In what seems like a fantastic fact, I haven’t done any writing in quite a while, but I woke up today (already awake of course), and the urge to deflower a perfectly innocence blank space with characters and metaphors sprang up from the time fog.
It’s an almost primal urge. The need to create, I mean. What is it from human history that instills in all of us the drive to create something out of nothing? It is probably related to the fact that the consciousness, subconsciously, feels the need to illustrate to itself exactly how it came into being. It looks at itself and wonders how there was nothing there, then there was this thing, and a thing to recognize that thing apart from other things. So, when we create something, we take essentially nothing and make it something.
Midnight on Sunday, there is three fingers of whisky next to me in a small glass, and that will probably serve me throughout this entire writing process.
Life is sometimes only about focus. What the human character focuses on is the road that particular character is choosing to walk down, and it is always a choice. You can choose to focus on anything, but I think there’s a funny sort of turnaround that happens when your focus is on the big picture—and I’m not talking about in a business sense because even that is not broad enough.
One generally thinks of focus as a pinpoint. When you focus all of your energy and attention on this one particular thing, that is focus, which is true; however, it is also entirely possible to focus on one particular thing like existence. What is it like when your focus is entirely on what this thing existence is? It’s a focus of a different kind, isn’t it? There is very little that doesn’t fall under the scope and scale of existence, and when you focus on a full existence, only wanting to become yourself, an endless hallway lined with doors seems to open up right in front of your eyes. Existence is every one of those doors and none of them simultaneously. Each door is a part of existence and the whole of it. Each one of them has to represent the infinite eternal present instant. That is where existence takes place, in the present progressive reality of the human being. Humans are not present simple—something immortalized, usual or always true. Humans began at some point in the past, are moving through something, and that something is expected to continue until an unknown point in the future. I am living.
Sartre’s idea that we don’t use language like a tool (some kind of hammer for a metalworking experiment), we exist language is never more apparent than in the unfortunate area of grammar. Why do we need grammar? It is an illustration of the state of the human character. Oh, you ought to know that USING proper grammar is not important except in the area of thorough information conveyance, but grammar itself is an invaluable peak at the inner workings of human beings.
What are the easiest things in life? Things we know are always true. Things that happened at some point in the past and have been immortalized—either in writing or scheduling. Things that are even usually true are pretty simple. This is why, most of the time, the present simple for most verb forms is the easiest—very few oddities.
What is the most difficult thing in life? Life. To be is pretty difficult. I know that in at least three languages, “To Be” is always an irregular verb form. What does that tell you? In Korean, they separate something that is inherent inside of you (something you have—I have 26 years inside me… “I am 26 years old”) from something that you do (“I am a teacher”). They both translate to “I am,” but they are rendered differently in Korean.
What about the future? We don’t know a whole lot about the future, and the form is usually some form of the present simple: I will talk to you later. The unknowable future manifests itself in its connection with the present.
The past, especially in English, is probably the most difficult verb tense to get your head around. There are so many irregular past tense verbs that it makes the head spin. Smack that together with the past participle, and your left in the lurch. If we take a look at that, the past is complicated, isn’t it? And I’m not talking about grammar any more. We carry the past around with us, but it’s always changing based on new information that we have gathered or how our memory has retained the information we learned.
If you’re confused, imagine the difficulty of teaching these things to children. Well, to be fair, I don’t have to teach children that they ARE language and this manifests itself in grammar, but the reality of teaching that to them makes it a very daunting task. While they don’t need to know it, they need to understand it at some level. All of us understand it at some level. That’s why we use the language we do. It is we. This is probably why one of my favorite pastimes, one of my favorite hobbies is wandering through meaning. What does something mean? What can a single word mean? What does it mean to ask a question instead of making a statement?
I have been told, more than once… recently, that it can sometimes be no fun talking to me because my questions are always really difficult, and this can be a little off-putting. I remember that one of those times it was after asking what constitutes a coincidence, whether it’s related to an accident, and if one is a derivative of the other. I find that defining words as thoroughly as possible is a great workout for the brain, but sometimes people actually want to talk a lot of rot. If you were a toaster, what would you say to the person that owned you?
These are the questions that pop through my head. Even the fact that most of what happens in my head happens in the form of a question is an illustration—from a grammatical standpoint—of my character. For anybody that wanted to know, that’s pretty much how I go about living: questions. What happens when I do this? Okay. Lesson learned. What happens when… this? Okay. Life is a question that isn’t meant to be answered, but is sure as hell meant to be asked.
