Don't Breathe

Reconstructing a philosophical argument is like building a stack of cards. It sounds simple enough...regurgitating another's theory on paper, remaining faithful as possible, but when one sets out to actually carry through with the task, things get dicey.

One gust can blow the entire stack down. If the wrong word is used, or an incorrect phrase, or just plain sloppy direction is exercised, the entire argument can be dashed to pieces.

Every word has a very precise meaning when used in context of the argument. The finest distinctions could pass unnoticed and break everything apart.

And that is a major aspect of a philosophical system, or theory. The intricate construction of words and those words' relations and the logical dynamics that are created with the relations between the words.

Everyone is trying to explain the same thing with their own constructions. And others are trying to take down those constructions with their own little gusts of wind.

It seems to be that "me" element that drives this whole progression. Hopefully it means something more than simple vanity.

Ah but it must.

Analysis. Just Four Letters Away From "Anal"

And eight letters away from "anal rape".

Oh, analysis, that eternal tedium. I'm so tired of you. Marking off passages and underlining this and highlighting that and explaining why this is so and that is that and having to get down on paper again and again what is already there!

But maybe it serves some great purpose for humanity. And it does. But leave that to the analyzers. I don't want a part of it. I want to create, not describe what's already there, what already lends itself in the thought train, the imagery, the whatever. We need to get things down on paper, yes, for something, to sustain something. Let those who are interested do so.

But I'm tired. And to think, there's another year of it ahead. Leave me be. There's more to this. And I suppose I am engaged in the very activity that I am criticizing, just of a slightly different nature. So be it. I'm in it for breaking the tedium, and letting off steam at the same time. For myself, I suppose.

Madness

Another Good Name For A Metal Band

"The Manichaeans and The Iguana"

That's not supposed to be significant or anything.

Hell, it is a cloudy day. And there is an irritating constant drizzle outside.

Downpours aren't as annoying. It's like, ok, here's a downpour. Better stay inside.

But a drizzle is like, well I think I can do this...goddammit this is annoying.

The gardeners are yelling outside. It seems like they are right up to my window.

Well gardener, while you are here, let me ask you a question.

You seem to be an experienced man in judging different aspects of weather.

Isn't this drizzle fuckin' annoying?

Those Wretches

Many imaginary creations can be seen as us reflecting upon ourselves. Creating some sort of distant menace to embody those things which we mean to bring out and question.

And as for Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, well...with that double mirror effect seen when man reflects upon the ghastliness of the monster, and then upon himself, and at the same time, the monster reflects upon the ghastliness of man and then upon himself as well...there becomes a symmetric cry of agony from both sides, amplifying the misery. And the redeeming qualities inherent in both sides don't seem like enough.

In this case...it seems man doesn't care too much for what he has become.

I know there is more to this than that. This is supposed to be the modern Prometheus. A tale of a creature overstepping its boundaries, and the creator/creation relationship as well.

But this is what I'm reading in it so far. What with my gloomy outlook on things. There's a lot to be said about the novel, that's for sure.

These things and more go through my coffee crash-rotted head at 11:30 at night.

Don't Rain

I've got this panel that ripped off the inside of the back wheel well on my car, and supposedly if it rains...the pipes that it was protecting could get damaged. I haven't quite gotten around to correcting the ah...panel problem. And the skies are growing darker.

Strange people in a familiar town. There's always been this sort of surface tension that the social world rests on, and beneath that, whatever goes on in ourselves that we don't care to let out. I've seen strange things bubble up to the surface given the right circumstances. Jung has got this whole persona/anima thing going on that is sort of like this. Along with his archetype ideas the man is on to something. Was. It seems sort of obvious after all these advances in psychology and sociology and whatnot. But when you begin to experience it for yourself, three dimensionally, in all its vividness, and not just reading about it in a book, it begins to become a little unsettling. Like starting to concentrate on your own breathing. Oh, yes, we've been over this.

Bad writing on this blog. Half baked ideas. Well, its not like I'm sending it all out in a package. Stop worrying.

I never was good at expressing these things. I try to tell my philosopher friends this, here and there. Makes for strange pauses in dialogue. Well, onward into maturity then. With time. We're still just kids. Learning to drive, or something like that. Mastery is when it becomes a lower function (or higher, depending on how you look at it). In the background. You don't even have to think about it. Free to express. Must be how those guitar virtuosos feel. Or any virtuoso.

Here I am again delaying going to bed. I need the sleep. But to wake up to tomorrow seems very unappealing. Always does when you miss school. Had to stay home today. And it was good. But its gone. And I'm getting behind all the time. I don't know how I make it through all this. I can't remember any of it. But it must be sticking. Things pop up here and there.

Something better be sticking.

Fluff. Pile up the fluff. Oh well. At least it makes one of us feel better. For the time being.