Brooding at the Salty Dog

Surrounded by elated, no, bloviated faces, the sky darkens and so does my mood. I begin to brood, wondering why I cannot be happy like these people are, why I cannot communicate like these people do, why I cannot just be in the moment....but see. That is half of the problem. I am always in the moment. Always worrying about how I am being thought of, perceived, stereotyped, pidgeon-holed. It's always about me. I am in the moment, but I am never out of me. I hate me. That hate simultaneously hides in horror at my reflection, yet cannot help but continue to look. I have to admit it to get better. I hate who I am. I cannot love anybody until I love me. How simple. How trite. How true.

Numb

Read the Wasteland, by TS Eliot.

Submit!

This week has been hell for Steve. The world stays the same for him, but everything else moves forward. In fact, for Steve time may be regressing. His armor shows chinks that had been rewelded. His eyes do not seek truth or sympathy or comraderie. They look down and hope to be passed without much notice. He echoes this thought, it is not what you are to people it is what you do, but no amount of coaxing or cajoling can stop the drumming and beating on the sides of his cranium, from the walls in these rooms where he sits, from the very thin air. It does not matter. There is no flying today or anytime soon. Geometric harmony will elude us yet again. Poor Steve. He doesn't have a fucking clue....

Letting go

Poetry is emotion subtly moving through my psyche.

Day is done. Nox eternum.
It is a constant chill the blows on my wet, naked soul.
No cry, no release,
No cathartic cataract tumbling from on high
to heal and wash away the memories...

...Her sun-blonded hair draping across my chest;
Her body slowly heaving on top of me...

There are things that I can never wash away.

The stain of love and regret. Of wishing
two things at once diametrically opposed.
They say that time heals all things.
That is hard to believe for an obsessive mind in love.
In love, maybe not with a person so much any more,
but an ideal.
A commingling of ought and is. (Am I not good enough?)

There are ways to break this circadian yoke, so I hear.
But they may break me in the process.
There are boundaries I just cannot cross by myself.
Standing up for me...Being me around people I do not know.

Being able to let go.

Fear/Embarrassment

Weeping. I am so deathly afraid of not being good enough: my Achilles' heel. I cannot...cannot what? It leaves me too quickly to say.

No matter what else, Steve, you must
1) Avoid embarrassment
2) Avoid confrontation
3) Avoid incompetence
4) Never show weakness.

Thinking of father...I am overwrought, embarrassed, weak, unable to control. I have no control. I know I never had control. Why does it bother me so?

Just on the other side, I almost imagine
a life, unencumbered
by doubt, regret, fear.
I almost see the face of a young man
enjoying the world unfolding
around in a mysterious symphony.

The truth sears the eyes open...
The truth of the eyes:
the deep chasm of not ever being good enough to be accepted as one.

The Foundations of Social Relations--Part II

Social relations may be categorized through several types of mechanisms, all of them seemingly contingent--based on cultural norms which even extend down to the individual level. However, we are interested in a particular type of social relation and interaction, and that is the social relations that accumulate, disperse, disguise or reveal power. Power has mutliple forms, but all of its forms enable the individual that has power to conduct in relations and interactions, and those that do not have this power are limited in their relations and interactions.

It is difficult to determine exactly how much power an individual may have. This power must be valued relative to other individuals and are informed by cultural norms. The cultural norm of most value to this valuation is the interaction and recognition between the two or more parties involved in the power relation being studied. As we are speaking of this power relation abstractly, our discussion strives to make general observations about power relations.

The Importance of Practicality in Social Relations

The foundation of social relations is the act of recognition. Recognition is one of the first and seminal events in the development of a baby's ability to interact with the world around her. From recognition comes our sense of proper address of another person. While a set of proper addresses may initially be contigent, time and practicality have made these mannerisms somewhat ubiquitous. In fact it is on practicality that our entire system of social political relations can be reduced to, given the circumstances of culture.

Whimpering Echoes

Light streaks into the room, making me restless. Another day has come, and I am in one piece. No shrieking inside my head. No insidious urges to shed this coil. I am alive, but am I living? The night before, I dared not leave the house. All energy gone, enervated, sulkily residing on the sofa.

Something is not right.

What is this new spell that is cast around me so? Am I Merlin trapped in a crystal cave of my own making? What is wrong? What is wrong? What is wrong? The question echoes and is the only reply I receive. The sound of my own thoughts disgusts me.