This week is a big question for me. Something new is starting, and I understand that vagueness can be a very irritating thing for people—especially me. I’m off and wandering into a world of meaning again, and there is excitement for me at a soul level because this is something that I have wanted for a long time. It doesn’t mean anything technically, but it means what it will. I wrote that line in a poem a long time ago: “It means what it will in the future,” and I have found it more and more true as time has passed. Most things that happen only develop meaning as time washes over it. What does that mean from a grammar standpoint?
I guess the last thing I’m going to say is that art is in the same tense as the human being. Art was created at some time in the past, is moving the present and will continue until an unknown time in the future. Even performance art started, is affecting, and will continue to affect. How many people were affected by something they saw and made a change in their life that will continue into the future?
What will you investigate over the course of three fingers of whisky?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, December 21, 2009
A Letter
Dear Christmas~
I guess I officially don’t understand you. I mean, I think I understand, but I understand the sentiment holding you up even more.
Sometimes, aren’t you a giant excuse to remember the loved ones you forget about all year long? That’s actually sad, but what if you weren’t there?
No, I think we’re definitely better off with Christmas in our lives; however, I also think that the manner of Christmas ought to be redefined.
In Korea, Christmas amounts to a bank holiday, a day off from school, and little more than a nice lunch with the family feeling good about life.
In America, Christmas lasts almost two months (sometimes more), costs a crap load, and has become the time of year that businesses rely on to pull them out of the red.
Okay, seriously, there has to be some kind of balance we can reach—Chanukah seems like a nice balance: one week, candles, remembrance, a few gifts, okay.
But why does religion have to get all mixed up with you?
So many people go to church one day a year.
Oh, and, um, Jesus probably wasn’t born on December 25th, but it’s tradition isn’t it?
This is just something that I’m throwing out into the winds of possibility and might eventually regret: could you ever be about simple celebration of the beauty of being there and alive? Santa being the cartoonish representation of the giver of the free gift of existence?
You know, the more I think about it, you probably started as precisely that: a simple celebration in the heart of winter to remind humanity of the warmth that perpetually burns in the breast of all who are alive.
But Pagans and Christians all wish to have to their stamp on things and we wind up with the mind-bending reality of seeing the juxtaposition of a magic cartoon octogenarian master of breaking and entering and the birth of the son of god.
In what world would these two things normally be allowed to be together?
Or…
is it just me or do those two things suddenly make perfect sense?
Ah, there’s my cynicism coming back through again and I apologize because this was meant to be a serious epistle of thankfulness for your existence.
Once, a while ago, I went through a period of serious appreciation for everything around me, and I do mean everything: the pencil I was writing with, the couch I was sitting on, the door I walked through, everything and everybody received a certain amount of love energy from me.
I have since stopped this practice (although I’m not sure why), and what I want to say right now is that I appreciate the reality of you.
The fact that you are instead of aren’t is enough to win you some appreciation from the mind of this thought wondering wandering Ulysses of ideas.
I’m not sure if you’re meant to be celebrated with lights and presents or simple dinners or nothing or fruitcakes or family or friends or lovers, but I do know (from somewhere in my spiritual existence) that you are meant to be celebrated.
What would happen in a world where you were celebrated with everybody everywhere doing a rhythmic rock riot fist to Metallica’s Battery?
What would happenin a world where you were celebrated by everybody picking up the nearest text of intense philosophical inquiry and quietly searching into their existence?
Ah, you’ll once again have to excuse me, but I have this penchant for unanswerable questions.
There is beauty in you. I can see it. I think it’s hiding beneath the layers of meaning that various groups are attempting to ascribe to you, but you are a day like any other.
On any other day you could give gifts to your loved ones (and they might even mean more for their unexpectedness).
On any other day you could get the whole family together and have a loving family meal where you genuinely appreciate each other.
But this is what holidays are for, and what does that illustrate?
At some level I’m almost certain that, for the most part, we don’t want to spend time and money on our family and friends, but there is this one day every so often that tells us we ought to, and so we do.
The human character is essentially a super-selfish character with walls built up around itself to deflect the pulsing arrows of those who would call it out.
--No, I’m not. See what I give when I’m supposed to give?
There is none holy, no not one.
Do you know why I think that there is not one holy person in the world?
Because people aren’t holy, days are, and that’s why you are special: humans are spiritual, but they exist inside the holiness of days.
What’s unique about you is that almost every group of humans all over the planet has decided that you are an especially holy day.
Let me restate that in different words: every single day we can exist our spirituality is a holy day (making every single day of our life special and important and real), but some days are holier than others by virtue of… something-or-other.
A personal day is a personal holiday, a personal holy day in which something is more special than other days, and there is great beauty in that.
What’s in a day?
Only everything, by which I mean nothingness, by which I mean the foundation for building whatever you want it to be.
