When ever we relate ideas, it is usually based upon an aesthetic semblance -- a 'nostalgia for the unity' of these disparate ideas, instances, and the ideas and signs used to describe those instances.
So often analogy is a function of aesthetic preference. But aesthetics depend upon character. How we fill in the details depends upon the quality of the imagination in individuals. And a sadistic individual, for instance, is invariably drawn to different aesthetics than is an asadistic individual.
Dm.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Sunday, October 25, 2015
GNOSIS AND THE AGE OF (INTUITIVE) POST-SKEPTICISM.
GNOSIS AND THE AGE OF (INTUITIVE) POST-SKEPTICISM.
A Return to Eden.
There are principally two schools of thought in the world: That
of Gnosis and that of Agnosis.
The agnostics believe that truth belongs to a selected few.
But the Gnostics believe it to be ubiquitous. The only issue is
that there are so few of them with the tenacity to assert the truth that they
too become elitists. And naive man confuses the one elitist with the other.
The agnostics are traditional Christians. They are all so
Confucianists, Orthodox Jews, orthodox Muslims, Shintoists, and members of any
religious group that lends authority to an organization with the HOPE that that
authority will trickle down to their selves. They are all so thus the atheists,
the dogmatic empiricists, the reductionists, the patriots, the consumers of
trickle down economic theory, and the so-called scientists. What they all have
in common is a preference for the security of collective opinion. There is a
fetish for structure that is raised over their heads like a roof-beam to
protect them from the forces of nature. Yet it is bound to be stultifying to
those intellectual giants who like Ares scrape the ceiling when they try to
enter into discussion in the cushioned and dismissive home of a dogmatic
agnostic.
Among agnostics there is all ways an appeal to tradition, the
mire of the past. And so it is that communal agreement is necessary to complete
the cross. Communal agreement appeals horizontal, yet it is supported
vertically by history. And it comes in the forms of both communion and peer
review.
By contrast the Gnostics understand most of the epistemological
pretensions of the agnostics to be not merely arbitrary but to be traps. No
structuralist, for instance, can fully imagine the frustration that a
post-structuralist feels in trying to decide whether or not to break up a paragraph
HALF-WAY THROUGH the depiction of a given group. The distinction is made
difficult because it is so arbitrary; why try to align the proverbial “reader’s”
notion of what a “group” is with the breaking of a paragraph in two? must one
invisible and imagined boundary line up with another imminent one? (imminent
here is of course meant to refer to the opposite of invisible and imagined.) Even
a parenthetical phrase is much too stifling, yet in its absence the arrogant structuralist
DEMANDS clarity and presumes upon it even in its absence. The parallels to rape
are not entirely exaggerated, just miss attributed.
And of course because to write means to choose some thing from
innumerable possibilities, not innumerable so much because of quantity so much
as there is no time in which to count them, for they are constantly moving,
what is left out is just as important as what is included. At least at the
moment that one chooses one remembers that one is not driven ENtiRELY by
necessity; the nature of CHOICE at least lends one room to be SOME what
arbitrary. But the structuralist agnostic sees only what is imminent and not what
is transcendent. Again he DEMANDS clarity and INSISTS upon the authority of
what ever text he likes, or other wise he insists on its total absence of
authority because he has “gotten the gist of it”. And while certain things are
stupid at first blush, without a doubt, it is funny to note that agnostic,
authoritarian people, whilst demanding attention for their favourite works,
still are prone to dismiss any threat to their dogmae with infantile
aggression.
Dm.A.A.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Reminiscence: Once the public was stupid.
Once the public was stupid. And it relied upon a few sages to be
guarded against tyrants. Now the public is just wise ENOUGH that they cannot
tell sages FROM tyrants.
So the sages have been fore-gotten. Their wisdom does not
surpass that of their own well-being. They can collaborate and conspire towards
the good of the community, but no special privileges are afforded them. They
must all ways express their selves in the language of the public in order to be
understood. And never are they granted power, lest they become the tyrants they
are miss-taken for. Yet in this way the most ardent of public figures, the
manipulators, the politicians, gain access in the same way as the sages do, and
the two compete under the table.
The advent of the internet was a necessary evil and a precarious
stepping stone. In the past the people relied upon a few to help defend them
from the other few, and the people who could gain direct admittance to this
wisdom were their selves few.
