that it might be, again because we're so removed from the big picture. To some extent, the fear of death is probably natural...but death-denial could only thrive in an epoch of the most barbaric, degraded violence against others and ourselves, and that is precisely where humanity finds itself. The deprivation that the invention of private property begat, the violence that the advent of pastoral domestication begat, the crippling loss of free time that the advent of agriculture begat, the self-loathing superstitions and predations that these multitudes of miseries begat...humanity is in the middle of a perfect storm of species-wide disasters that happened far too slowly for anyone to notice or do anything about. And it will take another century or two before we've recovered our humanity enough for all of us to see the preposterousness of death-denial for what it is.
When i started writing this piece, i had a flash of bringing dazzling research to bear - death quotes, statistics, poetry...
But then i realized what a pathetic tap dance that would be - trying to impress you, or even myself. It would also be a disservice to reality, for just as nothing is more absolute than death, so too is almost nothing so unpredictable. When our day comes, we will face the end with only our naked self. So how could i make these words anything other than ME...naked words, naked thoughts, naked helplessness? Death will come, and we know not when...though that's actually one of the few realities that we ARE able to cheat (and escalating numbers choose to avail themselves). Here's an interesting angle on taking one's life - for some, it's perhaps the ultimate manifestation of "control issues". Aside from fear and selfishness, the anti-social need for control is one of the chief sicknesses of our time. And what more pure assertion of control, than choosing the moment and method of one's demise? For those who can't take that saner-than-you-think option, we trudge on knowing that we cannot know. When? Where? How?? If we're honest, we have to accept that even the healthiest, securest human is guaranteed...another minute or two at most. As you or i sit or stand at this very second, in less than one minute our life could be nothing but a memory (in someone else's crappy, barbarian brain).
All you're really guaranteed at any given moment are a few seconds.
Sweet dreams tonight, as you lie there with death's arms ready to enfold you...
And if we're truly willing to not bullshit ourselves, to stand in the light of what we KNOW, to strip away all the layers of vanity and conceit we spend a lifetime building, to be COMPLETELY NAKED with our biological truth, there is ZERO EVIDENCE that death is anything other than purest, absolutest nothing. We keep searching for some scientific evidence to the contrary...and every single hopeful hypothesis falls flat. Do you really think, with how insanely clever we are, that if there were any evidence, we wouldn't have found it already? Do you really think that?
But the greater the need for an escape mechanism, the less one cares about rationality. Anyone here not think that escaping reality is currently the number one human activity? And human arrogance, like fear, is at present almost immeasurably unbounded.
Of course our gods promise immortality.
Of COURSE they do.
How can we be sure that immortality dreams are the most tawdry wishful thinking ever thunked? Add up all the books written on the human "soul", then add up all the books written on the immortality of, say, grass. In that elusive big picture, there is zero biological difference between us and grass. Yet i'd venture to say there has never been a single book written on grass immortality.
Okay, maybe some cheeky, half-sane buddhist cranked one out.
But i'll be honest, dear friend, as you stare at your ceiling fan.
I'm afraid.
You're the one who's dying, and i'm afraid.
My chest tightens when i think about your death. Or my own.
Am i MORE afraid of death than all the deniers, because i reject the opiate of faith? Maybe. Maybe probably? I'm truly not sure. I don't want to be like all the mindless fools who spend a lifetime running. I want to live with my fear...wrap myself in it, feel the pure nothingness i will one day be, then see if i can come out the other side, still alive, but...
Less afraid? I'm not sure even i can overcome those walls of reality avoidance.
Can someone not dying truly understand what the dying know? Nor do i imagine they KNOW anything. My rational mind assures me there's no such thing as "near-death clarity". The only choices our culture leaves us then, are self-delusion, self-annihilation, or crapping-in-your-pants fear. If you've found a fourth, more comfortable option, you're smarter than the average bear.
Or perhaps just as smart as the average bear.
Is death-denial insane? Of course. And if you walk that path, you will find exactly what you seek.
Right up until the moment you die.
As i come to the end of this piece, the back of my mind searches for the perfect literary device with which to finish.
But no device can put death in its place.
There's only nothingness.
Is it here yet?
No? So go take your lucky self and be alive.
For a minute anyway.
Did i mention how much i love you?
"Soon" is relative, of course. Her heart keeps on beating, as all around falls apart. Dementia has addled her, but in her own way she's still lucid. She might keep going for a year or more...but you'd be hard-pressed to find a doctor who would bet a day's (or an hour's) salary on that. She's knocked on death's door several times already. She's been alive on this space rock for less than a century...
But not very much less.
And black nothingness is coming for her.
The pain and uselessness of her life are so acute that she talks longingly of wanting to die. As much as that thought frightens me, i want to believe her. Would i "assist" her, if the law allowed? I truly don't know. Once or twice in my life, i've brushed against intensities of pain (physical and emotional) such that i could imagine wanting to die...so maybe at a certain point, death acceptance becomes easy.
When i dig down really deeply though, a part of me thinks all that is just conceit. For her, for myself, for anyone. When she says she wants to die, a part of me wants to shout, "Liar liar pants on fire"! It's too easy to project my own fears, i know, and yet...isn't death the one thing that unites us all? No two lives are just the same, yet every single death is. It's a black wall unlike any other. The one truly incomparable experience.
Or non-experience? Language, like life, comes to a certain point and then fails.
A doctor once talked with her about longevity, and the part determination plays. As she entered her nineties, she spoke of her determination to not die. Yet now, i almost want to call her on possible bullshit. If, as she says, she has only wanted to die for the past year, WHY IS SHE STILL HERE? She believed in determination when it kept her alive, yet now that she's determined to die...nothing?
Unless of course her pants actually are on fire, and deep down she can't truly commit to the death wish.
I'll share these thoughts with her. She likes it when i bust her balls.
Like me, my friend harbors no fantasies about an "afterlife". In a serious essay for serious people, i'm embarrassed to even mention that word. It's such a pathetic, cringingly obvious fantasy. If death is the most inevitable feature of human existence, is death-denial a close second? Yet perhaps in our current culture of alienation, our natural fear of death is magnified. Perhaps in a functional, balanced society, where people unselfishly loved and cared for everyone else, even the greatest darkness of all might have much less sting. Who knows what kind of people we would be were we immersed in unconditional security and love every day of our lives?
But we aren't. We live here...in the ultimate culture of death-denial. Despite many conspicuous dissenters, deniers are unequivocally the majority. How does that affect our perception of death? Certainly it amplifies the fear, even for those doing all the denying. To invest so much energy into denying something in the face of all rational evidence, endows that reality a singular power in the conscious (or subconscious). Let's invoke a primal image, then. Let's imagine a pre-agricultural, pre-hunting human over forty thousand years ago. Imagine her or his first experience of the death of a loved one. Trembling hands reaching out to poke a corpse...yet imagine how much less frightening that moment would be if our ancestor lived in a culture of death-acceptance (as she or he very likely did)? If all their life they had been shown death openly, and encouraged not to fear it? Imagine if instead of haunted, disturbed eyes at the scene of every death, they had only seen contented acceptance? Grieving yes, but quickly overtaken by happy remembrances?
If you lived in that kind of world, imagine how much less death might sting.
I think most people don't have any kind of big-picture grasp of how staggeringly bizarre death-denial is. None of us have ever known any other reality, so the mind-blowing strangeness never crosses our mind. But let's think about it in contrast to the other most elemental human experiences. What are they? Only half of us (or less) give birth. Most of us (but not all) fuck. The only universals, then? We breathe, we consume, we make waste, and we die. Breath, consumption, waste, death.
Imagine that people started denying the inevitability of breath. What would happen? They would all die within a few minutes (and probably lose the deposit on the hall).
Imagine that people started denying the inevitability of consumption. The water deniers would be dead within two weeks. A handful of the food deniers might last another month.
Imagine that people started denying the inevitability of waste. I won't go into specifics, since i can't get a clear medical answer on whether it's possible to not-pee or not-poop yourself to death. But can we at least agree that the non-peeers and poopers would become so incapacitated that they would have to cancel their telethon, and the movement (Ha! Movement! Get it?) would die out.
One might think that the death-deniers would have an equally hard time convincing anyone they're sane. I mean, death is all around us, yes? And no one who is dead for more than a minute or two comes back - ever. But no, these death-deniers are so clever (or the rest of us so dishwater dumb) that they keep on getting away with telling us that that child who just had his sleep (and life) interrupted by his bed burning up with him in it, ISN'T ACTUALLY DEAD. Huh? Hey abercrombie, the only thing left is an ashy skeleton! Death-deniers put any magician to shame, without even using misdirection. They invite you to look at the corpse...prod it, jolt it, slice it, fertilize it if you like, and they'll still convince some of us that that person did not die. Nope, never happened. Not dead, just gone. And now for my next trick...