O, Holy Christmas, I hereby thank you for your existence and make a pact with you that I will celebrate my existence and the existence of the human characters around me and the existence of the planet and the existence of every pine needle that has fallen to the ground with a little bit more fervor than on other days.
You win.
I will probably not decorate a tree or my room or my house until I have children whose cries of “Daddy, why?!” need placating, but know that inside my heart there will be great joy in your holiness.
If there is indeed magic in you, and let’s just assume for the sake of argument that there is, could you send a little of it to all those I would say I love, all those I would say I like, and all those others I don’t know.
That’s a tall order, for sure, but let’s just say I believe in you.
Cheers
e
I guess I officially don’t understand you. I mean, I think I understand, but I understand the sentiment holding you up even more.
Sometimes, aren’t you a giant excuse to remember the loved ones you forget about all year long? That’s actually sad, but what if you weren’t there?
No, I think we’re definitely better off with Christmas in our lives; however, I also think that the manner of Christmas ought to be redefined.
In Korea, Christmas amounts to a bank holiday, a day off from school, and little more than a nice lunch with the family feeling good about life.
In America, Christmas lasts almost two months (sometimes more), costs a crap load, and has become the time of year that businesses rely on to pull them out of the red.
Okay, seriously, there has to be some kind of balance we can reach—Chanukah seems like a nice balance: one week, candles, remembrance, a few gifts, okay.
But why does religion have to get all mixed up with you?
So many people go to church one day a year.
Oh, and, um, Jesus probably wasn’t born on December 25th, but it’s tradition isn’t it?
This is just something that I’m throwing out into the winds of possibility and might eventually regret: could you ever be about simple celebration of the beauty of being there and alive? Santa being the cartoonish representation of the giver of the free gift of existence?
You know, the more I think about it, you probably started as precisely that: a simple celebration in the heart of winter to remind humanity of the warmth that perpetually burns in the breast of all who are alive.
But Pagans and Christians all wish to have to their stamp on things and we wind up with the mind-bending reality of seeing the juxtaposition of a magic cartoon octogenarian master of breaking and entering and the birth of the son of god.
In what world would these two things normally be allowed to be together?
Or…
is it just me or do those two things suddenly make perfect sense?
Ah, there’s my cynicism coming back through again and I apologize because this was meant to be a serious epistle of thankfulness for your existence.
Once, a while ago, I went through a period of serious appreciation for everything around me, and I do mean everything: the pencil I was writing with, the couch I was sitting on, the door I walked through, everything and everybody received a certain amount of love energy from me.
I have since stopped this practice (although I’m not sure why), and what I want to say right now is that I appreciate the reality of you.
The fact that you are instead of aren’t is enough to win you some appreciation from the mind of this thought wondering wandering Ulysses of ideas.
I’m not sure if you’re meant to be celebrated with lights and presents or simple dinners or nothing or fruitcakes or family or friends or lovers, but I do know (from somewhere in my spiritual existence) that you are meant to be celebrated.
What would happen in a world where you were celebrated with everybody everywhere doing a rhythmic rock riot fist to Metallica’s Battery?
What would happenin a world where you were celebrated by everybody picking up the nearest text of intense philosophical inquiry and quietly searching into their existence?
Ah, you’ll once again have to excuse me, but I have this penchant for unanswerable questions.
There is beauty in you. I can see it. I think it’s hiding beneath the layers of meaning that various groups are attempting to ascribe to you, but you are a day like any other.
On any other day you could give gifts to your loved ones (and they might even mean more for their unexpectedness).
On any other day you could get the whole family together and have a loving family meal where you genuinely appreciate each other.
But this is what holidays are for, and what does that illustrate?
At some level I’m almost certain that, for the most part, we don’t want to spend time and money on our family and friends, but there is this one day every so often that tells us we ought to, and so we do.
The human character is essentially a super-selfish character with walls built up around itself to deflect the pulsing arrows of those who would call it out.
--No, I’m not. See what I give when I’m supposed to give?
There is none holy, no not one.
Do you know why I think that there is not one holy person in the world?
Because people aren’t holy, days are, and that’s why you are special: humans are spiritual, but they exist inside the holiness of days.
What’s unique about you is that almost every group of humans all over the planet has decided that you are an especially holy day.
Let me restate that in different words: every single day we can exist our spirituality is a holy day (making every single day of our life special and important and real), but some days are holier than others by virtue of… something-or-other.
A personal day is a personal holiday, a personal holy day in which something is more special than other days, and there is great beauty in that.
What’s in a day?
Only everything, by which I mean nothingness, by which I mean the foundation for building whatever you want it to be.
O, Holy Christmas, I hereby thank you for your existence and make a pact with you that I will celebrate my existence and the existence of the human characters around me and the existence of the planet and the existence of every pine needle that has fallen to the ground with a little bit more fervor than on other days.