Now the people cannot tell one minority from the other, and
secrets can no longer be kept. All are available to have their carcasses picked
apart until only the bones remain, and no witch doctors specializing in bones
are to be availed in order that the bones’ origin be determined. So we live in
the shadow of false prophets. The clever manipulators know enough history to
recall those who had abused the Word of the Spirit to their own worldly ends.
The few who are born gifted can barely tell even how these charlatans were
confused for sages, or worse how sages ARE now confused for these charlatans.
But that is because those who are privileged by nature, perhaps old souls, were
all ways few. And usually and tragically they never spoke the common language
of surface appearances. Semblance never haunted them, but what did haunt them
was the tendency for their worldly rooted peers to be miss-led by semblance.
At an earlier time these few, under the tutelage of seasoned
shamans, and driven by nerve and a bleeding heart, would grow to transmute
their suffering pity into an instrument for change. But our temples are
ransacked by profit. The stones remain but they have lost their mystical
resonance. The words remain but they no longer retain their mythological
reference. And the sages still walk the earth, but in the public’s blind eye
they have lost their relevance.
And I should note that all was obscured by SEMBLANCE. In so far
as I condemn the spiritually blind I bear a false kinship to those who condemn
the materially blind. So the progressives have inherited the confusion of the
Nazis, and I am charged with the same stupidity. In fact, I am not only coerced
to accept it but to Adopt it. Yet I refuse.
Dm.A.A.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
The Broken Heart:
The Broken Heart:
How does one break a heart? The notion seems like a fantasy to a
mind that has become nearly entirely jaded and mechanical. But this is how: by
saying, oh. I am sorry that you want that. that you have a vision in your mind
of things being a certain way. Or per chance a dim hope on the horizon. Or
worse an inkling that SOME thing special – some thing of which many have
spoken, some thing that felt promised, that felt DESERVED and not arbitrary,
either morally or in terms of taste – would happen. Worst of all: It was not an
inkling but an overwhelming sense of Fate. It felt PRESSING and IMPERATIVE,
primordial and deep. There was no reason to suspect that it would not work, and
one was totally open to what ever it was. One had not looked to it to fill an
imagined hole in one’s heart, but rather one carved out a NEW hole that one
might accommodate the New Hope. And what happens? Too bad. You shall witness
all that you desire. But YOU shall not be involved in it but as a spectator.
And it shall haunt you. For the more you see it the more deeply will grow the
thirst. The more intense the sense of TRAGEDY that that thirst is not assuaged.
And one will know that the Human Will is *SINGULARLY* to blame for the loss.
And worst of all is the gain to the other. For one would not become the other
even if given the choice. That other’s actions ought NEVER to be so rewarded;
he deserves no stake in YOUR reward and birth-right. So what is most torturous
and hellish about watching some one else live your life is not only that you
cannot share in it but that you would not WANT to TAKE it. You would only want
your life to be YOUR life, and you would not consent to switching bodies with
so depraved a person as who would take YOUR life. Some one who all ways felt
threatened by any insight that came to you because HE had not thought of it.
Some one who made you feel silly each time you raised your voice. And some one
who could stare you down with malicious cowardice, as though he were predator
and you were prey, though you were really all ways the stronger Beast and he
were but a parasite.
And one would have to watch what one valued consumed by the
parasite. For the entitlement had emanated from one singular source: That one
KNEW one’s self to be the best possible suitor for that cause. Were it not for
that assurance the situation would be unbearable. But it is not in the nature
of God to make missed takes, only people. Relativism is a child’s escape; to
deny the disparity between right and wrong is to escape all wrongs by
forgetting them. Morality guarantees, if the means justify the ends, that one
would be the Better Choice, and no greater insult can exist than to be denied
that. For so long as one KNOWS then one knows that God at least loves one with
courage and commitment. The capitalist pretends that life is determined by the
playing out of might, and in this skewed view the individual imagines his rival
penetrating his beloved, as he stands by and watches it happen in his mind and
forgets that the images do not correspond to the reality; they are mere burns
from earlier sightings of a lurid intimacy. Yet the moment that one
acknowledges one’s own LOVE to be divinely sanctioned and approved by the Earth
one leaves one’s tortured body. One sees what is REALLY at stake: One’s beloved
is being taken ADVANTAGE of, and through no fault of one’s own one must watch.