So...
If we can't even get everyone to agree on breath/consumption/waste/death, how in the name of sanity are we going to get the world to agree that sharing is better than hoarding, talking is better than killing, and Star Trek is better than Star Wars?
Death-denial is not some inevitable facet of human nature. It's easy to think that it might be, again because we're so removed from the big picture. To some extent, the fear of death is probably natural...but death-denial could only thrive in an epoch of the most barbaric, degraded violence against others and ourselves, and that is precisely where humanity finds itself. The deprivation that the invention of private property begat, the violence that the advent of pastoral domestication begat, the crippling loss of free time that the advent of agriculture begat, the self-loathing superstitions and predations that these multitudes of miseries begat...humanity is in the middle of a perfect storm of species-wide disasters that happened far too slowly for anyone to notice or do anything about. And it will take another century or two before we've recovered our humanity enough for all of us to see the preposterousness of death-denial for what it is.
When i started writing this piece, i had a flash of bringing dazzling research to bear - death quotes, statistics, poetry...
But then i realized what a pathetic tap dance that would be - trying to impress you, or even myself. It would also be a disservice to reality, for just as nothing is more absolute than death, so too is almost nothing so unpredictable. When our day comes, we will face the end with only our naked self. So how could i make these words anything other than ME...naked words, naked thoughts, naked helplessness? Death will come, and we know not when...though that's actually one of the few realities that we ARE able to cheat (and escalating numbers choose to avail themselves). Here's an interesting angle on taking one's life - for some, it's perhaps the ultimate manifestation of "control issues". Aside from fear and selfishness, the anti-social need for control is one of the chief sicknesses of our time. And what more pure assertion of control, than choosing the moment and method of one's demise? For those who can't take that saner-than-you-think option, we trudge on knowing that we cannot know. When? Where? How?? If we're honest, we have to accept that even the healthiest, securest human is guaranteed...another minute or two at most. As you or i sit or stand at this very second, in less than one minute our life could be nothing but a memory (in someone else's crappy, barbarian brain).
All you're really guaranteed at any given moment are a few seconds.
Sweet dreams tonight, as you lie there with death's arms ready to enfold you...
And if we're truly willing to not bullshit ourselves, to stand in the light of what we KNOW, to strip away all the layers of vanity and conceit we spend a lifetime building, to be COMPLETELY NAKED with our biological truth, there is ZERO EVIDENCE that death is anything other than purest, absolutest nothing. We keep searching for some scientific evidence to the contrary...and every single hopeful hypothesis falls flat. Do you really think, with how insanely clever we are, that if there were any evidence, we wouldn't have found it already? Do you really think that?
But the greater the need for an escape mechanism, the less one cares about rationality. Anyone here not think that escaping reality is currently the number one human activity? And human arrogance, like fear, is at present almost immeasurably unbounded.
Of course our gods promise immortality.
Of COURSE they do.
How can we be sure that immortality dreams are the most tawdry wishful thinking ever thunked? Add up all the books written on the human "soul", then add up all the books written on the immortality of, say, grass. In that elusive big picture, there is zero biological difference between us and grass. Yet i'd venture to say there has never been a single book written on grass immortality.
Okay, maybe some cheeky, half-sane buddhist cranked one out.
But i'll be honest, dear friend, as you stare at your ceiling fan.
I'm afraid.
You're the one who's dying, and i'm afraid.
My chest tightens when i think about your death. Or my own.
Am i MORE afraid of death than all the deniers, because i reject the opiate of faith? Maybe. Maybe probably? I'm truly not sure. I don't want to be like all the mindless fools who spend a lifetime running. I want to live with my fear...wrap myself in it, feel the pure nothingness i will one day be, then see if i can come out the other side, still alive, but...
Less afraid? I'm not sure even i can overcome those walls of reality avoidance.
Can someone not dying truly understand what the dying know? Nor do i imagine they KNOW anything. My rational mind assures me there's no such thing as "near-death clarity". The only choices our culture leaves us then, are self-delusion, self-annihilation, or crapping-in-your-pants fear. If you've found a fourth, more comfortable option, you're smarter than the average bear.
Or perhaps just as smart as the average bear.
Is death-denial insane? Of course. And if you walk that path, you will find exactly what you seek.
Right up until the moment you die.
As i come to the end of this piece, the back of my mind searches for the perfect literary device with which to finish.
But no device can put death in its place.
There's only nothingness.
Is it here yet?
No? So go take your lucky self and be alive.
For a minute anyway.
Did i mention how much i love you?
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
two miracles
My father grouses about the fact that people don't pick up street pennies anymore. But it's just mental calculus. Without thinking, we all calculate how much a penny will enhance our life, compared to the time spent bending over, retrieving, and storing. If we see someone grabbing a street penny, it's a curiosity, isn't it?
And the calculus extends...most people who become well-off reach a point where they don't bend over for coins of any sort. Having been a self-sufficient non-materialist all my life, i've always danced on the balance between knowing what i need to make to live, set against how much of my life i'm willing to sacrifice on the wage-earning altar. I've been very aware of my mental calculus lately. In cities, street coins are common, but when you're a biker, the calculus changes. Stopping for a coin can take time, even minutes if you factor in traffic lights. If i'm walking, i'll snap up anything silver. But i've realized that a quarter is the only guaranteed stop for me as a biker. Dimes depend on my mood. Nickels, forget it.
And the calculus extends...most people who become rich reach a point where they don't even bend over for a stray bill. They know how much their time is worth, and snapping up dollar bills, even if they did it all day, would be a bottom line loss.
And the calculus extends...hypothetically, there are the ultra-rich who wouldn't even bend over for a thousand-dollar bill. In terms of their ledgers, that nine seconds would be utterly wasted. For others, that bill represents a week's labor. Or a month's. Or a year's...
My point is not merely the insanity of our market economy, which absolutely requires that there be poor people. There is no "ideal capitalism" in which everyone gets what they need. It has never, and can never, happen. If you want to be rich, someone has to be poor. Corporate capitalism goes further, and requires not just inequity, but horrific deprivation.
My point is how this turns us all into instinctive commodifiers. We make these calculations over street money, with zero conscious thought - a precise mirror for how we treat people. When a new person comes into our life, we instantly size them up as potential friend, lover, or associate. And we proceed to court or ignore them, based on those largely subconscious, surface calculations. How will a given person enhance our status, security, or happiness? It becomes a metric of trade-offs. Potential reward versus possible rejection. Exciting versus annoying. Societal approval versus personal growth. Libidinous satisfaction versus social censure. Brilliance by association versus being second (or fifth) banana.
We commodify everything and everyone around us.
Are you comfortable with your worth being both random (based on fad or fashion) and tenuous, with all sorts of valuations (aging, illness/injury, the behavior of those you associate with) entirely out of your control? Of course not. No sane person is comfortable having their life reduced to their surface characteristics. And everyone knows that sting of rejection which feels howlingly unfair.
Even though deep down we all know you CAN judge a book (or person) by its cover with at least 99% accuracy, that 1% is a mindfuck in which all sorts of traumatic, life-altering shit swirls.
In theory, some of this sounds like it shouldn't be so bad. It almost sounds like it makes sense. With sex, and our constant search for "the one", it's almost tempting to think that eventually people who are perfect for each other will FIND each other. And then all the rejecting and sacrifice will make sense. Never mind the unending alleys of loneliness and false hope. Eventually, all systems tend toward equilibrium, and people, whether in friendship or love or business, will find those who balance them?
It's so tempting to think that's true.
But it's not. At any moment in our life we might be more happy or less happy, but in this culture, fear of loss is our only guaranteed lifetime companion.
And deep down, we hate that, we don't understand it, we cannot make it MAKE SENSE.
Is it all capitalism's fault?
Yeah, pretty much. Or on a deeper level, it's the fault of a poison which got into humyn consciousness around the time that agriculture gave us something we'd never known before - surplus stuff. Valuables (in this case, food) in piles larger than we could possibly need at the time.
In response, someone stood up and said, "That pile is MINE."
Humynity has been a descending shit spiral ever since.
Is it too late to spiral back up? I sure hope not. The feelers among us, those who don't get crushed or go insane or kill themselves, they do keep trying, don't they? Even the non-feelers are not so thoroughly mercenary as i've described. Our basic humyn nature is social. Our basic nature understands that to help others is to help ourselves. At heart, we are silly, sharing monkeys, and even the worst of us never dreamed of becoming selfish adults. Most of us, even in the most disastrous moments of our lives, try to not hurt others.