You win.
I will probably not decorate a tree or my room or my house until I have children whose cries of “Daddy, why?!” need placating, but know that inside my heart there will be great joy in your holiness.
If there is indeed magic in you, and let’s just assume for the sake of argument that there is, could you send a little of it to all those I would say I love, all those I would say I like, and all those others I don’t know.
That’s a tall order, for sure, but let’s just say I believe in you.
Cheers
e
Sunday, December 13, 2009
What a Week
I have been thinking a lot, lately, about how the mind can manipulate itself, and, knowing this, if it is then possible to turn the mind into a tool the likes of which has never been seen. There was a conversation in a Bundang bar last Wednesday about Sartre’s concept of Bad Faith. Well, I haven’t thought much about Bad Faith since reading Being and Nothingness, but given my current life plans, it seems surprisingly relevant.
The principles of Bad Faith I have been using to reprogram my brain have been working. My upbringing caused me to believe certain things that weren’t true. Perhaps they existed as facts somewhere, but as nuggets of truth, there was certainly no experience with them that told me these facts were truth, and, as of late, I have been lying to myself about certain skills I have in order to make them a reality.
The principle of bad faith is pretty simple and pretty obvious: you habitually, subconsciously or consciously lie to yourself in order to accomplish a goal. Somewhere inside, the self is perfectly aware that this is not currently a fact, but we start acting like something long before we actually are that thing. If you think about the world of business, most big businesses in the modern age want you to start acting like the role you want to take on long before you actually step into the role. It’s like you’re always a little bit ahead of yourself, when you’re actually a little bit behind yourself. The only difference between bad faith and actual faith is the fact that you know you are lying to yourself in bad faith; whereas, in faith (such as religious faith) you are either not aware that you’re lying to yourself or you have had some kind of experience that has made the facts into a truth—so that you ACTUALLY believe.
Religious faith and I have not gotten along in some time, and it’s only because I have had no experience with religion that smacked of truth. The world is a spiritual entity, but I’ll leave the religion for other people.
I have experienced the truth of bad faith. I am not a guitarist. Why, then, do I play guitar every day? I am not a writer. Why, then, do I write ever day? Because I am continually lying to myself and telling myself that I am exactly not the thing I am is because my sub-conscious knows that if I knew full well that I was a writer and everything was fine or that I am a very accomplished guitarist, then there would be no drive and no desire. Bad faith is essentially the key to the ignition of desire. What do you want? What do you really want? I mean to ask: what does your soul want? What does your being want more than anything.
Here’s something I’ve discovered, if you focus on something long enough, and work at something long enough, that thing perpetually gets closer and closer. Even if you never actually achieve it, the journey toward it is impossible with the bad faith necessary to drive your desire.
A conveyor belt comes to mind. That’s what I want. I want a conveyor belt. That’s essentially a metaphor, but that’s what I want. Constant motion, constant newness, and the feeling that things are impermanent, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for a week. It has been sitting in the back of my brain for years, but the fact is that I have never possessed the focus to work through all my layers of programming to make it so. Now, I have focused my entire being on achieving this goal.
Have you ever noticed that we usually get what we really, really want? This is because when our soul wants something, it will move time and space to do it. Clock time doesn’t exist, but time has reality in the form of a construct—we’ll leave the question of time’s actual existence for another post—and it’s reality is in the life of the mind. When we want, time does not matter, and changes to whatever we want it to be.
A long time ago I watched a movie that unexpectedly changed my life. The Butterfly Effect is about a man who can change time, but every time he does, his entire brain re-wires itself—which hurts. That is a logical metaphor for the reality of what Bad Faith does to the brain. When we wrap ourselves in layers of sub-conscious padding in order to accomplish some goal we’ve got in mind, we wind up uprooting the whole system that’s already in place, because when you deal with the consciousness, every slight change changes everything because the consciousness and the spirit are related.
So, here we are. It’s been probably one of the most difficult weeks of my life, in terms of spiritual/consciousness upheaval, which has also taken its toll on my body—funny how those two are always related. When the spirit and the body are exhausted, man can sleep his deepest sleep: most restlessness and insomnia are caused by the mind or the body not being sufficiently exhausted; however, when man has exhausted both the physical and mental/spiritual aspects of his existence, there is really no way not to sleep. That is something I have had to learn from experience.
What we do now is keep up the lie. The way forward for me lies in wrapping myself up in layers and layers of cushy subconsciousness in order to accomplish my deepest desire. It is actually pretty strange to watch myself making decisions and focusing on things that I have never focused on before, and finding that when I turn the power of being toward a desire, all thoughts flow toward it, and with flow comes change. Where are you sending your flow? I guess that’s the big question, isn’t it? What are you looking at constantly? Where do you find your mind wandering to all the time?