Yet in that is retained the dignity of the viewer; in the other narrative the
viewer is equally guilty and yet punished by the other’s reward. Not only is
this unfair because the other is rewarded; the reward ITS SELF is the
punishment. And the mind cannot tolerate that.
This alone entitles me to a chance. For a chance is all ready
reward enough; at any moment it can be made reference to as tipping the scales
in my favour. And without a chance no claim can be made that one was ever NOT
deserving, for no test was administered. So by default one at least DESERVES a
chance. And the simpl[e] knowledge that one deserves a chance cures the broken
heart. For a heart cannot truly break, only our conception of it. A heart that
is truly rooted in love will all ways circulate that blood which carries the
life-blood of the Universe.
Dm.A.A.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
The Victim's Manual:
The Victim's Manual:
The first step is admitting one's own victimhood. Once that is established all other deductions can follow. Accusations made of one's being histrionic will not hold for they contradict the initial claim: The inciting fact.
A generous and logical audience will agree that to contradict the initial premise is risky. But with a corrupt and ungenerous audience there can be no hope of concluding one's reasoning with out rude interjection.
And this is because an
audience that abuses the name of Skepticism in the name (the unspoken name) of Ignorance will take every initial conclusion (for as Life must be understood back-words so it is that we must convey our reasonings, often, point-
first, beginning with the thesis.) to be a merely tentative premise that warrants its self. So be it.
If the tentative premise were a man, or any other animal, a Circular Reasoning would
be a Miracle of Self-Determination.
II. From the established fact that one is a victim, the first step along the road to liberation,
follows the conclusion that there are false victims. They may be called histrionic.
They are parasites who accuse their hosts of being parasitic.
They are oppressors who pre-
tend to be oppressed. How one can deduce this is that now that one can see one's own victimhood to be a source of psychic fact it is clear that this psychic fact has spillt over
upon others by the force of projection. Yet who initiated this development? The subjects their selves, when they rained blows upon the true victim and yelled for him to stop abusing them.
III. But now one can discern them from the true victims: One's true kin. For many of this kin never pretended towards victimhood, much to one's pain. And the rest were given a good name by these silent ones.
Why are they innocent by association? Because one found in dealing with the silent soldiers some thing profound: That one's deductions depended more upon one's own objectivity than upon some other's subjectivity.
In fact: The very intrusion that the histrionics tried to make by blaming the victim is thus seen to have been a symptom and a part of the same abuse. It sounds
Solipsistic to believe one's self to be the solitary sufferer. Yet when one owns this as a fact,
that one is a victim and only knows of the victim-
hood of others by pro-
jection and delusion, it paradoxically becomes possible then to see other victims by a kind of re-
fined objectivity.
Solipsism self-transcends; a leap of faith into the depths of what looks like Solipsism produces NOT isolation but community.
And the TRUE enemy has been identified.
The act was one of Benevolent Objectification. And so we see our tentative premise becoming its own conclusion. But why not say that it was a Conclusion whose tail led us to deeper tales? The point was not the circle but what its area contained:
A perfect picture of the flowing of Power.
Dm.A.A.
The first step is admitting one's own victimhood. Once that is established all other deductions can follow. Accusations made of one's being histrionic will not hold for they contradict the initial claim: The inciting fact.
A generous and logical audience will agree that to contradict the initial premise is risky. But with a corrupt and ungenerous audience there can be no hope of concluding one's reasoning with out rude interjection.
And this is because an
audience that abuses the name of Skepticism in the name (the unspoken name) of Ignorance will take every initial conclusion (for as Life must be understood back-words so it is that we must convey our reasonings, often, point-
first, beginning with the thesis.) to be a merely tentative premise that warrants its self. So be it.
If the tentative premise were a man, or any other animal, a Circular Reasoning would
be a Miracle of Self-Determination.
II. From the established fact that one is a victim, the first step along the road to liberation,
follows the conclusion that there are false victims. They may be called histrionic.
They are parasites who accuse their hosts of being parasitic.