The Beginnings of a Theory

I had time in the previous days to start articulating my own views of the world. These views focus on the political relations and the growing schism between "academic" logico-rationality and, for a lack of better word, perceived reality of social relations. I have developed a list of observations that I endeavor to weave into a cohesive argument. Some of these observations are obvious; some are open for debate. All of these observations must be critically unpacked, however, to determine the underlying commonalities and themes to help construct my world view. To wit these observations are:
-Whereas the institution of the political academic has developed a distinct cant that resonates with only a select few;

-Whereas the theoretical scaffolding of this institution is self-reinforcing and self-perpetuating, given a lack of motivation for change;

-Whereas the academic cant is increasingly detached from the political discourse in the world;

-Whereas the current state of political discourse (the preponderance of all power relations) is bereft of genuine reflection and a weighing of policy choices;

-Whereas, through the course of human history, the chasm between the thinkers of political and ethical theory and the doers of politics has become so divided that the very language of discourse has resulted in a schism between the two realities that is either uncrossable or undesireable to cross;

-Whereas, strains of theory have highlighted the origins, methods, and raisons d'etre of this break between theoretical underpinnings of politics and the institution of political reality (exhibited through superstructures that defy prediction or usurpation);

-Whereas this schism is exacerbated by theory that attempts to define politics so abstractly as to untether it from the real social relations that affect day-to-day living;

-Whereas it is a given that the term "real social relations" defies easy definition, and it is understood that these social relationships have infinite variety, but the political landscape is defined as relationships of power, be it perceived individually or through some construct of society;

-Whereas, some forms of theory or praxis may scoff at the bifurcation of power relations, however there is a true differentiation between coercion and persuasion and must be accounted for as surely as physics must account for quantum and relativistic mechanics in astronomical calculations;

-Whereas the political discourse of day-to-day living is self-perpetuating in American politics because options for governance have been circumscribed to two choices, vying for hegemonic dominance;

-Whereas the purpose of academic postulation is to explain present circumstance but also to effect a method to address present circumstances;

-Whereas this praxis is only effective when it is portrayed through non-abstract reasoning and requires a continual rapprochemente because that is the proper place for discourse.

Weird Dream

I dreamt that I was dead and I was playing a game that does not exist in reality...a version of Tron meets skateboarding. I knew some of the people I was playing with. At first I was unsure that I was dead and was really concerned that this "place" where I was could be heaven. The notion of an afterlife resonates with me, as it is how my early existential crises would come upon me....hoping and wishing that God would let me know that I was not alone in the universe. But here I was playing (it was a dark place, but so fascinating). The game we were playing required hand eye coordination beyond my own normal, klutzy skills. I was able to zoom everywhere on a hoverish skateboard, including almost to the pits of hell: the void below us. At one time we stopped playing the game to explore the space around us. One of the "lines" we traversed took us to a "nursery" where young toddlers were playing. They played in a fountain of glowing light. And there were caretakers there. I stopped one of the caretakers, who was trying to avoid me and asked who they were. Were they aliens? Have we died? The caretaker said they were an indescribable being that most closely correlated with the human definition of an angel (no wings, but a glow about them). Then I recognized a friend of mine, who said he had committed suicide. I felt such empathy for him and cried for him. And then I woke up. I was sweating from head to toe. My friend is still alive. I wonder what this could mean.

Contemplative Living

As far as adages go, one that has general traction is "it takes all kinds to make the world go round." I generally concur with this proposition, especially when I feel any ambivalence about said "kind" of person. Who am I to judge if I am unsure of the device by which to measure another's life?


However... and there is always a however...Socrates said it best when he declared that the unexamined life is not worth living. Humans have a unique place in the cosmos (as far as we know) to see their life as a journey, the trek made more interesting through our contemplation of the sights, sounds, smells, feelings, people, etc. we meet along the way. Contemplation of not only the trail right in front of us, but of the journey's most memorable moments and those moments that lie ahead makes those sensations all the more savory.

For my journey, this is what I believe. There will be times when I will make unwise decisions and may not use my knowledge and judgment in making a decision. Nevertheless, all of my moments will be a medium through which I see the world and my part in it. This is what I vow to profess to any who ask.

Reeling Back from Insanity to Absurdity

My mom is not a fish, but if she were, I imagine her as a giant manta ray: a gentle creature that can sting and kill if provoked.