That is actually the how of change: simple focus. Focus implies inside itself that this is a fairly constantly thing, and the only difference between change that happens quickly and change that happens at the level of the soul is time. When we focus on something for a little while, we get a little bit accomplished. When we focus on things with the radiance of the being for a long time, we get a lot accomplished. Here we encounter an area that perhaps Hegel never considered in his considerations about quantity, because the fact of the matter is that how much you invest in something does affect that thing. The more time you invest, the more you get returned.
For one week I have been focused at a soul level. For one week I have, basically, managed to lay the groundwork for what will be habitual over time.
I have wandered down many, many paths in my lifetime, and I’m about to wander down another one.
Sun Tzu says in the Art of War (and I am at war with my consciousness): “There are five essentials for victory…know when to fight… know how to handle both superior and inferior forces… ensure your army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks… wait to take the enemy unprepared… and have military capacity (i.e. not interfered with by the sovereign). If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”
Wandering onto the battlefield, I have done enough research to know myself, I have done enough research to know the enemy, and I have my eyes trained on what is necessary for victory. Will I win? Yes. Yes I will. There is not a “No” in my world now, and no “Maybe” about it. Victory.
The principles of Bad Faith I have been using to reprogram my brain have been working. My upbringing caused me to believe certain things that weren’t true. Perhaps they existed as facts somewhere, but as nuggets of truth, there was certainly no experience with them that told me these facts were truth, and, as of late, I have been lying to myself about certain skills I have in order to make them a reality.
The principle of bad faith is pretty simple and pretty obvious: you habitually, subconsciously or consciously lie to yourself in order to accomplish a goal. Somewhere inside, the self is perfectly aware that this is not currently a fact, but we start acting like something long before we actually are that thing. If you think about the world of business, most big businesses in the modern age want you to start acting like the role you want to take on long before you actually step into the role. It’s like you’re always a little bit ahead of yourself, when you’re actually a little bit behind yourself. The only difference between bad faith and actual faith is the fact that you know you are lying to yourself in bad faith; whereas, in faith (such as religious faith) you are either not aware that you’re lying to yourself or you have had some kind of experience that has made the facts into a truth—so that you ACTUALLY believe.
Religious faith and I have not gotten along in some time, and it’s only because I have had no experience with religion that smacked of truth. The world is a spiritual entity, but I’ll leave the religion for other people.
I have experienced the truth of bad faith. I am not a guitarist. Why, then, do I play guitar every day? I am not a writer. Why, then, do I write ever day? Because I am continually lying to myself and telling myself that I am exactly not the thing I am is because my sub-conscious knows that if I knew full well that I was a writer and everything was fine or that I am a very accomplished guitarist, then there would be no drive and no desire. Bad faith is essentially the key to the ignition of desire. What do you want? What do you really want? I mean to ask: what does your soul want? What does your being want more than anything.
Here’s something I’ve discovered, if you focus on something long enough, and work at something long enough, that thing perpetually gets closer and closer. Even if you never actually achieve it, the journey toward it is impossible with the bad faith necessary to drive your desire.
A conveyor belt comes to mind. That’s what I want. I want a conveyor belt. That’s essentially a metaphor, but that’s what I want. Constant motion, constant newness, and the feeling that things are impermanent, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for a week. It has been sitting in the back of my brain for years, but the fact is that I have never possessed the focus to work through all my layers of programming to make it so. Now, I have focused my entire being on achieving this goal.
Have you ever noticed that we usually get what we really, really want? This is because when our soul wants something, it will move time and space to do it. Clock time doesn’t exist, but time has reality in the form of a construct—we’ll leave the question of time’s actual existence for another post—and it’s reality is in the life of the mind. When we want, time does not matter, and changes to whatever we want it to be.
A long time ago I watched a movie that unexpectedly changed my life. The Butterfly Effect is about a man who can change time, but every time he does, his entire brain re-wires itself—which hurts. That is a logical metaphor for the reality of what Bad Faith does to the brain. When we wrap ourselves in layers of sub-conscious padding in order to accomplish some goal we’ve got in mind, we wind up uprooting the whole system that’s already in place, because when you deal with the consciousness, every slight change changes everything because the consciousness and the spirit are related.
So, here we are. It’s been probably one of the most difficult weeks of my life, in terms of spiritual/consciousness upheaval, which has also taken its toll on my body—funny how those two are always related. When the spirit and the body are exhausted, man can sleep his deepest sleep: most restlessness and insomnia are caused by the mind or the body not being sufficiently exhausted; however, when man has exhausted both the physical and mental/spiritual aspects of his existence, there is really no way not to sleep. That is something I have had to learn from experience.