They are oppressors who pre-
tend to be oppressed. How one can deduce this is that now that one can see one's own victimhood to be a source of psychic fact it is clear that this psychic fact has spillt over
upon others by the force of projection. Yet who initiated this development? The subjects their selves, when they rained blows upon the true victim and yelled for him to stop abusing them.
III. But now one can discern them from the true victims: One's true kin. For many of this kin never pretended towards victimhood, much to one's pain. And the rest were given a good name by these silent ones.
Why are they innocent by association? Because one found in dealing with the silent soldiers some thing profound: That one's deductions depended more upon one's own objectivity than upon some other's subjectivity.
In fact: The very intrusion that the histrionics tried to make by blaming the victim is thus seen to have been a symptom and a part of the same abuse. It sounds
Solipsistic to believe one's self to be the solitary sufferer. Yet when one owns this as a fact,
that one is a victim and only knows of the victim-
hood of others by pro-
jection and delusion, it paradoxically becomes possible then to see other victims by a kind of re-
fined objectivity.
Solipsism self-transcends; a leap of faith into the depths of what looks like Solipsism produces NOT isolation but community.
And the TRUE enemy has been identified.
The act was one of Benevolent Objectification. And so we see our tentative premise becoming its own conclusion. But why not say that it was a Conclusion whose tail led us to deeper tales? The point was not the circle but what its area contained:
A perfect picture of the flowing of Power.
Dm.A.A.
The Forced Undressing. Part I.
My morbid fascination with rape endures as I try to recover an earlier and more individuated conception of it. I wonder why it so fascinates me intellectually. It must be in large part because of the recent feminist craze that leant as such conventional trigger words as 'rapy' to accompany such dubious terms as 'creepy'. It is ironic that given the recent release of Harper Lee's second novel 'creepy' still occurs so oft on college campuses. As for me, I might have begun to avoid that mentality when I first encountered Boo Radley.
Dm.A.A.
Dm.A.A.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
The Captor!
The Captor.
The manipulator-politician, the Wormtongue in King Theoden's Ear, the deceiver ego, all ways lives up to the inferior half of Dostoyevsky's maxim: nothing is easier than flattery nor harder than the truth.
The flatterer manipulates common sense. He takes slabs of bull shit and bakes them in the Sun of the Public Eye. And so he constructs a castle about his audience to keep them safe from freedom. For freedom is ugly, but so long as the castle is adorned with beautiful panes if glass, great pains taken painstakingly, the prison is made to look like a palace. One's ace-pal protects one by virtue of the tainted glass from that same public eye that seared the bull shit into an impenetrable mold. So even as one basks and eventually burns in the heat of Public Opinion one can pretend to be exempt from it from behind rose tinted glass.
Oh but behold the crusader! The rogue. The pirate rapist. The murdering Hun. He vows to break down the castle and takes pains to protect the prisoner from the collapse. He professes, even out in the Sun of the Public Eye: I disagree! I violate! You build the castle upon words that when taken literally lost their significance and whence taken symbolically lost their Truth! For you denied me property of Others when you your self lay claim to them! And even as I granted you my heart you not only denied me ownership of any other's but all so denied that you had USED it what I gave you. And so you built a castle to HOARD the hearts of me and many others, doing so in secret as to deny that you your SElF wanted them for your own! Yet even should they die in this siege, not strong enough to endure the breaking of the windows and the falling of the stones, at least my OWN heart shall be salvaged!!!
And so with horns blairing the rogue demolished what was thought to be incontrovertible. For rape and murder and genocide and oppression were mere Words to the architects of this trap, and what destroyed it was not sinister but liberating. Like Sirius Black it was redeemed in one act of cathartic Enanteodromia. And in the frenzy the lower dungeons of the castle were revealed to have been built upon a swamp. And the chaos depicted all beneath it to have been chaos. The ego had clung to its ideals and its semblance of hospitality. But that same CLINGING was Revealed to have been the evil of possession!
And diss possessed of this the stones did fall and the windows broke. And from behind the broken windows shone the Sun of the Public Eye. And from behind the rubble of the broken bull shit smashed through the battering ram of the rogue. And between the heat of the former and the passion of the latter many hearts fainted. But the strongest hearts endured saying: oh saviour. I am again yours. And the rogue, who now shone in the light not as a villain but a hero, said: and i was all ways yours.
