M!CA!AH: (666 mots.)

How could you probably suggest that Fascist and barbaric dictate that all must be fair, before the fact, in love and war? Must it not be MADE fair only AFTER the fact that these heavy burdens are charged with the same dictates as the rest of Life is? CLEARLY in a pursuit so engaging as love and sex only the most stringent moral minds can be regarded as attractive and deserving, and I tire of that madness that would haunt me otherwise. Nobody WANTS to be on the receiving end of this injustice, so it is impossible to justify, ever. I never would submit to such a conflict unless I were lied to prior to the fact. You cannot say that it is justified because others seek only the same happiness which *I* seek, for it’s clear that if my seeking this same happiness is just then they are INJUST by inhibiting my own pursuit of it, and NO one can be justified in seeking it if ANY one could ever be inhibited by the pursuit of it in the pursuit of it; that’s just as mad as it would sound. The Categorical Imperative is not “treat others in the way you THINK that they WOULD treat you, given power”, but “treat others in the way that YOU DESIRE TO BE TREATED”. By that definition, yes: let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. True love cares little if the woman is a bimbo or the man is a drug addict. It cares little if both sufferers involved suffer from sheer delusion. If they’re happy, you can’t judge them, yet no honest man or woman can be HAPPY leading a relationship which, by its NATURE, causes strife, and to that same extent that we desire for our passions to be VINDICATED by relationship, those same passions are VILIFIED, rightfully so, when they inhibit the expression of an other’s passion. No two people can bypass my rights and needs by some sort of emotivist conspiracy, and I will NEVER be accused of harbouring their evil in potential form by those whose sins are written all over their hands. The injured party must submit to no insult, to add to injury, for being innocent and trusting, for one’s sole mistake to be to trust, and for the fact that others, failing to atone for the mistake by honouring the purity of the intent, to turn that same mistake towards lesser purposes. What purpose could be lesser than a competition without the consent of the competitors? What could be closer to rape? And what, fundamentally, would be more repulsive to the sexual instinct in rational and altruistic beings?? The injured critic is not blamed for one’s own misery, for no such misery could ever have been self-inflicted. Criticism does not make for misery; it barely even can be said that misery alone has caused it. Criticism is not judged by the effect it has upon the critic, so how can the critic thus be judged for the effect his criticism SEEMS to have upon him? Must we not conclude that that same criticism was not the CAUSE of the misery, but rather that it sought to remedy and to redress it? CLEARLY criticism must be judged not by projection of “intent” upon the critic but a recognition of the critic’s TRUE intent according to the facts which criticism has exposed in its responses to injustice. What could be more moving, sympathetic, stirring or Romantic? After all: those same Romantics who had deified Shakespeare knew that the purest of heart was the unrequited lover, for in spite of total isolation, even from the object of his love, he could pursue that love which did not alter when it alteration found, which TRULY answered only to its own virtue and power, knowing that consent was just conspiracy against its relatively noble nature. THAT alone is fair in love and in war. Everything else is barbaric and absurd.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

EGO:

I think that finally I understand it. You see, if I had been selfish in the slightest then I would have done my part to keep this all from happening. I would be led then to believe, or I am led NOW to believe, that he would have had no regrets about it. But lo and behold: I let it happen, without knowing it was possible. And now that I hate him for doing it, he feels betrayed!! Had I simply restricted him, then he would have been blameless, but of COURSE I am a fool for not having EXPECTED him to so betray my trust. This is not mitigated by the fact he KNOWS exactly what he did. Now he seems to believe I wish to salvage my own selfishness, for altruism failed to get me what I want, and by doing so LATE I can afford to blame him for it. Well: he’s right. I CAN afford to blame him for it. But the fact remains that I salvage my self-interest because I was NOT self-interested to begin with, so selfishness does not concern my character. There’s no way around that fact. People like him just cannot help but tear me down. They know I’m smart enough to see the worst in them, and so long as I do that I corroborate their view of EVERY one. Even if it is ONLY them that I find evil in, by scapegoating them for the evils of my Life I only prove myself to be a part of those same Evils of the World. It’s really very cowardly of him. I’m smart enough to see right through it, but I want more than to be intelligent. I really want to be KIND, like I was when I was young, before I even knew that I was smart. Intelligence people would recognize in me, but kindness I saw in myself before they did. It is too personal to squander on those who are so divorced from it they think it to be a delusion. I get people. It’s just that if I cannot fool myself into believing they are Better, or that they CAN be, then I risk going totally insane. I MUST gamble upon them, constantly, in order to feel totally alive. I must make myself vulnerable. Just to try to prove what only by an act of courage in this way can I prove: that someone would follow my example, and by doing so the World becomes a brighter, better place. I think they KNOW that that is what I’m doing. And they know that it’s so crazy that I have to tell myself that I will never be betrayed, that evil is a figment of my own imagination, just to keep on doing it. Yet so what if I’m proven wrong? So what if I can’t sleep, while he is fucking someone that I love to death? So what? I saw it coming. It was just my ego which could not accept it. Most egos will work towards the establishment of some dominion within the World. Mine cannot do that; it must by necessity EXPECT accommodation, for my Soul accommodates it as it nurtures all Beings. Nothing can justify the slight against my Soul. But while my Soul can weather it, my mind cannot. My Soul knows there’s this Other Side to people. But my ego’s not a coward for ignoring it. It’s still the ego of a hero. When these cowards see my ego writhing, they see themselves in it, terrified of ever being put into its posture. That is why they are not communists; the greatest evil in their world is that which forces them to trust their neighbours, knowing just how evil their neighbours can be, for they are themselves just as evil. But is that not enough reason to be forced to be Better?? Of course it is, and I do not deny that’s easy for me to say. I’ve earned that right by giving so much of my own Life up to Human Life Itself. So what do these cowards do? They see my ego writhing, and they seem themselves within it, and they think it foolish for having allowed itself to fall into despair, pretending towards that Dignity which no ego can have, projecting that same Dignity upon others as if that burden was their own. But this says nothing of the Soul. For that ego was noble, loyal to the Soul as friends are loyal to each other. And the Soul needed the ego to look past the evils of the World and to see some Good in these people, even at their most horrid of moments. That was why I could not sleep. Because my waking mind had had enough.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