But the calculus of how much we've destroyed our world, and other animals, and the essentially playful, loving spirit of every humyn traveler on this rock, went way past apocalyptic a long, long time ago. If our grandchildren are to survive at all, we're going to need two kinds of miracle - technological and moral. By our standards, the first should actually be easy. The second, we've never seen.
But i'm not about to give up.
I love you all.
And the calculus extends...most people who become well-off reach a point where they don't bend over for coins of any sort. Having been a self-sufficient non-materialist all my life, i've always danced on the balance between knowing what i need to make to live, set against how much of my life i'm willing to sacrifice on the wage-earning altar. I've been very aware of my mental calculus lately. In cities, street coins are common, but when you're a biker, the calculus changes. Stopping for a coin can take time, even minutes if you factor in traffic lights. If i'm walking, i'll snap up anything silver. But i've realized that a quarter is the only guaranteed stop for me as a biker. Dimes depend on my mood. Nickels, forget it.
And the calculus extends...most people who become rich reach a point where they don't even bend over for a stray bill. They know how much their time is worth, and snapping up dollar bills, even if they did it all day, would be a bottom line loss.
And the calculus extends...hypothetically, there are the ultra-rich who wouldn't even bend over for a thousand-dollar bill. In terms of their ledgers, that nine seconds would be utterly wasted. For others, that bill represents a week's labor. Or a month's. Or a year's...
My point is not merely the insanity of our market economy, which absolutely requires that there be poor people. There is no "ideal capitalism" in which everyone gets what they need. It has never, and can never, happen. If you want to be rich, someone has to be poor. Corporate capitalism goes further, and requires not just inequity, but horrific deprivation.
My point is how this turns us all into instinctive commodifiers. We make these calculations over street money, with zero conscious thought - a precise mirror for how we treat people. When a new person comes into our life, we instantly size them up as potential friend, lover, or associate. And we proceed to court or ignore them, based on those largely subconscious, surface calculations. How will a given person enhance our status, security, or happiness? It becomes a metric of trade-offs. Potential reward versus possible rejection. Exciting versus annoying. Societal approval versus personal growth. Libidinous satisfaction versus social censure. Brilliance by association versus being second (or fifth) banana.
We commodify everything and everyone around us.
Are you comfortable with your worth being both random (based on fad or fashion) and tenuous, with all sorts of valuations (aging, illness/injury, the behavior of those you associate with) entirely out of your control? Of course not. No sane person is comfortable having their life reduced to their surface characteristics. And everyone knows that sting of rejection which feels howlingly unfair.
Even though deep down we all know you CAN judge a book (or person) by its cover with at least 99% accuracy, that 1% is a mindfuck in which all sorts of traumatic, life-altering shit swirls.
In theory, some of this sounds like it shouldn't be so bad. It almost sounds like it makes sense. With sex, and our constant search for "the one", it's almost tempting to think that eventually people who are perfect for each other will FIND each other. And then all the rejecting and sacrifice will make sense. Never mind the unending alleys of loneliness and false hope. Eventually, all systems tend toward equilibrium, and people, whether in friendship or love or business, will find those who balance them?
It's so tempting to think that's true.
But it's not. At any moment in our life we might be more happy or less happy, but in this culture, fear of loss is our only guaranteed lifetime companion.
And deep down, we hate that, we don't understand it, we cannot make it MAKE SENSE.
Is it all capitalism's fault?
Yeah, pretty much. Or on a deeper level, it's the fault of a poison which got into humyn consciousness around the time that agriculture gave us something we'd never known before - surplus stuff. Valuables (in this case, food) in piles larger than we could possibly need at the time.
In response, someone stood up and said, "That pile is MINE."
Humynity has been a descending shit spiral ever since.
Is it too late to spiral back up? I sure hope not. The feelers among us, those who don't get crushed or go insane or kill themselves, they do keep trying, don't they? Even the non-feelers are not so thoroughly mercenary as i've described. Our basic humyn nature is social. Our basic nature understands that to help others is to help ourselves. At heart, we are silly, sharing monkeys, and even the worst of us never dreamed of becoming selfish adults. Most of us, even in the most disastrous moments of our lives, try to not hurt others.
But the calculus of how much we've destroyed our world, and other animals, and the essentially playful, loving spirit of every humyn traveler on this rock, went way past apocalyptic a long, long time ago. If our grandchildren are to survive at all, we're going to need two kinds of miracle - technological and moral. By our standards, the first should actually be easy. The second, we've never seen.
But i'm not about to give up.
I love you all.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
two chairs with thoreau
“Be yourself - not your idea of what you think somebody else's idea of yourself should be.”
-henry david thoreau
On March 12th, i was the exact age thoreau was when he died.
Often when i relate this to someone, they'll assume i mean that thoreau was forty-four when he died, so on March 12th i turned forty-four?
No. Stick with me, we have a higher standard here. As i became aware i was nearing the age he died, i calculated how many years, months, weeks, and days old he was his life ended. I then calculated on which date i would be that age. I'd never been to Walden Pond, and realized there could never be a more pilgrimage-perfect moment. This was to be the second such commemoration of my life, the first being at the Dakota for john lennon (in that case, i even timed it down to the minute - http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2008/07/mr-wheat.html). The prospect of a pilgrimage made me think this might become the second in a series - years ahead are jim henson, and decades ahead kurt vonnegut. Perhaps twain? Seuss?
-"If thy neighbor hail thee to inquire how goes the world, feel thyself put to thy trumps to return a true and explicit answer. Plant the feet firmly, and, will he nill he, dole out to him with strict and conscientious impartiality his modicum of a response."
I boarded a bus to Boston. A short commuter train ride further would find me in Concord. The pilgrimage was almost aborted when a metro worker with the best of intentions told me there was no way i could make it back in time for the return bus (this was the second time that day a public servant turned out to have no idea what they were talking about). Fortunately, i said "missed buses be damned".
-"Our charitable institutions are an insult to humanity. A charity which dispenses the crumbs that fall from its overloaded tables, which are left after its feasts!"
I arrived in Concord and set out for the pond on foot, having been told it would take half an hour or less. I soon realized that as a big city biker for the better part of a decade, i'd lost touch with the connectedness one feels when traveling by foot, a lesson that seemed particularly germane to the day's errand.
In the previous months, i'd read more thoreau than ever before (three weeks of attempting his journals were like swimming in congealing gelatin). For what it's worth, he's perhaps one of the few writers of whom you don't need to read any full book to appreciate - highlights and quotes might suffice. But the words of WALDEN swirled in my consciousness...i considered the possibility that i might arrive on the day the pond's ice started to break, creating the unearthly noises he described so compellingly (alas, i didn't).
As i neared the area, i realized that i would probably have as much solitude as i wished - the three or four small parking lots were almost entirely empty. I came to the visitor center/gift shop. Determined to not be a cynical poop (until such should be merited), i went in. I had a genial conversation with the clerk, who assured me he'd never heard of a pilgrimage timed in such a way as mine. I looked through the discount T-shirt rack, mostly because i wanted to leave the conservancy some monetary token. I had a quiet (or perhaps not so quiet) chuckle at the unintentional irony in the vending of a shirt that reads "Beware of any enterprise that requires a change of clothes".
-“There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root.”
I continued on.
The pond was larger than i'd imagined. I surmised i might be pressed to get back to Boston on time if i walked the circumference...but again knew which choice was the right one.
-"All this worldly wisdom was once the unamiable heresy of some wise man."
The ice had thawed enough to leave a two-foot gap around the edge. I dipped my hands in. So beautiful. I'd been nervous about that, knowing that the pond had become quite polluted before a reclamation project in the 90s. I didn't imagine it would ever again be as henry knew it...water more than a hundred feet deep so clear you could see the bottom in almost every part...but it was humbling to know how well the curators had done their work. In the one area of deeper visibility i found, the clarity was unlike any pond i'd ever seen.
-“Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up."
There was still a blanket of snow through the woods. As i followed the several-mile trail, i met only seven or so strangers, most at the very end. The cabin area itself was beautifully done, a testament to simplicity. There was no reconstruction, simply concrete blocks outlining the area, plus a commemorative pile of small stones brought by pilgrims.
In an unintentional coincidence, my own new little home is almost exactly the size of the cabin - with exactly the same number of chairs.
-“I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.”
Lost in serenity and the simplicity of being, it was a day for silence. Henry would have approved. When i finally turned to leave the pond, i passed two women who were merrily singing in some foreign tongue. He would have liked that too, immeasurably more than any conclave of babbling brainiacs. There was no more perfect sound to him than a bird in song.
-"I have just been through the process of killing the cistudo (tortoise) for the sake of science; but i cannot excuse myself for this murder, and see that such actions are inconsistent with the poetic perception, however they may serve science, and will affect the quality of my observations. I pray that I may walk more innocently and serenely through nature. No reasoning whatever reconciles me to this act. It affects my day injuriously. I have lost some self-respect. I have a murderer's experience in a degree."