What we do now is keep up the lie. The way forward for me lies in wrapping myself up in layers and layers of cushy subconsciousness in order to accomplish my deepest desire. It is actually pretty strange to watch myself making decisions and focusing on things that I have never focused on before, and finding that when I turn the power of being toward a desire, all thoughts flow toward it, and with flow comes change. Where are you sending your flow? I guess that’s the big question, isn’t it? What are you looking at constantly? Where do you find your mind wandering to all the time?
That is actually the how of change: simple focus. Focus implies inside itself that this is a fairly constantly thing, and the only difference between change that happens quickly and change that happens at the level of the soul is time. When we focus on something for a little while, we get a little bit accomplished. When we focus on things with the radiance of the being for a long time, we get a lot accomplished. Here we encounter an area that perhaps Hegel never considered in his considerations about quantity, because the fact of the matter is that how much you invest in something does affect that thing. The more time you invest, the more you get returned.
For one week I have been focused at a soul level. For one week I have, basically, managed to lay the groundwork for what will be habitual over time.
I have wandered down many, many paths in my lifetime, and I’m about to wander down another one.
Sun Tzu says in the Art of War (and I am at war with my consciousness): “There are five essentials for victory…know when to fight… know how to handle both superior and inferior forces… ensure your army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks… wait to take the enemy unprepared… and have military capacity (i.e. not interfered with by the sovereign). If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”
Wandering onto the battlefield, I have done enough research to know myself, I have done enough research to know the enemy, and I have my eyes trained on what is necessary for victory. Will I win? Yes. Yes I will. There is not a “No” in my world now, and no “Maybe” about it. Victory.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
What is Competition?
The very first rule in Sun Tzu’s The Art of War is:
“War is of vital importance to the state.”
What is of vital importance to understand here is that, dealt with metaphorically, this is probably one of the most shockingly accurate statements about humanity that has ever been uttered. War as a metaphor for the competition that is existence has recently come to mind as an accurate way to explain things.
It is, after all, a fundamental question. Any time you can ask the question “What,” followed by an “is” or an “are” or an “am,” you are dealing with a fundamental question. Ontological investigation of existence has a way of encompassing things and forcing one to describe honestly that which defies explanation. What am I? What are you? What is love? What is truthfulness? What is truth? What is an orange?
Bearing all that in mind, “What is competition?” Well, competition is one of the most fundamental realities of the human experience. Adam Smith understood this concept. The Buddhists have a concept wherein the simple recognition of a thing changes it. Even this, in its way, is a competitive stance. By recognizing a thing, we are already attempting to control it, and what is an attempt to control but a competition? When two similar stores open up, the competition can begin. They will lie to themselves and say that it’s all about the customer, but the reality is that it is about being better than the other guy, because if they are better than the other guy, the customers will come. The underlying principle of Sartre’s gaze is the competition. When I look at you, we are locked in a competition of who will be the subject and who will be the object.
There are necessarily at least three variables in every competition, which is one more than you might at first imagine: two competitors and a prize. In your standard athletic competition, there are two athletes and the prize is a medal or the title “Champion.” When it comes to economics, the two competitors are the stores, and the prize is the dollar. It is important to understand that the prize is always a thing, and never a person. When two men are competing for the love of a woman it’s not actually the woman they’re competing over, it’s her body. There is no competition on the level of the soul. A soul mate is one in which there is no competition.
One of the most rational explanations for the soul that I have ever come across says that there is only one soul, and that people are simple different manifestations of this soul. In other words, there is a soul-goo that surrounds existence, and the human creature is simple a little piece of the soul that has raised up in the manner of a wave that will eventually swell and then break, returning to the level from whence it came. There is no competition in that which is one. Consciousness pulls people away from this understanding of the soul and rips us into three pieces: consciousness, sub-consciousness, and spirit. The spirit is that piece of our consciousness that reminds us where we came from, and the other two are the challenge.
It is our challenge to defeat the consciousnesses and stay focused on the spirit; however, in the world of humans, there are very few people who would willingly stay focused on the spirit because the universal soul is too huge to understand. It is much easier to deal with other human beings on a personal level. To all those who would say that dealing with other human beings is very difficult, this is true; however, the universal soul/spirit is infinite, and that is impossible to understand—comprehending the infinite is an exercise in insanity.
