Month: September 2017

A Successful Failed Essay on Self- Inquiry and Partial Madness

A Successful Failed Essay on Self- Inquiry and Partial Madness

Credits and debits in an ledger, always I see it in my minds eye, I wonder if all see it, mark time by nonsense, an ideated false obsession, take their pulse by the beat of another heart, have given up emotionally in a respect which isolates them to this, this account book of a life which attains meaning only in the most blissful of stupors like sex and parental love and unconditional compassion, a sunrise un-impeached or a day with only smiles and the ability to move on.

To have mental problems is to say one is nearsighted in certain respects, even in loving or finding joy, it is also to be invisible to suffer quietly in ways which cannot be explained because of their individuality and impossibility to enumerate in terms with any true definition than what the beholder of them has. Thats why I’ve always truly been haunted by the phrase by Frost and I’m summing up ” its meaning was  incredible or else i fear entirely my own.”

A man with the inability to control himself burns himself up like a log in a fire, his fears are the wind .  Crowds , closeness , love : these things are the metal poker, stoking him, he fears them , like a fool but still he fears them. And in knowing he is a fool the shame and guilt are compounded to a degree which is so superficial that it is somehow believable to the fool concocting it, as foolish as the certainty of atheist and christians. Seneca compares the angry man to the madman, nothing is closer to the mark of reality than his simple statement on an unnecessary phenomenon.

Even stranger? The incredible capacity to love on a vast scale by a creature totally immutable to the laws of it, apparently unswayed by it. But no man is an island and the quietest or loudest often love the deepest. And in a solitude of nostalgia they hold onto that love, nourishing it for a better day which in hiding it from others they never achieve.  To know deeply such a darkness one must also be familiar with light.

” If I see a man armed only with a sword attack a group of machine guns, I shall consider his act to be absurd. But it is so solely by virtue of the disproportion between his intention and the reality he will encounter, of the contradiction I notice between his true strength and the aim he has in view.” from Camus’s Myth of Sisyphus and other Essays, in point “An Absurd Reasoning” , a book i would recommend with anyone battling an absurdity, which is literally all of us, but especially those who have through hook or by crook been inundated with a mental acuity which turns in itself and is called disease, abnormal, madness.

For the struggle for the man ridden by the hag of mental difference (disease though it is a stigmatic word for something inherited) is the struggle of the inability to embrace the absurdity of rules, things forced on the grid of what we perceive and call reality with such confidence. I often ask why not such a change, am I a burp ,a sequence of pained growth of mind toward an evolutionary goal i know nothing of ? Such a thought is absurd. But upon the general admittance of great thinkers and great beings, all things are absurd, but nonetheless they must be thought of , dealt with. Even this. When ones life is this though, it becomes an even heavier  weight, one grows guilty at not solving the problems of another, forgets about the things all around them because of the obsession….so absurd haha, indeed.

Thats what this is truly about.  How a man who can learn anything, can also suffer miserably at the hands of self inflicted wounds ,as much as any fool with no iota of need beyond his immediate animal satisfaction.

The normal : Let us call this group the status quo. One may describe them as wishing to be diseased or seeming to be, but truly only suffering from a symptomatic reaction to a crushing societal scenario none of us imagined or expected.( Let us not look down on that group, geniuses are only fools who can hide their faults more easily than others, or reveal them and make them seem accomplishments.) These are the people that for some reason persons with mental problems let themselves be bothered by, i personally imagine them as a heaving unthinking mass of meat, on better days i see them for what they are : individuals struggling to be, in a world which wishes for ambiguity as a rule to reign.

This is where i wish to digress, i find the form odious, the need to conform, odious, for though i write for others I’m mostly writing for myself, my ID, i do not fear death nor do I believe in the magics presented me by the various sects of magi and thought crime perpetrators, logic manipulators or believers of vast proposals without merit or purpose.  Ill not wave a flag, nor be allegiant to any thing which rose from dust. If there is a God ill not shame him, if there is not I will not shame myself.  Madness takes many forms, conformity being the one most uncomfortable to me, I pretend to be 60 people a day to avoid confrontation, not because of any real reason but because i fear letting in strangers, of which the world is composed, terrifying strangers who believe in the flags and the guns and the things….the things, jesus so damn many, all ridiculous, like children making fart noises to an adult in a quiet room trying to study : such are the ways of the mass.


 

I read the word Rest on the title of a book ( it was referring to the grouping of others) but i found it interesting that the word for sleep and the word for a group of socializing beings should share an etymological similarity,  It took my breath away. How beautiful to think of lying in ones brothers and sisters arms, trusting utterly that love is their position rather than what is so apparent, this missing piece, the only piece which would let us say the word “evolved” as if it were apparent in our own being.