When i was a youth, thoreau's words touched me deeply. It might be hard to overstate how much his thoughts on living simply and civil disobedience informed the person i was becoming. In revisiting his words, there is no shortage of examples in which my life has been an extension of his. Also obvious is how his own life had been an extension of eastern philosophy. When i finally sat on a very late bus back to New York, it occurred to me that my life might be held up as one of the most thoreauvian you'll ever meet. I even imagined participating in a worldwide most-alike contest. That last thought might be a conceit that wouldn't bear too much scrutiny. There are certainly areas in which henry and i diverge...his journey into transcendentalism little resembles my secular exploration of human barbarity. Yet in terms of manifesting his essential message on how one ought live...the embrace of authenticity, the rejection of materialism...even life details and words of his that i'd never encountered to as a youth, are often an almost ridiculously-accurate mirror of who i am.
Of course, henry himself said that we only learn that which we already half-know.
-"Perhaps I am more than usually jealous of my freedom. I feel that my connections with and obligations to society are at present very slight and transient. Those slight labors which afford me a livelihood, and by which I am serviceable to my contemporaries, are as yet a pleasure to me, and I am not often reminded that they are a necessity. So far I am successful, and only he is successful in his business who makes that pursuit which affords the highest pleasure sustain him. But i foresee that if my wants should become much increased the labor required to supply them would become a drudgery. If I should sell both my forenoons and afternoons to society, neglecting my peculiar calling, there would be nothing left worth living for. I trust that i shall never thus sell my birthright for a mess of pottage."
So today, i've collected for you the fruits of my return to those words that once filled my youthful spirit with longing and purpose. Quotes that either moved me then, or would have. Very occasionally, words trigger some deep, elemental recognition. This ultimately, is the greatest gift a writer can offer.
This ultimately, is the only reason a writer ought write.
-"How many there are who advise you to print! How few who advise you to lead a more interior life! In the one case there is all the world to advise you, in the other there is none to advise you but yourself. Nobody ever advised me not to print but myself. The public persuade the author to print, as the meadow invites the brook to fall into it. Only he can be trusted with gifts who can present a face of bronze to expectation."
Thank you, henry david.
-henry david thoreau
On March 12th, i was the exact age thoreau was when he died.
Often when i relate this to someone, they'll assume i mean that thoreau was forty-four when he died, so on March 12th i turned forty-four?
No. Stick with me, we have a higher standard here. As i became aware i was nearing the age he died, i calculated how many years, months, weeks, and days old he was his life ended. I then calculated on which date i would be that age. I'd never been to Walden Pond, and realized there could never be a more pilgrimage-perfect moment. This was to be the second such commemoration of my life, the first being at the Dakota for john lennon (in that case, i even timed it down to the minute - http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2008/07/mr-wheat.html). The prospect of a pilgrimage made me think this might become the second in a series - years ahead are jim henson, and decades ahead kurt vonnegut. Perhaps twain? Seuss?
-"If thy neighbor hail thee to inquire how goes the world, feel thyself put to thy trumps to return a true and explicit answer. Plant the feet firmly, and, will he nill he, dole out to him with strict and conscientious impartiality his modicum of a response."
I boarded a bus to Boston. A short commuter train ride further would find me in Concord. The pilgrimage was almost aborted when a metro worker with the best of intentions told me there was no way i could make it back in time for the return bus (this was the second time that day a public servant turned out to have no idea what they were talking about). Fortunately, i said "missed buses be damned".
-"Our charitable institutions are an insult to humanity. A charity which dispenses the crumbs that fall from its overloaded tables, which are left after its feasts!"
I arrived in Concord and set out for the pond on foot, having been told it would take half an hour or less. I soon realized that as a big city biker for the better part of a decade, i'd lost touch with the connectedness one feels when traveling by foot, a lesson that seemed particularly germane to the day's errand.
In the previous months, i'd read more thoreau than ever before (three weeks of attempting his journals were like swimming in congealing gelatin). For what it's worth, he's perhaps one of the few writers of whom you don't need to read any full book to appreciate - highlights and quotes might suffice. But the words of WALDEN swirled in my consciousness...i considered the possibility that i might arrive on the day the pond's ice started to break, creating the unearthly noises he described so compellingly (alas, i didn't).
As i neared the area, i realized that i would probably have as much solitude as i wished - the three or four small parking lots were almost entirely empty. I came to the visitor center/gift shop. Determined to not be a cynical poop (until such should be merited), i went in. I had a genial conversation with the clerk, who assured me he'd never heard of a pilgrimage timed in such a way as mine. I looked through the discount T-shirt rack, mostly because i wanted to leave the conservancy some monetary token. I had a quiet (or perhaps not so quiet) chuckle at the unintentional irony in the vending of a shirt that reads "Beware of any enterprise that requires a change of clothes".
-“There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root.”
I continued on.
The pond was larger than i'd imagined. I surmised i might be pressed to get back to Boston on time if i walked the circumference...but again knew which choice was the right one.
-"All this worldly wisdom was once the unamiable heresy of some wise man."
The ice had thawed enough to leave a two-foot gap around the edge. I dipped my hands in. So beautiful. I'd been nervous about that, knowing that the pond had become quite polluted before a reclamation project in the 90s. I didn't imagine it would ever again be as henry knew it...water more than a hundred feet deep so clear you could see the bottom in almost every part...but it was humbling to know how well the curators had done their work. In the one area of deeper visibility i found, the clarity was unlike any pond i'd ever seen.
-“Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snows in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up."
There was still a blanket of snow through the woods. As i followed the several-mile trail, i met only seven or so strangers, most at the very end. The cabin area itself was beautifully done, a testament to simplicity. There was no reconstruction, simply concrete blocks outlining the area, plus a commemorative pile of small stones brought by pilgrims.
In an unintentional coincidence, my own new little home is almost exactly the size of the cabin - with exactly the same number of chairs.
-“I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.”
Lost in serenity and the simplicity of being, it was a day for silence. Henry would have approved. When i finally turned to leave the pond, i passed two women who were merrily singing in some foreign tongue. He would have liked that too, immeasurably more than any conclave of babbling brainiacs. There was no more perfect sound to him than a bird in song.
-"I have just been through the process of killing the cistudo (tortoise) for the sake of science; but i cannot excuse myself for this murder, and see that such actions are inconsistent with the poetic perception, however they may serve science, and will affect the quality of my observations. I pray that I may walk more innocently and serenely through nature. No reasoning whatever reconciles me to this act. It affects my day injuriously. I have lost some self-respect. I have a murderer's experience in a degree."
When i was a youth, thoreau's words touched me deeply. It might be hard to overstate how much his thoughts on living simply and civil disobedience informed the person i was becoming. In revisiting his words, there is no shortage of examples in which my life has been an extension of his. Also obvious is how his own life had been an extension of eastern philosophy. When i finally sat on a very late bus back to New York, it occurred to me that my life might be held up as one of the most thoreauvian you'll ever meet. I even imagined participating in a worldwide most-alike contest. That last thought might be a conceit that wouldn't bear too much scrutiny. There are certainly areas in which henry and i diverge...his journey into transcendentalism little resembles my secular exploration of human barbarity. Yet in terms of manifesting his essential message on how one ought live...the embrace of authenticity, the rejection of materialism...even life details and words of his that i'd never encountered to as a youth, are often an almost ridiculously-accurate mirror of who i am.
Of course, henry himself said that we only learn that which we already half-know.
-"Perhaps I am more than usually jealous of my freedom. I feel that my connections with and obligations to society are at present very slight and transient. Those slight labors which afford me a livelihood, and by which I am serviceable to my contemporaries, are as yet a pleasure to me, and I am not often reminded that they are a necessity. So far I am successful, and only he is successful in his business who makes that pursuit which affords the highest pleasure sustain him. But i foresee that if my wants should become much increased the labor required to supply them would become a drudgery. If I should sell both my forenoons and afternoons to society, neglecting my peculiar calling, there would be nothing left worth living for. I trust that i shall never thus sell my birthright for a mess of pottage."
So today, i've collected for you the fruits of my return to those words that once filled my youthful spirit with longing and purpose. Quotes that either moved me then, or would have. Very occasionally, words trigger some deep, elemental recognition. This ultimately, is the greatest gift a writer can offer.
This ultimately, is the only reason a writer ought write.
-"How many there are who advise you to print! How few who advise you to lead a more interior life! In the one case there is all the world to advise you, in the other there is none to advise you but yourself. Nobody ever advised me not to print but myself. The public persuade the author to print, as the meadow invites the brook to fall into it. Only he can be trusted with gifts who can present a face of bronze to expectation."