Madness as Method

I cannot say to you that it will all be ok. The howling shriek from the void can pierce us at any moment. There is little solace in life; no clear predictable way to know the future's fate for us. We come into the world, and the only certainty we learn is that everything changes, and we will leave this place (in the sense that we do not know what happens after death). Life--as precious as it is--is fickle. I feel naked next to the void. I try to avert my eyes from the perfect darkness but I cannot. A terror that speaks its name from the imperceptible place whispers "yessss." Oh Arjun, with your peerless focus, find my heart and shoot love-tipped arrows at me that I may be full in the face of the void. Let me look into the eyes of my Formorian contrapose and see inversion and light.... et spiritus sancti. Amen.

A proper practice for human truth seekers

The clock shows 0102 as I start typing this. Work hours will be hurrying up to us, brought on all the more quickly by sleeplessness (yes, it's sarcasm). A dear friend of mine cajoled me into beginning a new entry to sate the teeming masses. Don't step on each other as you cue up to the virtual billboard. But what should I write? I previously laid grand expectations: a philosophical journey tempered by sage/bardic wisdom of times gone by. I guess daedalian projects always are grand. They are quests for freedom. [Did not Daedalus and Icarus fly away from their prison?] Let all else fail, the search for truth is a search for freedom: Freedom from a world ill-perceived and irrationally grounded...Freedom for a world that at last can breathe in and out fully in an endless day of Spring (even death leads to life)!!

However, I do not mean to strip away the agonism that defines, contours, and polishes humanity. A proper question, though, would be to know if there is room for agonism or an opposition if humanity were to fully "realize" itself? Nietzsche said to beware the Last Man and compared him to cattle. The Last Man is a fatted calf that may have all the basic necessities, but has no passion for life and mires himself in the rot of dead thought and dead custom and history uncritically lapped upon. This is not what we want to be.

But move somewhere we must, so where should we go from here? What is a proper "end state" for man. I truthfully say that this question is beyond my own reasoning; however, whatever system of human (being) -being we decide to practice must never attempt to fill the room for competition and agonism, lest all cultural movement cease.

Fomóraig

In the first entry, I talked about what I am striving to do....not much unlike other humans' struggles to become an other. Nietzsche spoke of the Overman rising above humanity. Marx spoke of the proletariat rising up to dismantle the Capitalist system. These examples, and so many more, illustrate the need to identify ourselves in opposition, even in contradiction, to what we see. The 2 year old learns that she is not her mother and has desires independent of her mother's rearing. I could list a million examples, but the core concept is that we tend to define ourselves by identifying an opposition.

Another important aspect in my search for identity is returning to the ethos of Greek and Irish mythology. The Greeks, the mother of philosophy, grappled with the nature of things through the mythology and reverence of teaching and dialogue--a dialectic dialogue to be sure. The Irish similarly struggled with the nature of things in their world. To this day in Ireland, the world of the spiritual and physical exist side by side. Further, I daresay, The strength of the Irish soul lies in the persistent pursuit of the divine among the quotidian. To find inspiration and elicit the pathos of these grand cultures, I turn to them to find my light and my darkness, my opposition. For me, my opposition is the Fomóraig (Formorians). The Formorians are the semi divine race that lived in Ireland before people and other gods came to the jeweled Isle. Being a race of demiurges, they wrought havoc to those that came to the land in peace.

I see Formorians as the opposition and contradiction to the light and learning embodied in the pure form of the tetrakyt, and due dilligence through daedalian work. Rest assured, I will return to these basic memes in the emotions and thoughts I encounter.

To you, dear reader: What symbols do you use to fight away the oblivion of chaos?

New Days

Words are powerful. They fill our days with thoughts and streams and memes, concomitantly placed next to our peers' as we all are asearch in this mystery called life. I am starting my blog for a host of reasons...none of which are more relavent than to lend credence to the puissant words in my own life. I look to you as a reader and a conspirator on this journey. Tell me your words and your thoughts. Let me imbibe on them as if they are liquid jewels on the serene sea.

These are New Days--Diem Nuovo. To name this new process one must commingle history and art. A very high art. Nothing finer than finding the secret of flight. A Daedalian project. A d(a)edalian dream. And our aim is to find the rarest form of truth hidden behind the essence of objects. Not what can you perceive, but what a priori can there be. My little tretrakyt, broken, but beautiful in what it seeks.

You may wonder why we choose these words to signify--Why a Daedalian craft be based on the true form of the tetrakyt--see the beautiful angles on display starting structures of near mathematical certainty to just be broken. Know this, that these words and these memes were here longer than us and will outlast us. Other than to ask the obvious, I must entreaty you and your kith to ponder on the Deadalian tetrakyt. What cunning work can be done to undo our own tetrakyts? Come back and tell me what tendrils have brushed up against your psyche.