Man is only a creature of the present like any other. His tendency to live in the past and future would be admirable did he not neglect the present. That being said, saying times are bad is an arbitrary thing, times are both good and bad. Nothing is one thing, and assuming so makes a literal hell on earth: for where lies reign, only suffering occurs. Reference the endless history of men letting men down in revolutions across the planet in every time of history.  All epochs only can be called epochal because of an invoked sense of self importance totally unearned by a creature whose sole accomplishment in the end will be to eradicate his inheritors through laziness and apathy.

As I type peril seems to be in the air ( doesn’t it always?)  The Leader of North Korea a kingdom behind an imaginary line on the northeastern part of a landmass in the east is firing mediocre nuclear weapons through the sky and sending veiled threats like an insecure bully unsure of his punches strength in a playground brawl. His people a huddled mass of starving slaves ,sent to death camps to work till their last breath cheer him on, clapping bony hands together smiling as they must for safeties sake, their families sake, pride in what they know is a lie : all they have left.

Our situation is similar but more dangerous. Unlike North Korea we actually are killing people, haven’t stopped killing people to the point that it is almost a past time and a thing we forget we our doing. When i say we i only use it in the sense that I must, so deeply ingrained is the idea of country in the minds of man, those who sneer at faith but fear boundaries which do not exist , i find beneath intellectual contempt.  Why is this pertinent? I tell you why. because i personally am the least disturbed by this than I am by what is going on in my vicinity, a reality i cannot ignore, one which i would know were it not told to me by people who think they should do the telling. i.e. News organizations, governments, busybodies and gossips, fools and prophets who’s faith is bound up in a logic so fallible the cracks can be seen in the skin of their very deepest being, or their most open argument.

How does one find peace in such a place? Where intuition is smashed, open-mindedness under assault. Become a man apart i say.  But as a man apart you aren’t away from the problems of mankind, you are simply able to look at them more objectively if emotion is not involved except when necessary and the only emotion necessary is compassion, for it and love define all others, how one reacts from these emotions will always be the way one should react. Vengeance is for those who have limited themselves to this earthly plane of base thought, just as they limit God by writing in the margins and creating holy books which are more a reflection of their beliefs than any a Just God would ever contrive.

As we speak the crusty old hates grind like machinery, men tote the chains of anger , raising the bridge once again, letting in the monster, the monster they recognize, the monster which is them which we seek to forgive but cannot.  Men look back heavily at the weighty hate we bore for those we now call friends, realizing they are ourselves, how many must die before we realize the next enemy was also us?

In retrospect or just in spect? I realize this is no longer an essay with a purpose other than itself. But I’ve read many belle letters , essays… all of them lead to conclusions of some sort. I believe the point of an essay is to pose a question. One doesn’t wake with an answer on their lips, merely  questions , enjoy mine, or hate them, read them or don’t, god save me, i am a fool, but i wish to not be, may i learn something in the breaths allowed me

We used to be free or maybe not but I’m sure we were never called to create a handle for ourself on a digital device to be viewed like television by strangers. I wonder often why nothing by real thinkers has been applied in the direction of the prostitution of words, of thought and media itself to the mass by commercialism.  Why nothing is said of the existential weltanschung felt by all using media in the modern ( i use that haltingly) world , why do we have such faith in software programmers but so little in ourselves? Why have we diminished our lives to the arbitrary numberings the overlords whoever they happen to be ascribe to us? I suppose the answer is apparent, just not to me.

What do we do? In these essays there is always some answer right?  But in a realistic sense that answer is individual and cannot apply to you, one can only say what works for their hunk of flesh, their way of achieving what seems impossible.  I hang my head and cross my lips and confabulate all things religious in my skin, i wish for things that weren’t, i know somewhere children suffer and i suffer because of it, i know a man is hungry and i regret a full stomach, i know hate is being stirred like chocolate in a pot and the obsolescent await its outcome like all who eat without need, ……with greed.  How does one sing “It is well with their soul” when it is not well within the soul of your brother, how is ones soul well when you go to a place and stand around and people pat you on the back for believing like them, is this not anti-christ, is this not the monster we were sent to slay? And atheism is more a theists viewpoint based on ignorance , just as monstrous and consuming as the non-ethics our religion has allowed us because of doctrine, so has gone the doctrine of what the laymen call “science”.  Are there heroes? Perhaps, but I’ve yet to hear of them. Perhaps we must be our own.