Thank you, henry david.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
How is your spirit today?
There are many standard greetings, goodbyes, and other well-worn phrases that pervade language. Over time, the popularity of any phrase waxes and wanes (and once in a rare while, even waxes again). A dedicated linguist can tell you just when a certain conversation took place historically, based upon the phrases employed.
It's time to re-think one of our most well-worn chestnuts - "What did you do today?" Even though we toss off replies to this question almost reflexively, it's time to consider the subconscious process we all go through when confronted with "what did you do today?" In the micro-seconds it takes us to process these things, this is what cycles through the brain..."I don't know. What was i SUPPOSED to do? What did i EXPECT myself to do? What did YOU expect me to do? What did society, my parents, and the ghost of Don Rickles expect me to do? Shit, i'd better come up with something good."
And then presto, in less time than it takes to say "presto", we roll out an answer that will hopefully make our interrogater feel about us the way we want them to feel.
The prevalence of this phrase could only arise in a society that measures people by doing, not being. When we meet someone, we tend to be much more interested in what they've done, what they do, and what they intend to do, than the kind of person they are.
That's an awful lot of weight to be carried by a phrase that passes as a standard greeting.
So let's chuck "what did you do today" onto the scrapheap where it belongs. Let's replace it with something more caring and comforting. What, you know somebody, ANYBODY, who couldn't use more comforting?
Let's replace it with "How's your spirit today?"
Let that wash over your psyche. Doesn't it feel peaceful? Doesn't it feel inviting? Nobody's asking you to justify your life. Nobody's implying that you might not measure up. It feels like the interrogater maybe, just maybe, really wants to know how you are.
So...
How IS your spirit today?
It's time to re-think one of our most well-worn chestnuts - "What did you do today?" Even though we toss off replies to this question almost reflexively, it's time to consider the subconscious process we all go through when confronted with "what did you do today?" In the micro-seconds it takes us to process these things, this is what cycles through the brain..."I don't know. What was i SUPPOSED to do? What did i EXPECT myself to do? What did YOU expect me to do? What did society, my parents, and the ghost of Don Rickles expect me to do? Shit, i'd better come up with something good."
And then presto, in less time than it takes to say "presto", we roll out an answer that will hopefully make our interrogater feel about us the way we want them to feel.
The prevalence of this phrase could only arise in a society that measures people by doing, not being. When we meet someone, we tend to be much more interested in what they've done, what they do, and what they intend to do, than the kind of person they are.
That's an awful lot of weight to be carried by a phrase that passes as a standard greeting.
So let's chuck "what did you do today" onto the scrapheap where it belongs. Let's replace it with something more caring and comforting. What, you know somebody, ANYBODY, who couldn't use more comforting?
Let's replace it with "How's your spirit today?"
Let that wash over your psyche. Doesn't it feel peaceful? Doesn't it feel inviting? Nobody's asking you to justify your life. Nobody's implying that you might not measure up. It feels like the interrogater maybe, just maybe, really wants to know how you are.
So...
How IS your spirit today?
Thursday, February 14, 2013
the seven deadly traps
After deconstructing the Seven Deadly Sins...
http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2008/10/7-deadly.html
...it behooves one to construct something in its place. Not fond of the metaphysics underlying the word "sin", and knowing that "seven insidious character traits" lacks literary zing, i hereby present:
THE SEVEN DEADLY TRAPS
GREED
The desire for more than one needs is the key sickness in humanity's heart. It anesthetizes one to the pain of others. And the sexual greed to keep the one you love only for yourself, is the greatest single source of human emotional suffering.
VENGEANCE
The notion of returning "pain for pain" is the most self-defeating trap of all. It feeds on itself, and can only bring never-ending waves of reciprocal pain.
DISHONESTY
In our society, the average human is 90% self-serving, and 10% interested in the welfare of others. It's no coincidence that our dishonesty to honesty ratio is roughly the same. Our self-serving agendas turn us into people who have two realities - that which we say, and that which we think. Never mind outright lies...our every interaction is colored by exaggeration, misstatement, misquotation, and selective representation. Fix that, and we'll start to grow up.
SUPERSTITION
Because we've created a world in which the fulfillment of our most basic needs (food, shelter, touch) is never a given, we pretend to understand things we cannot, so as to alleviate the uncertainty at the core of our most basic happiness. The healthy urge for speculation and investigation becomes corrupted by a maelstrom of voices howling to be acknowledged as TRUTH. But TRUTH is where knowledge goes to die.
VANITY
Galileo forced us to accept that Earth is not the center of the universe. But heliocentrism was only the tip of humanity's psychological iceberg. Where is the thinker who will force us to accept that "ME" is not the center of the universe either? Why do we allow "I" to be capitalized, but not "we"?
TRIBALISM
A world of fear needs enemies, to thrive. Tribalism allows us to tolerate suffering and death that would be utterly unacceptable among "our own".
FEAR
The most deadly of all traps, and single greatest obstacle to any person's emotional/psychological growth. Most people are so completely in fear's thrall, it can take a lifetime to find a way out, never mind actually stepping through. Fear is the fuel that fires all traps.
http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2008/10/7-deadly.html
...it behooves one to construct something in its place. Not fond of the metaphysics underlying the word "sin", and knowing that "seven insidious character traits" lacks literary zing, i hereby present:
THE SEVEN DEADLY TRAPS
GREED
The desire for more than one needs is the key sickness in humanity's heart. It anesthetizes one to the pain of others. And the sexual greed to keep the one you love only for yourself, is the greatest single source of human emotional suffering.
VENGEANCE
The notion of returning "pain for pain" is the most self-defeating trap of all. It feeds on itself, and can only bring never-ending waves of reciprocal pain.
DISHONESTY
In our society, the average human is 90% self-serving, and 10% interested in the welfare of others. It's no coincidence that our dishonesty to honesty ratio is roughly the same. Our self-serving agendas turn us into people who have two realities - that which we say, and that which we think. Never mind outright lies...our every interaction is colored by exaggeration, misstatement, misquotation, and selective representation. Fix that, and we'll start to grow up.
SUPERSTITION
Because we've created a world in which the fulfillment of our most basic needs (food, shelter, touch) is never a given, we pretend to understand things we cannot, so as to alleviate the uncertainty at the core of our most basic happiness. The healthy urge for speculation and investigation becomes corrupted by a maelstrom of voices howling to be acknowledged as TRUTH. But TRUTH is where knowledge goes to die.
VANITY
Galileo forced us to accept that Earth is not the center of the universe. But heliocentrism was only the tip of humanity's psychological iceberg. Where is the thinker who will force us to accept that "ME" is not the center of the universe either? Why do we allow "I" to be capitalized, but not "we"?
TRIBALISM
A world of fear needs enemies, to thrive. Tribalism allows us to tolerate suffering and death that would be utterly unacceptable among "our own".
FEAR
The most deadly of all traps, and single greatest obstacle to any person's emotional/psychological growth. Most people are so completely in fear's thrall, it can take a lifetime to find a way out, never mind actually stepping through. Fear is the fuel that fires all traps.
Monday, March 26, 2012
wrob-speak
We think in words.
Ergo, the quality of our language dictates the quality of our thought.
Has a study ever been done to determine which is the highest-quality human language? The most economic, fluid, subtle, and above all - freest of built-in assumptions and value judgments? I'm not sure how English would fare, but moving up a few notches is an easy matter. The following are changes i've implemented in my own writing, or partially implemented, or would like to implement. Some are as smooth and understandable as a smile. Others, not.
1) THE LOWER-CASE "i"
Why is "I" the only personal pronoun to be capitalized regardless of its position in a sentence? That which we capitalize, we deem of greater value. Why elevate "I", but not you, he, she, we, or they? Is it because our society is based on a paradigm of individualism, where acknowledgment and accolades flow to single persons rather than groups (or even humans in general)? The short answer usually has something to do with 13th-century publishing efficiencies, but a deeper look (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/03/magazine/03wwln-guestsafire-t.html) indicates that there was probably more to it. Perhaps the path to a humanistic world starts with words. Perhaps if "I" were "i", it would be harder to leave anyone behind. Let's agree that "i" isn't more important than "we".
2) NON-CAPITALIZED PERSONAL NAMES
If self-adulation and self-glorification make it easier to marginalize or dehumanize anyone or anything not US, let's drop the self-importance of capitalized personal names. Personal titles, too. I reject the notion that "Wrob Rosenberger" is more important than "sharing". Or "rutabaga". What, "president abraham lincoln" isn't dignified enough? Perhaps honest abe would be the first to embrace a more humble approach.