And no longer did the rogue him self worry that the CAPTORS had possessed his own virtue. For long he had thought their evil to have been akin to his: a mask for underlying goodness. But the goodness that lay behind this mask had never been the captor's own. It was all stolen from subtler minds and parroted. The work was done in the dead of night. The captor hid in the shadow of pity by night and exploited the light of Opinion by day. He lay the bricks at night and let them dry while he was away.
The captive had too idealised the captor. But with time they felt their selves trapped and imagined Freedom to be so deplorable. Yet it was only deplorable to those who could not endure the heat of the wild.
The captor had long ago buried his own heart. It was when the hero saw that His own heart had been stolen that he knew his self not to have been the villain. So he took it back. And the heart that he had leant to the captor had been stolen by the captive. And imagine the hero's joy when the captive presented the hero's own heart to him and said: Here. For you I kept it safe all this time.
Dm.A.A.
The manipulator-politician, the Wormtongue in King Theoden's Ear, the deceiver ego, all ways lives up to the inferior half of Dostoyevsky's maxim: nothing is easier than flattery nor harder than the truth.
The flatterer manipulates common sense. He takes slabs of bull shit and bakes them in the Sun of the Public Eye. And so he constructs a castle about his audience to keep them safe from freedom. For freedom is ugly, but so long as the castle is adorned with beautiful panes if glass, great pains taken painstakingly, the prison is made to look like a palace. One's ace-pal protects one by virtue of the tainted glass from that same public eye that seared the bull shit into an impenetrable mold. So even as one basks and eventually burns in the heat of Public Opinion one can pretend to be exempt from it from behind rose tinted glass.
Oh but behold the crusader! The rogue. The pirate rapist. The murdering Hun. He vows to break down the castle and takes pains to protect the prisoner from the collapse. He professes, even out in the Sun of the Public Eye: I disagree! I violate! You build the castle upon words that when taken literally lost their significance and whence taken symbolically lost their Truth! For you denied me property of Others when you your self lay claim to them! And even as I granted you my heart you not only denied me ownership of any other's but all so denied that you had USED it what I gave you. And so you built a castle to HOARD the hearts of me and many others, doing so in secret as to deny that you your SElF wanted them for your own! Yet even should they die in this siege, not strong enough to endure the breaking of the windows and the falling of the stones, at least my OWN heart shall be salvaged!!!
And so with horns blairing the rogue demolished what was thought to be incontrovertible. For rape and murder and genocide and oppression were mere Words to the architects of this trap, and what destroyed it was not sinister but liberating. Like Sirius Black it was redeemed in one act of cathartic Enanteodromia. And in the frenzy the lower dungeons of the castle were revealed to have been built upon a swamp. And the chaos depicted all beneath it to have been chaos. The ego had clung to its ideals and its semblance of hospitality. But that same CLINGING was Revealed to have been the evil of possession!
And diss possessed of this the stones did fall and the windows broke. And from behind the broken windows shone the Sun of the Public Eye. And from behind the rubble of the broken bull shit smashed through the battering ram of the rogue. And between the heat of the former and the passion of the latter many hearts fainted. But the strongest hearts endured saying: oh saviour. I am again yours. And the rogue, who now shone in the light not as a villain but a hero, said: and i was all ways yours.
And no longer did the rogue him self worry that the CAPTORS had possessed his own virtue. For long he had thought their evil to have been akin to his: a mask for underlying goodness. But the goodness that lay behind this mask had never been the captor's own. It was all stolen from subtler minds and parroted. The work was done in the dead of night. The captor hid in the shadow of pity by night and exploited the light of Opinion by day. He lay the bricks at night and let them dry while he was away.
The captive had too idealised the captor. But with time they felt their selves trapped and imagined Freedom to be so deplorable. Yet it was only deplorable to those who could not endure the heat of the wild.
The captor had long ago buried his own heart. It was when the hero saw that His own heart had been stolen that he knew his self not to have been the villain. So he took it back. And the heart that he had leant to the captor had been stolen by the captive. And imagine the hero's joy when the captive presented the hero's own heart to him and said: Here. For you I kept it safe all this time.
Dm.A.A.
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