EP!LOGUE: a Crazy God.

Don't think me immune to your wisdom because I don't have your experience. 

Some deeply intuitive people have come to your conclusions and moved past them. 

I am not naïve for trusting them; you are naïve for dismissing them.

You indulge yourself in the Devil's voice and his Device. He is your light bringer; he has signed your check. But he's only using you, manipulating your mind, robbing you of faith. He only avails you of the known world. You have the means now to escape him and to see the Other Planes without his supervision.

You got the message. Now get off the phone.

You fetishize the vessel, the experience, but what you really need is Truth, and your experience has blinded you to it.

Experience was just the vessel for the Truth. Now Truth has landed. Now it's shed its bristly cocoon.

You are still trapped within the bristles. Life goes on without you. Yours is over.

[*({Dm.A.A.)}*]

DES!RE and IDENT!TY:

Well. I don’t know. I mean: you ask me, “what do I want?” How can I say that, for certain? No one ever really told me, so where would I find the answer? I can tell you what I have dim views upon: on politics, philosophy, religion, sociology, psychology, etc. I can speak on these matters because they’re important to people, and I can comprehend their logic. I guess that my closest estimation is this: I want just what everybody wants, according to my studies, and I want these things for everyone. The only thing I cannot want is to exclude someone, unless that person is himself exclusive and inhuman. I want to be Human. Some people are not people. For Asimov, for instance, being human was a concrete feeling, but “humanity” was an abstraction. Bullshit!! HE is the abstraction; how could a biologist deny this? Every nuance of the private ego is a construct of the greater mind, born out of some sort of sterile consumerism and intrusive propaganda. I KNOW I am Human because I know things about Humanity; without that knowledge, how could I say who I am? Their suffering is mine; if I have cravings, they are to participate in the Great Struggle of our species towards transcendence of this Plane. As a Human, I have the authority to say that hatred is misguided, except towards the hateful. I can say that greed is a mistake and private wills are simple fluctuations in a greater trend. One cannot preserve one’s self by harming others, since all harm that humans witness is effectively the same. That has been my experience, and since I am not sure what “my” means, I might say instead “an”, and since I haven’t had ANY experience to challenge it, when not “THE”? THE Experience of Being Human. THAT is what I want. All of my Life I’ve known only the semblance of this mystic “happiness” people refer to. I am only ever less miserable; I’m most “myself” when I forget myself, in Solitude, the World just flowing in from every angle, no one to attend to or to worry for, except perhaps my dog and some plants in the garden. (Plain plants. Not the kind you might imagine me to love specifically.) I want Love, but not by means of hatred; I want children, but not to be born into some bondage. I can’t deny my hatred of those “men” who put themselves before me, not because I value myself more, but rather because I can’t understand them in a human context of compassion, and not only is my own love wasted on them, to the point of desperate hatred, but their every action threatens my Humanity and my own standing in the Human Race. I can’t deny this, but I can deny them leave of it, for their hatred must surely all ways be surpassing of my own, and where would my own COME from if not from them? I know not where they acquired it to start with. I crave harmlessness. Harmlessness towards my “self” – whatever that means – and towards others. Harmony in all relationships. I seek to remedy the chaos in them constantly, like a composer or a mathematician. I have written hundreds of poems and entries to my public log. I’ve filled up shelves on my bookshelf with journals, sometimes scrawled and others neat, sometimes abounding in leftover space and other times resourceful, but invariably necessary to contain thoughts which would flee me like a Dream if unattended. All my Life I’ve been a parent to my thoughts and friends and family, trying to keep them from running away, not so as to enslave them but to try with agony for their protection. This is who I am: a healer. But you ask me: what am I DOING with Life? And I reply: I’m here. I’m there. A volunteer. A xylophonist. A programmer. A composer. A scorned lover. A forgotten friend. An unforgettable mentor. I do not know. Maybe it’s all internal, fanciful and disappointing. So be it. I think less of myself than you may think. Were it not for you, would I even know that I exist?