3) NON-CAPITALIZED GROUPS OF PEOPLE
Tensions between China and India, Arab and Jew, or Whig and Tory, will feel subtly, inherently less imperative if we take away more capitalizations. Doesn't some of this stuff feel kind of random anyway? What, "neo-Nazi" deserves capitalization, but not "nudist"? All these terms are ultimately no more than ideas in our heads. Does anyone really want to live in a world where "German" is more important than "human"?
4) NON-GENDER-SPECIFIC PERSONAL PRONOUNS
It is unacceptable that i cannot refer to someone impersonally without declaring like a mute klaxon the nature of their genitals. There is a time for genitals...and there is a time for just being a person. We need a single word which can be substituted for either "she" or "he". How about "fe"? We need a single word to replace both "him" and "her". How about "erm"? Instead of "her" or "his", how about "ers" (rhymes with "purrs")? I've pondered these words from numerous angles, and have concluded that there's no perfect solution. "Ee" would be a more consistent choice than "fe", but we'd sound like aussies talking about a man..."fe" is closer to "he" in letter-count, but it's also the first half of "female", which balances things (or even tips things a bit in the female direction, which after the past ten thousand years is acceptable). And yes, "ers" sounds like "hers", but that's a distinction which will fade quickly.
5) RYLE'S "MY"
Phenomenologist gilbert ryle wrote about "systematically-misleading expressions", language structures which contain built-in lies or erroneous assumptions. The most pernicious one involves use of the word "my". "My" implies ownership, but we often use it in situations where it should imply identity instead. Ought the phrase "my pencil" have the same relationship of self-to-object as the phrase "my hand"? To talk about "my hand" is to posit the existence of some "me" which is distinct from my hand. But my hand isn't something i OWN, it's something i AM. This is my only tentative language change, because human biological knowledge is still profoundly incomplete. People who believe in an immortal soul would never offer a peep of complaint over "my hand"...but there are also rational, non-religious folk who give testimony to out-of-body experiences. Objections notwithstanding, "my hand" is too obviously rooted in primitive superstition to not be changed, at least provisionally. Phrases like "my pencil" and "my tax form" are fine. Phrases like "my elbows" or "my grumpiness" are henceforth changed to (in my case) "wrob-elbows" and "wrob-grumpiness". Correspondingly, phrases with other possessive pronouns may also require amending, as in "those days are over, you don't have to sell roxanne-body to the night". For more on me and ryle, go to http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2008/12/damned-ryle.html. If full wrob-speak is more than you can handle on this one, a stopgap measure is to circumstantially substitute "this" for "my", as in "this body is tired".
WROB-SPEAK SAMPLES
Good friend for jesus sake forbeare
To digg the duste encloased heare
Blese be the man that spares these stones
And curst be he that moves shakespeare-bones
-the bard's epitaph
Sally in the garden
Siftin' cinders
Lifted sally-leg
And farted like a man
The bursting of ers bloomers broke sixteen winders
The cheeks of sally-ass went blam blam blam
-kurt vonnegut
When i, a thoughtful and unblessed presbyterian, examine the Koran, i know that beyond any question every mohammedan is insane; not in all things, but in religious matters. When a thoughtful and unblessed mohammedan examines the Westminster Catechism, fe knows that beyond any question i am spiritually insane. I cannot prove to erm that fe is insane, because you never can prove anything to a lunatic--for that is a part of ers insanity and the evidence of it. Fe cannot prove to me that i am insane, for twain-mind has the same defect that afflicts ers. All democrats are insane, but not one of them knows it; none but the republicans and mugwumps know it. All the republicans are insane, but only the democrats and mugwumps can perceive it. The rule is perfect: in all matters of opinion our adversaries are insane.
-mark twain
You're here, there's nothing i fear
And i know that celine-heart will go on
We'll stay forever this way
You are safe in celine-heart
And celine-heart will go on and on
Ergo, the quality of our language dictates the quality of our thought.
Has a study ever been done to determine which is the highest-quality human language? The most economic, fluid, subtle, and above all - freest of built-in assumptions and value judgments? I'm not sure how English would fare, but moving up a few notches is an easy matter. The following are changes i've implemented in my own writing, or partially implemented, or would like to implement. Some are as smooth and understandable as a smile. Others, not.
1) THE LOWER-CASE "i"
Why is "I" the only personal pronoun to be capitalized regardless of its position in a sentence? That which we capitalize, we deem of greater value. Why elevate "I", but not you, he, she, we, or they? Is it because our society is based on a paradigm of individualism, where acknowledgment and accolades flow to single persons rather than groups (or even humans in general)? The short answer usually has something to do with 13th-century publishing efficiencies, but a deeper look (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/03/magazine/03wwln-guestsafire-t.html) indicates that there was probably more to it. Perhaps the path to a humanistic world starts with words. Perhaps if "I" were "i", it would be harder to leave anyone behind. Let's agree that "i" isn't more important than "we".
2) NON-CAPITALIZED PERSONAL NAMES
If self-adulation and self-glorification make it easier to marginalize or dehumanize anyone or anything not US, let's drop the self-importance of capitalized personal names. Personal titles, too. I reject the notion that "Wrob Rosenberger" is more important than "sharing". Or "rutabaga". What, "president abraham lincoln" isn't dignified enough? Perhaps honest abe would be the first to embrace a more humble approach.
3) NON-CAPITALIZED GROUPS OF PEOPLE
Tensions between China and India, Arab and Jew, or Whig and Tory, will feel subtly, inherently less imperative if we take away more capitalizations. Doesn't some of this stuff feel kind of random anyway? What, "neo-Nazi" deserves capitalization, but not "nudist"? All these terms are ultimately no more than ideas in our heads. Does anyone really want to live in a world where "German" is more important than "human"?
4) NON-GENDER-SPECIFIC PERSONAL PRONOUNS
It is unacceptable that i cannot refer to someone impersonally without declaring like a mute klaxon the nature of their genitals. There is a time for genitals...and there is a time for just being a person. We need a single word which can be substituted for either "she" or "he". How about "fe"? We need a single word to replace both "him" and "her". How about "erm"? Instead of "her" or "his", how about "ers" (rhymes with "purrs")? I've pondered these words from numerous angles, and have concluded that there's no perfect solution. "Ee" would be a more consistent choice than "fe", but we'd sound like aussies talking about a man..."fe" is closer to "he" in letter-count, but it's also the first half of "female", which balances things (or even tips things a bit in the female direction, which after the past ten thousand years is acceptable). And yes, "ers" sounds like "hers", but that's a distinction which will fade quickly.
5) RYLE'S "MY"
Phenomenologist gilbert ryle wrote about "systematically-misleading expressions", language structures which contain built-in lies or erroneous assumptions. The most pernicious one involves use of the word "my". "My" implies ownership, but we often use it in situations where it should imply identity instead. Ought the phrase "my pencil" have the same relationship of self-to-object as the phrase "my hand"? To talk about "my hand" is to posit the existence of some "me" which is distinct from my hand. But my hand isn't something i OWN, it's something i AM. This is my only tentative language change, because human biological knowledge is still profoundly incomplete. People who believe in an immortal soul would never offer a peep of complaint over "my hand"...but there are also rational, non-religious folk who give testimony to out-of-body experiences. Objections notwithstanding, "my hand" is too obviously rooted in primitive superstition to not be changed, at least provisionally. Phrases like "my pencil" and "my tax form" are fine. Phrases like "my elbows" or "my grumpiness" are henceforth changed to (in my case) "wrob-elbows" and "wrob-grumpiness". Correspondingly, phrases with other possessive pronouns may also require amending, as in "those days are over, you don't have to sell roxanne-body to the night". For more on me and ryle, go to http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2008/12/damned-ryle.html. If full wrob-speak is more than you can handle on this one, a stopgap measure is to circumstantially substitute "this" for "my", as in "this body is tired".
WROB-SPEAK SAMPLES
Good friend for jesus sake forbeare
To digg the duste encloased heare
Blese be the man that spares these stones
And curst be he that moves shakespeare-bones
-the bard's epitaph
Sally in the garden
Siftin' cinders
Lifted sally-leg
And farted like a man
The bursting of ers bloomers broke sixteen winders
The cheeks of sally-ass went blam blam blam
-kurt vonnegut
When i, a thoughtful and unblessed presbyterian, examine the Koran, i know that beyond any question every mohammedan is insane; not in all things, but in religious matters. When a thoughtful and unblessed mohammedan examines the Westminster Catechism, fe knows that beyond any question i am spiritually insane. I cannot prove to erm that fe is insane, because you never can prove anything to a lunatic--for that is a part of ers insanity and the evidence of it. Fe cannot prove to me that i am insane, for twain-mind has the same defect that afflicts ers. All democrats are insane, but not one of them knows it; none but the republicans and mugwumps know it. All the republicans are insane, but only the democrats and mugwumps can perceive it. The rule is perfect: in all matters of opinion our adversaries are insane.