So, we do battle, on a daily basis. We wage war constantly with the consciousnesses of other human beings. It IS possible to come to some kind of understanding about another human being, and largely because you are asking the metaphysical question, “Why?” These kinds of questions might involve a shorter or longer list of variables, but the number will eventually be reached that creates a consensus, and concessions will be made. Why did you do that? Money. Why did you do that? Money. Power. Why did you do that? Well, you see, the fact of the matter is that I was dealing with some childhood issues of radical sub-conscious flavoring, and they made me think that money and power were the essential creatures in the world. Whatever. Why can usually be answered. Why questions end when the book ends. Why are we here? To die. That’s when we find out. It’s kind of a bummer, but would you have it any other way? Really? Why questions are a competition with somebody (or perhaps your own consciousness) to find an answer.
I have been dealing with the world of ontology lately and foregoing the world of metaphysics in order to deal with the reality of the infinite, but I recently been called back to the world of competition and metaphysics. I was once told that there is no morality in ontology. “What is this thing?” only asks that you observe it honestly. There is no morality in observation—just like there is no morality in pure science. Morality is imposed people by various people and places and institutions and this is a fact. Law and rules and morality are a competition between the state and you (which the state usually wins), your parents and you (which, up to a certain point, the parents usually win), and other people and you (which, up to a certain point, is quite a stalemate). Dominance, victory, and power hang in the balance. All of these things are illusions.
What kind of power do we have to stave off death? None. What kind of victory lasts forever? Not a single one. What kind of dominance is anything more than lived-for-a-while? None. They are not eternal and infinite because they live in the life of the mind.
In order to deal with human beings even more effectively, I will take it upon myself—i.e. I will begin a competition with myself wherein I will battle my intellect and other people to win the prize of understanding—to investigate this thing called competition. As a part of the normal human experience, it is important to understand. Most religions or spiritual sects would have to agree that the normal human experience is full of suffering and crushing defeat—otherwise there would be no need for them, and this is due largely to the fact that people are all clinging to the illusions they hold so dear. It wrecks the head. The consciousness is repelled at the fact that it has no existence without the body. The body is seemingly endowed with consciousness. From whence? To whence? Nobody knows for certain. So we live in our world of illusion, and it is more comfortable, by and large, than reality. Even the suffering we endure as a result of constant competition is nothing compared to the incomprehensible reality of infinite existence. Space goes on forever. Forever. Forever. What a word that is. Can you imagine forever? No. No, I’m afraid you can’t. That hurts. Bugger it. Moving on. Can you imagine what it would be like to get in her pants? Yes. Yes I can. Okay, let’s go with the second one. I hereby enter myself back into the human competition for the sake of inquiry and understanding. My textbook is Sun Tzu’s art of war. Let’s find some things out.
“War is of vital importance to the state.”
What is of vital importance to understand here is that, dealt with metaphorically, this is probably one of the most shockingly accurate statements about humanity that has ever been uttered. War as a metaphor for the competition that is existence has recently come to mind as an accurate way to explain things.
It is, after all, a fundamental question. Any time you can ask the question “What,” followed by an “is” or an “are” or an “am,” you are dealing with a fundamental question. Ontological investigation of existence has a way of encompassing things and forcing one to describe honestly that which defies explanation. What am I? What are you? What is love? What is truthfulness? What is truth? What is an orange?
Bearing all that in mind, “What is competition?” Well, competition is one of the most fundamental realities of the human experience. Adam Smith understood this concept. The Buddhists have a concept wherein the simple recognition of a thing changes it. Even this, in its way, is a competitive stance. By recognizing a thing, we are already attempting to control it, and what is an attempt to control but a competition? When two similar stores open up, the competition can begin. They will lie to themselves and say that it’s all about the customer, but the reality is that it is about being better than the other guy, because if they are better than the other guy, the customers will come. The underlying principle of Sartre’s gaze is the competition. When I look at you, we are locked in a competition of who will be the subject and who will be the object.
There are necessarily at least three variables in every competition, which is one more than you might at first imagine: two competitors and a prize. In your standard athletic competition, there are two athletes and the prize is a medal or the title “Champion.” When it comes to economics, the two competitors are the stores, and the prize is the dollar. It is important to understand that the prize is always a thing, and never a person. When two men are competing for the love of a woman it’s not actually the woman they’re competing over, it’s her body. There is no competition on the level of the soul. A soul mate is one in which there is no competition.
One of the most rational explanations for the soul that I have ever come across says that there is only one soul, and that people are simple different manifestations of this soul. In other words, there is a soul-goo that surrounds existence, and the human creature is simple a little piece of the soul that has raised up in the manner of a wave that will eventually swell and then break, returning to the level from whence it came. There is no competition in that which is one. Consciousness pulls people away from this understanding of the soul and rips us into three pieces: consciousness, sub-consciousness, and spirit. The spirit is that piece of our consciousness that reminds us where we came from, and the other two are the challenge.