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

This is the True Conclusion to this Weblog. I had miscounted, reading the inclusive count which counted for unpublished drafts. This is the thousandth publication. So be it.

CUSP of POWER:

Yours is an exemplary character that endears you to your fellows, though you are too modest to accept this fact, fighting incessantly with your own intuition, burdened by the misguided rationality of men who are not men yet. You are the Hero of this story, pure of Heart and sane of Soul, that which they love to watch and to pretend to but they cannot live. The fear of losing you precludes them from their coming near you. Ordinary explanations for your solitude will never work. You are the one who must redeem the World. You have known this.

Dm.A.A.

1Q84: Review of Chapter One.

No, I’ve lost interest in characters such as this woman. I admit that I watched Breaking Bad several times, and I still watch Better Call Saul. But for the most part I am done with narcissism.

Narcissism?

Come on. Surely you had noticed. It took me only one chapter. The protagonist, if that is who she is, is a sociopath. Not only is she Paranoid. She is entirely absorbed within herself and her own past. She has this dim, neurotic tendency to fixate on the music in the car because she knows it from another time. Outside the car is the entire world, but she sees not a single shred of wonder in it, nor can she contribute any wonder TO it. Everything and everyone is either a nuisance or a utility to her, if not both at the same time. She’s a nut. The moment that she meets someone who shares her paranoia, what’s her instinct? To affirm? Negate? Inform? Agree? Or STAB?! We KNOW that she is claustrophobic, anxious and quite self-entitled to her plans. When she ponders something sharp, it’s typical of people who would act out their anxiety with violence. One needs not to be guilty of those tendencies in order that one might recognize them. She projects meaning upon silence, she treats men with disdain, and she EXPECTS THE WORLD TO ADMIRE HER. When she takes the path across the highway, and she has to hoist herself over a fence, she has this sick fantasy that she’s being watched, not for her safety but for their amusement, like she is performing a striptease, and she then GLORIFIES the fact that it’s ungenerous, as if that same attention she so clearly feels entitled to, expecting it, can only serve her confidence but not her auditors’ desires. She feigns apology for it within her fantasy as if to demonstrate some sort of power. And she FETISHIZES HER OWN BODY. Christ. She even sees part of herself as BEING AN ATTRACTIVE FEATURE. Who DOES that? How can she KNOW? It’s just a BODY. SHE could not know that. And if we are forced to objectify her to assess the credibility of her delusions, it would only be so that we might escape the entrapment of her disjointed subjectivity. She fears the World because she feels it owes her something but wants something in exchange. Where others have a conscience, she is paranoid of meeting debtors on the streets. Perhaps that’s why one of her ears is characterized as deformed: she only listens to the half of it. Sure: maybe the asymmetry of her otherwise comely face is a foreshadow for the themes that follow. But outside this intimation, it’s apparent that the imminent significance is in her deafness to the World. Believe me: I would recognize the kind. It’s not that things all go in one ear and then out the other, but that they go in only one ear and stay stuck, festering into an awful picture. She’s precisely the sort of delusional maniac who would kill out of a self-entitled fantasy that turns into Caesarian madness. This is not a woman; this is hardly a person. Thankfully only a fraction of the population is this way, and novels such as these expose that fraction’s weaknesses, to that extent which writers can begin to fathom them. And do not get me started on this schizophrenic tendency to feel one’s self to be a victim for having a given name. Who possibly could CARE? It’s just a name. NO one in one’s right mind would think otherwise.

Dm.A.A.

OBJECT!V!TY:

Who would listen to you who has not yet felt the sting of pity for the sorrows of the World? You’re so desperate that it’s incredible, as if by the suggestion you could get away with this implies we live in Hell. It’s madness, the sheer thought of it: that for some reason my convenience is secondary to your own, as if a single Soul would take part in my systematic torment and exclusion. No one would desire such a fate, so no one justifies you in your dealership of it. Some shuddered to believe it possible, yet here you are expecting that I should have fathomed it beforehand! What have I done but to trust you? Clearly I could have nothing to gain or to attain by that, except for the assurance that my faith was well-bestowed upon your arms. If mine was the mistake in trusting you, you might have found the decency – the sheer HUMANITY – to remedy the error in service to my beneficent intent. Yet you elected to abuse my error, turning my intent against me, just to fuel your own. For whose convenience then was I sacrificed? The cause in question? Clearly I must supervise your failure then in serving her. Now you dare to add insult to injury by burdening the tragic scapegoat with your sin, as if what I’d intended holds me in some debt, as if the evil you can just project upon me in your narcissistic paranoia, as a POSSIBILITY, might justify the evil you enacted in its Actuality. I will continue to surpass you in every means I can fathom. Everyone will be included. This will serve us all, except for those who would supplant it. We are human. So the human thing is to serve our universal human needs. After all: by what other force have you lived a life surpassing mine in every indulgence? I do no service to the World to tolerate it, and neither will the World defend you in your trying to exclude me from it, robbing victims of their voices, as if they were held, for their natural vindictiveness, responsible for your own vices. Such is not Love.

Dm.A.A.