-mark twain
You're here, there's nothing i fear
And i know that celine-heart will go on
We'll stay forever this way
You are safe in celine-heart
And celine-heart will go on and on
Friday, September 9, 2011
the animal commandments
1) Thou shalt exalt no human animal above another.
2) Thou shalt exalt no human animal above other animal.
3) Thou shalt exalt no invisible creature above visible creature.
4) Thou shalt exalt no lover above friend.
5) Thou shalt not deny your food, body, or anything else, to anyone who might need them...excepting be they really, really annoying.
5a) Thou shalt not steal nor murder nor bully (not a commandment, merely a consequence).
2) Thou shalt exalt no human animal above other animal.
3) Thou shalt exalt no invisible creature above visible creature.
4) Thou shalt exalt no lover above friend.
5) Thou shalt not deny your food, body, or anything else, to anyone who might need them...excepting be they really, really annoying.
5a) Thou shalt not steal nor murder nor bully (not a commandment, merely a consequence).
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
destructiveness
"I don't drink, and don't lie. Were every human so afflicted, i would never again be subject to moronic questions about why i don't get laid more."
-wrob
I'll stand by that statement, even though it is (for the sake of wit) a touch facile and simplistic.
Today, a third non-quality came to mind - destructiveness. It's possible that a lack of destructiveness may be one of the few concrete qualities which has long set me apart, as a human being.
Destructiveness is not evil. Destruction is an element of change. Whether with one person or millions, change requires a breaking down of the old. Creation is profoundly destructive.
The Harry Chapin song "Sniper" contains the lyric "I am a lover who's never been kissed, I am a fighter who's not made a fist". Though i've been kissed, i have indeed happily never made a fist. These two lines' proximity underscores the curious connection between loving and fighting. Both acts are profoundly penetrative. Many men (and some women, these days) acknowledge that they find the chase more compelling than the consummation.
Just as you don't need to google "crime of passion" to know there's a connection between love and hate, you don't have to watch lions mate to spot a connection between fighting and loving. Even among well-intentioned people, lies, half-truths, and sins of omission are part of nearly every sexual consummation. Selfishness is tied to romance in ways that few are ever able to be honest about. But as selfishness grows, so grows destructiveness.
Though i've been romantically involved with dozens of women, my lack of aggressiveness has reduced my number of "consummated" affairs. My personality is non-penetrative...okay, no, that's false. I'm penetrative, maybe even extremely so, but in a non-aggressive way. I've always been bored by the "chase", eager to skip to the communion of loving. There's never been an unplanned pregnancy in my life. My loving has been about nurturing (or at least the attempt to do so, as we humans fumble about, blindly seeking to fill our emptiness). My non-destructiveness has extended to all interpersonal relationships...i've long been aware that i'm one of the least likely people to offer personal advice.
Of course, i don't pretend that destructiveness has been alien to my spirit...were it so i never could have accepted a public speaking trophy, written a diatribe against makeup, or had a dream about trying to destroy a monster eel.
But now, the last year has brought me in touch with destructive interpersonal impulses. Every morning of my life i've awoken ready to live the most beautiful romantic story in the history of time...yet except for one or two years, my journey has been mostly solitary. Part of the reason may be that many women who desired me waited in vain for me to be more of a predator.
The scraping wound that has been in my spirit these past few years has manifested in both self-destructive and destructive impulses. My bloodied hunger for healing has nudged me toward ignoring some of my gentler wisdoms. I'm learning that a wounded creature becomes more impulsive and feral. It's like on some level, a part of me is seeking to reclaim my genetic birthright to be mindlessly sexualized. A tiny piece of me almost feels betrayed by my gentleness, and wishes to reclaim a decade or more of fucking. I'm long past ready to find the eye at the center of the storm. All my old habits of making sure that my partner isn't going too fast, for her sake or mine...these tendencies have been sorely tested lately.
Destructiveness of course does not stand apart from drinking and lying (indeed, the opposite is true). That being said, "I'm not destructive...were every human so afflicted, i would never again be subjected to moronic questions about why i don't get laid more", may be more concise than the earlier quote...
It is, however, entirely lacking in wit.
We'll go with the first one.
-wrob
I'll stand by that statement, even though it is (for the sake of wit) a touch facile and simplistic.
Today, a third non-quality came to mind - destructiveness. It's possible that a lack of destructiveness may be one of the few concrete qualities which has long set me apart, as a human being.
Destructiveness is not evil. Destruction is an element of change. Whether with one person or millions, change requires a breaking down of the old. Creation is profoundly destructive.
The Harry Chapin song "Sniper" contains the lyric "I am a lover who's never been kissed, I am a fighter who's not made a fist". Though i've been kissed, i have indeed happily never made a fist. These two lines' proximity underscores the curious connection between loving and fighting. Both acts are profoundly penetrative. Many men (and some women, these days) acknowledge that they find the chase more compelling than the consummation.
Just as you don't need to google "crime of passion" to know there's a connection between love and hate, you don't have to watch lions mate to spot a connection between fighting and loving. Even among well-intentioned people, lies, half-truths, and sins of omission are part of nearly every sexual consummation. Selfishness is tied to romance in ways that few are ever able to be honest about. But as selfishness grows, so grows destructiveness.
Though i've been romantically involved with dozens of women, my lack of aggressiveness has reduced my number of "consummated" affairs. My personality is non-penetrative...okay, no, that's false. I'm penetrative, maybe even extremely so, but in a non-aggressive way. I've always been bored by the "chase", eager to skip to the communion of loving. There's never been an unplanned pregnancy in my life. My loving has been about nurturing (or at least the attempt to do so, as we humans fumble about, blindly seeking to fill our emptiness). My non-destructiveness has extended to all interpersonal relationships...i've long been aware that i'm one of the least likely people to offer personal advice.
Of course, i don't pretend that destructiveness has been alien to my spirit...were it so i never could have accepted a public speaking trophy, written a diatribe against makeup, or had a dream about trying to destroy a monster eel.
But now, the last year has brought me in touch with destructive interpersonal impulses. Every morning of my life i've awoken ready to live the most beautiful romantic story in the history of time...yet except for one or two years, my journey has been mostly solitary. Part of the reason may be that many women who desired me waited in vain for me to be more of a predator.
The scraping wound that has been in my spirit these past few years has manifested in both self-destructive and destructive impulses. My bloodied hunger for healing has nudged me toward ignoring some of my gentler wisdoms. I'm learning that a wounded creature becomes more impulsive and feral. It's like on some level, a part of me is seeking to reclaim my genetic birthright to be mindlessly sexualized. A tiny piece of me almost feels betrayed by my gentleness, and wishes to reclaim a decade or more of fucking. I'm long past ready to find the eye at the center of the storm. All my old habits of making sure that my partner isn't going too fast, for her sake or mine...these tendencies have been sorely tested lately.
Destructiveness of course does not stand apart from drinking and lying (indeed, the opposite is true). That being said, "I'm not destructive...were every human so afflicted, i would never again be subjected to moronic questions about why i don't get laid more", may be more concise than the earlier quote...
It is, however, entirely lacking in wit.
We'll go with the first one.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
damn you, ryle!
Do you know what it feels like to come up with an idea no human being has ever had before?
Nope, neither do i.
But for a week or two in 1995, i thought that maybe i had. I was working on a master's degree in philosophy, at West Chester U. of PA. In my three semesters i became the department's only graduate assistant, and resurrected the long-dormant philosophy club (my one presidency...wheeee). I graduated something cum laude. It was a very cool year and a half.
In one of my courses, we were studying Gilbert Ryle's "systematically misleading expressions". The ten-cent explanation: certain phrases are inherently dishonest because their construction implies the existence of something which doesn't exist. For example, saying "carnivorous cows don't exist" implies that they do exist, as something must exist to have attributes. The way to correct that phrase would be to say "there is no such thing which is both carnivorous and a cow". This is all a bit egg-headed, but stick with me.
People use systematically misleading expressions all the time, often with no problem, as most people don't need a philosopher to tell them that carnivorous cows don't exist. But we shape our thoughts in words, and if there are lies hidden within our language that we are blind to, the quality of our thought will suffer.
For a week or two, i thought i had come up with a systematically misleading expression no one had ever thought of. A very important one too, one which we all use every day, not realizing that it prevents us from relating to our own human nature more truthfully. Think about the following phrases: "my hands are sticky", "my head hurts", and "my sense of humor is dry" (or a parallel construction such as "her butt is bangin'"). We've all used this grammatical construction, probably every day of our lives. And there is a huge lie hiding inside it.