In closing i must say, I have nightmares of the sun which will rise on the horizon of my children’s children, but i also have dreams of a better world where the sky blue, lounges above men i do not know because they are so alien to me, so happy so empty of our war -like sense of necessity, that they have no wrinkles or crows feet. Their sky so blue it burns the skin, and their weakness accepted becomes strength.

Georgia Balm

Georgia Balm

Here i will let my facial hair grow, like a Roman aristocrat in mourning,

watch each day rise like a challenge to my esteem, and gaze at the hollow cheeked men who proliferate this district,

gaze at the failed enterpri, the toppled brick and the rust dripping from the barred windows of derelict establishments : I cannot help but smile, this is the butter to my bread.

And my eyes peruse longingly over each paint peeled clapboard homestead, all of them pregnant with history, if only my fingertips could caress the peeling paint, if only i could effervesce and grow as one with the ghost of its inhabitants,

were they betrayed by a gossamer reality ?

Did they choke on life, like too many spider webs in their path?

Fruitlessly plow fields?

Watched unyielding crops wither as their wrinkled crows footed eyes stared on,  betraying a disbelief in the balance of Gods providence,

witnessed choleric tragedy, patted fevered brows of daughters wispily lying in calico patterned linen in beds of sweat : smelling of death,

The Doctor ineffectually standing by surreptitiously sipping laudanum , steadily losing faith in his saviour, yearning to save, outside the dusk is fading to a chalcedonious odd lavender precursor to dark,

the Doctors horse snorts shaking flies off its straggling mane, a roan, eyes wild in its head,

night rises like mercury under heat,

this is no frontier, or a beginning,

this is a hallway and it seems to have no end.

The magnolia blossoms fall, the tubercular trees coughing them to the ground, covering the rot iron bench near the family plot, partially rusted smelling of verdigris a Bronze Angel overlooking it all, hands outspread in a benediction, but silent forever, as the voice of God has been for so long, hands outstretched nonchalantly like the love of Stoics.

Emanating from the stone hearts of the the inexpertly inscribed tombstones with their misspelled latin epigrams, the voice of the earth rises.

The bole of the nearby Oak seems to laugh and the birds refrain is that of profound disregard, a cackle of existential absurdity, a parody of speech, a laugh in the face of those without wings.

Often they go there to pray, the vase is never empty of flowers, in the winter a bouquet of dried  milk thistle is maintained, God never forgets either,

Gabriel is marking time, practicing the already far learned tune he must play.

Some of them are dying to hear it, I know that I will waltz to it, though not a fan of simple horn music and dry the perspiration from my forehead by the wind created by the wings of cold-eyed seraphim ,

clouds will settle on our souls and we will become the Gold we so cherish,

All of us United in the anarchy of the after us.

Labour Day

I stand on the shoulders of the slaves of the past today, grilling, eating cheeseballs, celebrating the victories of unions amidst the ashes of their defeat in a capitalist playground filled with joyous celebrants unwilling to look in mirrors and or address reality.  I love family i love gatherings but i also love truth and while i stuff my face and drink now, high on existence , i stutter to myself in my head when i try to find a reason to lift my hands in a unison with my fellow man and claim a moment of god granted pension, a peace deserved, but in order for this to happen i had to go buy booze at the store where i saw an 70 something year old friend of mine Bobby working, the flavor of freedom lost from my tongue, i wondered what world i live in when this man, must serve me: his lesser. And i , i go to celebrate my undeserved victory over the nothing I’ve conquered.

I think to myself, i could spend my days writing litanies for my children to become nothing like the man i am, the man who accepts all, with fear of losing what is already his by right but granted by the more aggressive amongst us( not the most powerful, just those with seeming power) , i shame myself and them when i bend in this attitude.

As Seneca says, let us at least die fighting on our knees, even that is valiant, victors never were too farsighted, their victories turn to dust and are forgotten, the losers often leave more from their loss than the supposed champions, who die alone and filled with regret, covered in the blood of their supposed victories. Everyone remembers Hannibal, even fools, but do they recall the generals who contended with him? He is only a slave who fears death,

Why do i assume things are mine by right? Why do you believe in good and evil or vague approximations of such? Why any imperative moral or otherwise? Your faith is disturbing especially when it bases its faithfulness on lack of faith, it is a lie, calling itself science and or religion, each as false as the other when done for the wrong reasons. Wrong reason? Anything obvious to be counterproductive to the good of man i.e. most of what occurs beneath our stewardship on this benighted planet filled with such hope and such effervescent beings never intent on any but themselves.

I would write of the love burning in my chest like the last strings fading from a concerto written for the end of time, but it would be words, and i wish i had more.