Month: October 2017

October in the Warmth

October in the Warmth

Outside it is the twenty third of a month in Fall called October, it is warm enough for a t-shirt.

I type , angry that the rain will stop the sun rising earlier or rather mar the pinkish glow which I’ve come to greet as a brother. One is less lonely with a burning star in their view, and the knowledge that a ball of friction held in by gravity and the hand of an invisible mathematics: an orb which will warm me, this undeserving creature, is reassuring. As I’ve said before the constancy of the sun has always inspired worship, for good reason.

Of late i write very little. Ive discovered it is difficult to suck the marrow from life if one is always recording on papers and or this device.  Reading is much better and taking notes for later writing, and this is all for me, pleasant : an abstraction, a legacy of sorts. I’ll leave my sons no fiat currency,  only knowledge which is all i have, and cannot be taken from even my corpse. Ill die burned with it in my crematorium: this wealth.

Ive ordered many new books, mostly obscure but well written books, minus the derivative of modernity which seems to have infested us with an idea of a promised synthesis of thoughts.  Ive discovered contrarily, that knowledge is best studied in subsections and history in microcosmic form, this works better, one has a chance to synthesize at least what they need before they expire.  Examples of authors: Fermor, William James , Epictetus,Dillard, Henry Adams, Baker’s the Peregrine, D’Ormesson , Rufus, Zeno, Physiologus, more of Senecas lesser known essays and writings etc.

Lists aren’t for me (nor is this one even close to total), and I’m not bragging. No one knows or cares i’ll read this, no one is wowed by my girth of interest. We live in a sleeping state and men who care are so far between that i would kiss the feet of a person who could merely hold me entranced with a new thought for just an hour without the aid of alcohol as a lubricant to fuel my interest.  THC makes me less interested in their company, in it i only have an urge to seek more in books, and perhaps I’m some wunderkind but it effects my memory not at all, i don’t even use book marks (or hardly do) , because i can find my pages simply by rereading a few key words.  Forgive my talk of this, i have only one other talent or two: 1. I am a mediocre but husband who tries hard. 2. I love my sons more than myself and will work to help them grow beyond me. Hence my speaking of the books of the philosophy, and the endless tirade of speculation on what seems as if it could be exhausted. But books cannot be nor knowledge. Only wisdom has limits and its is the basis of wisdom mohave a demarcation .

Now as i do often ill begin anew as if i weren’t writing about anything, which i suppose i wasn’t. I was writing about everything. The sun behind me still lurks and it rains, bones swell and i care not. French minimalist electronic music fuels my ability to pervade through my morning like a ghost of silence, my headphones loudly urging me to press play yet again. I shouldn’t be writing such tripe, i should read one of the 20 books I’m reading, i only have so long to live. Will my reflections have been wroth the time spent upon them ? Have i gleaned anything ? Has anyone?  If this is all, if i am only to be food for the earth or sky, what is it I am doing? I prefer to think it our duty to smear our existence and spread it with as much love and erudition as possible, until one can sound the depths of the human heart one cannot begin to do so, hence the need to reflect i suppose and to reflect on others reflections. Also we are all lonely , every night we are in another world akin to death, so all are lonely even if they say they are not, at least for the hours where their mind is not here. Truly elsewhere.

I say let the warmth come or go. But let Fear never have the option to remain. Live in accordance with reason and love, and die according to them as you have no choice.

Bishop Aimed at Unprotected Queen

Bishop Aimed at Unprotected Queen

The books gather in stacks, judging, waiting to be judged, preferential treatment accorded to those which held me in their grasp as mothers do babies,

I’d imagined a contrived poem, some vestige of what i believe I’m supposed to write but I’m a husk today, not an unpleasant husk but a dryness of mind which i appreciate, I’ve absorbed enough let me be reticent.

A gunman shot fifty people in Vegas, he will not be called a terrorist, because he is white he is merely a loose cannon, an errant fool, his case will be viewed with sympathy when he should probably be quietly smothered like a kitten in an insane asylum with a pillow laced with razors , yet such is our way, he will be paid for, until a long drawn out trial and endless appeals, death row and invested taxes fed to our vile corporate jail system, fascist in all but name. Democratic in nothing but our socialization and local government.

I picked my boys up early, i really honestly have little regard for any laws especially educational ones: when the food is edible and nutritious, when the curriculum is a lifelong pursuit of truth, then i will bow to such  a system. Either way , screw waiting in line with a bunch of irritated parents most of whom id fall short of speech with in any normal encounter. Or rather id capitulate and talk about the only sport player i know in order to evade any real conversation, if thats even a possibility.  Needless to say this is torture for me, i sometimes wear headphones i smile foolishly at everyone, as if to pay them off; like kids in war zones looking to me for chocolate i do not have.

Electronic music is now playing as i type this, my sons have hugged me often and told me of their love. I diffuse essential oils, and listen to odd electro funk music from the late 90s and literally whenever the hell it was made, by an artist i consider not shit.  I skim memes, I read a few pages of various books by men i should read books by ( and women not to be a sexist, as i love well..both sex and the abilities of my equals) and i sip merlot , the kind made en masse by people who must have been tasters for Thunderbird and were hired to help market this as a step up.  Does the trick as they say.  I write this almost as if it is necessary to me to have a point about today. But honestly i remain unmoved. Men shoot often, what makes it different when i can commiserate is this, i can commiserate, quietly and alone over what is wrong whether it took place here or elsewhere.

Somewhere, men in rooms with ties and suits which we couldn’t afford throw around words like “necessary loss” and ” how will this effect donors”, men and women who think of things in the rhythm  of four year terms , who have shit on democracy and made it a horserace for fat bottomed and cadaverous beings of wealth to bet upon like the play of whores after work in saloons.  Men who have given us a religion in the place of truth and called it freedom: endorsed boundaries when freedom knows none, built when they should have shown restraint, destroyed when they should have held back, compromised, made peace.  Often i find it odd that i am represented as a member of a designated class or social stratum in a nation-state, and that i must take this as matter of course and so must you and we think nothing of the fact that getting killed for speaking too loudly, is a thing which occurs out of hand as well.

I wake each day and walk to a quiet field of battle, it takes place on radios, and phones, pornographic websites, social media outlets which vacillate between honesty and a bland death like embrasure of free speech so inherently self absorbed, it ceases to be free or even speech. I often wonder how much skinheads and Antifa realize they are much alike, especially to men like me with more shit to do ,than get involved in their factions, children to raise, books to read: other than the few i felt necessary to reinforce my own assumptions. ( Though i must admit my brother and i debate whether one gets anything from books other than what one already inherently knew but couldn’t articulate, which is something i’ll address or not address another time).

Let it be known to those who feel they may hide from war, This is the war.  If you wish to hide from poverty, you’llve poverty of another sort, even less quenchable and more prevalent… a rich man, has less chance than a camel passing through the eye of a needle etc. … If you think you can avoid the masses, know you are the masses, your ability to function as a feasible unit within a mass of contradictions is your only goal. Let this at least be attempted with a sense of decorum. Truly it is all i wish of my sons or I.

And may you unite with one who’s bond is beyond that of themself.  And together you can study the architecture of the truth, bodies entwined until your death.