Anybody spot it?
No, "she ain't got no bangin' butt!" is not the correct response.
The lie is that the construction implies ownership. "My" head. "My" sense of humor. "Her" butt. Is it not strange that our language implies we have the same relationship with our feet as we do with our shoes? We don't "own" a head or a sense of humor. We are a head, we are fingers, we are a sense of humor (despite occasional evidence to the contrary). "Owning" our head invokes a self which is different from our physical, thinking being. Of course, those who believe people are immortal might be thrilled with this. Since the fear of death is the most basic human fear, our primary existential condition, it's easy to perceive why we may have shaped our language this way. Without realizing it, we've all been walking around every day of our lives affirming that we ain't gonna die, even though every measurable piece of evidence screams that we will.
So how do we re-construct this part of our language? Well, clumsily. It will take a while for more honest language to not feel silly. "My head hurts" might become "rob-head hurts". I know, pretty weird. "Her butt is bangin'" becomes "Jenny-butt is bangin'!" Hmm, that last one feels less clumsy, somehow.
Anyway, after a week or two, i read Ryle's next article. And damn double-damn him, he based his next article on my idea. I knew it wasn't going to turn the world on its head, but...still.
Ah well. For a week i walked under the rarefied sun of original human thought. I suppose that's a week more than most get. But try out "Jenny-butt is bangin'" the next time you're at a party. Once the humor fades, you may actually feel a little different in a way that you can't even explain.
Nope, neither do i.
But for a week or two in 1995, i thought that maybe i had. I was working on a master's degree in philosophy, at West Chester U. of PA. In my three semesters i became the department's only graduate assistant, and resurrected the long-dormant philosophy club (my one presidency...wheeee). I graduated something cum laude. It was a very cool year and a half.
In one of my courses, we were studying Gilbert Ryle's "systematically misleading expressions". The ten-cent explanation: certain phrases are inherently dishonest because their construction implies the existence of something which doesn't exist. For example, saying "carnivorous cows don't exist" implies that they do exist, as something must exist to have attributes. The way to correct that phrase would be to say "there is no such thing which is both carnivorous and a cow". This is all a bit egg-headed, but stick with me.
People use systematically misleading expressions all the time, often with no problem, as most people don't need a philosopher to tell them that carnivorous cows don't exist. But we shape our thoughts in words, and if there are lies hidden within our language that we are blind to, the quality of our thought will suffer.
For a week or two, i thought i had come up with a systematically misleading expression no one had ever thought of. A very important one too, one which we all use every day, not realizing that it prevents us from relating to our own human nature more truthfully. Think about the following phrases: "my hands are sticky", "my head hurts", and "my sense of humor is dry" (or a parallel construction such as "her butt is bangin'"). We've all used this grammatical construction, probably every day of our lives. And there is a huge lie hiding inside it.
Anybody spot it?
No, "she ain't got no bangin' butt!" is not the correct response.
The lie is that the construction implies ownership. "My" head. "My" sense of humor. "Her" butt. Is it not strange that our language implies we have the same relationship with our feet as we do with our shoes? We don't "own" a head or a sense of humor. We are a head, we are fingers, we are a sense of humor (despite occasional evidence to the contrary). "Owning" our head invokes a self which is different from our physical, thinking being. Of course, those who believe people are immortal might be thrilled with this. Since the fear of death is the most basic human fear, our primary existential condition, it's easy to perceive why we may have shaped our language this way. Without realizing it, we've all been walking around every day of our lives affirming that we ain't gonna die, even though every measurable piece of evidence screams that we will.
So how do we re-construct this part of our language? Well, clumsily. It will take a while for more honest language to not feel silly. "My head hurts" might become "rob-head hurts". I know, pretty weird. "Her butt is bangin'" becomes "Jenny-butt is bangin'!" Hmm, that last one feels less clumsy, somehow.
Anyway, after a week or two, i read Ryle's next article. And damn double-damn him, he based his next article on my idea. I knew it wasn't going to turn the world on its head, but...still.
Ah well. For a week i walked under the rarefied sun of original human thought. I suppose that's a week more than most get. But try out "Jenny-butt is bangin'" the next time you're at a party. Once the humor fades, you may actually feel a little different in a way that you can't even explain.
Monday, October 13, 2008
7 deadly
Before breaking down the 7 deadly sins, let's deal with the concept. "Deadly" is a wee bit melodramatic, but we'll allow literary license. "Sins" is problematic - the denotation of sin is one of human failing related to some moral absolute. "Moral absolute" is possibly a nonsense term, and the greatest "sin" of all is original sin, the single most self-loathing, spirit-maiming notion humanity has cooked up. I suppose "7 insidious character traits" lacks panache? Ah well.
PRIDE
I have no inherent problem with pride. Pride is all around us, and is healthy or unhealthy only inasmuch as how we use it. I find no fault in being proud of a child (helen keller), or a country (Switzerland), or a discovery (the wheel), or an institution (Amnesty International), or an expression (Starry Night...the Traveling Wilburys). Let your spirits swell when you think upon these, and be proud of your species. Okay good, now go back to being chokingly ashamed. Pride is of course misplaced and excessive more often than not however, particularly in this culture of ego gone steroidal.
ENVY
I like envy. It can be a peaceful emotion. I always compare it to its destructive cousin, jealousy. Jealousy says "i want that". Envy says "that looks nice". Envy can motivate achievement, or simply trigger flights of imagination.
ANGER
I like anger too, in tiny doses. There is a need and place for righteous anger. I find that i get angry once every year or two. This i attribute to my peaceful spirit...and also perhaps to the fact that i don't get out enough. Some (lovers) have wished that i would get angry more often, as they see anger as a sign of caring. I care, i really do. But i'll save my anger for puppy torturers.
GREED
The inability to be happy and alive in a moment when all your needs are met, is possibly the greatest failing of a failed species.
SLOTH
Hmmm, sloth. Were humans slothful before we developed agriculture, and spent most of our days in a free-time happy haze? What do you call someone who works two hours a day and lounges the rest? A cat? Or just efficient? What would you call a culture where you work only six months of the year? I don't think i can claim to have ever been essentially slothful...in my life, there has always been a sense of continually moving from one activity to another. The one or two moments this hasn't been the case have truthfully freaked me out a tiny bit. But over the years, more and more of my activities have been happily devoted to recreation. Humanity has been relentlessly degraded by the agricultural/industrial revolutions. We need to reclaim some sloth.
GLUTTONY
I can't get behind gluttony. Isn't it just displacement behavior?
LUST
Bring it. Bring it on. Celebrate it! We haven't figured out how to get past the thousand and three hangups that destroy lust. But we'll get there. Cunt. Cock. The universe. Starry Night. Bring it.
PRIDE
I have no inherent problem with pride. Pride is all around us, and is healthy or unhealthy only inasmuch as how we use it. I find no fault in being proud of a child (helen keller), or a country (Switzerland), or a discovery (the wheel), or an institution (Amnesty International), or an expression (Starry Night...the Traveling Wilburys). Let your spirits swell when you think upon these, and be proud of your species. Okay good, now go back to being chokingly ashamed. Pride is of course misplaced and excessive more often than not however, particularly in this culture of ego gone steroidal.
ENVY
I like envy. It can be a peaceful emotion. I always compare it to its destructive cousin, jealousy. Jealousy says "i want that". Envy says "that looks nice". Envy can motivate achievement, or simply trigger flights of imagination.
ANGER
I like anger too, in tiny doses. There is a need and place for righteous anger. I find that i get angry once every year or two. This i attribute to my peaceful spirit...and also perhaps to the fact that i don't get out enough. Some (lovers) have wished that i would get angry more often, as they see anger as a sign of caring. I care, i really do. But i'll save my anger for puppy torturers.
GREED
The inability to be happy and alive in a moment when all your needs are met, is possibly the greatest failing of a failed species.
SLOTH
Hmmm, sloth. Were humans slothful before we developed agriculture, and spent most of our days in a free-time happy haze? What do you call someone who works two hours a day and lounges the rest? A cat? Or just efficient? What would you call a culture where you work only six months of the year? I don't think i can claim to have ever been essentially slothful...in my life, there has always been a sense of continually moving from one activity to another. The one or two moments this hasn't been the case have truthfully freaked me out a tiny bit. But over the years, more and more of my activities have been happily devoted to recreation. Humanity has been relentlessly degraded by the agricultural/industrial revolutions. We need to reclaim some sloth.
GLUTTONY
I can't get behind gluttony. Isn't it just displacement behavior?
LUST
Bring it. Bring it on. Celebrate it! We haven't figured out how to get past the thousand and three hangups that destroy lust. But we'll get there. Cunt. Cock. The universe. Starry Night. Bring it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)