It is our challenge to defeat the consciousnesses and stay focused on the spirit; however, in the world of humans, there are very few people who would willingly stay focused on the spirit because the universal soul is too huge to understand. It is much easier to deal with other human beings on a personal level. To all those who would say that dealing with other human beings is very difficult, this is true; however, the universal soul/spirit is infinite, and that is impossible to understand—comprehending the infinite is an exercise in insanity.
So, we do battle, on a daily basis. We wage war constantly with the consciousnesses of other human beings. It IS possible to come to some kind of understanding about another human being, and largely because you are asking the metaphysical question, “Why?” These kinds of questions might involve a shorter or longer list of variables, but the number will eventually be reached that creates a consensus, and concessions will be made. Why did you do that? Money. Why did you do that? Money. Power. Why did you do that? Well, you see, the fact of the matter is that I was dealing with some childhood issues of radical sub-conscious flavoring, and they made me think that money and power were the essential creatures in the world. Whatever. Why can usually be answered. Why questions end when the book ends. Why are we here? To die. That’s when we find out. It’s kind of a bummer, but would you have it any other way? Really? Why questions are a competition with somebody (or perhaps your own consciousness) to find an answer.
I have been dealing with the world of ontology lately and foregoing the world of metaphysics in order to deal with the reality of the infinite, but I recently been called back to the world of competition and metaphysics. I was once told that there is no morality in ontology. “What is this thing?” only asks that you observe it honestly. There is no morality in observation—just like there is no morality in pure science. Morality is imposed people by various people and places and institutions and this is a fact. Law and rules and morality are a competition between the state and you (which the state usually wins), your parents and you (which, up to a certain point, the parents usually win), and other people and you (which, up to a certain point, is quite a stalemate). Dominance, victory, and power hang in the balance. All of these things are illusions.
What kind of power do we have to stave off death? None. What kind of victory lasts forever? Not a single one. What kind of dominance is anything more than lived-for-a-while? None. They are not eternal and infinite because they live in the life of the mind.
In order to deal with human beings even more effectively, I will take it upon myself—i.e. I will begin a competition with myself wherein I will battle my intellect and other people to win the prize of understanding—to investigate this thing called competition. As a part of the normal human experience, it is important to understand. Most religions or spiritual sects would have to agree that the normal human experience is full of suffering and crushing defeat—otherwise there would be no need for them, and this is due largely to the fact that people are all clinging to the illusions they hold so dear. It wrecks the head. The consciousness is repelled at the fact that it has no existence without the body. The body is seemingly endowed with consciousness. From whence? To whence? Nobody knows for certain. So we live in our world of illusion, and it is more comfortable, by and large, than reality. Even the suffering we endure as a result of constant competition is nothing compared to the incomprehensible reality of infinite existence. Space goes on forever. Forever. Forever. What a word that is. Can you imagine forever? No. No, I’m afraid you can’t. That hurts. Bugger it. Moving on. Can you imagine what it would be like to get in her pants? Yes. Yes I can. Okay, let’s go with the second one. I hereby enter myself back into the human competition for the sake of inquiry and understanding. My textbook is Sun Tzu’s art of war. Let’s find some things out.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Some Times
Some times are strange—note the intentional gap. Yes, I believe that there is power in some times.
I just realized that my hands are reflected upside down in the shiny part of the middle of my computer speakers, and visual oddities always make me do a double take. It’s absolutely stunning the power that seeing something can have.
Recently, I started edited a work that I wrote last year, and it’s funny to see it again. It’s very much a snap shot of a very strange time in a fellow’s life.
The thoughts fly so rapidly at times that it is simply absurd to try to lock them down. Answer this question for me: what do you do with all of your down time? When you have nothing to do, what do you do?
Would it be possible for somebody to convince you that if you simply focused on constantly being productive in the here and now that you would manage to get one helluva lot accomplished?
Would it take the example of an entire life?
Sobeit.
Maybe that’s my goal. What is possible in a life? The other day I read a story about Nikola Tesla that said he averaged two hours of sleep a day and lived until he was eighty-something years old. Granted, he was a bit of a freak, but do some math:
22 hours every day * 365 days a year * 65 years (for example) = 521950 hours
16 hours every day * 365 days a year * 65 years = 379600
Tesla essentially lived twice as much as other people. Who needs sleep? Oh, well, I suppose that if you’re okay with murmuring to yourself and not being able to control the physical self when the mental self takes over, then you’ll be fine.
There has to be some kind of balance, right? Maybe that’s what all that eight hours a night business is all about. I have found that six hours is more than enough for me on just about any given night. Eight hours sometimes makes me groggy. I know a lot of people that manage to sleep for ten or twelve hours, and I can only EVER manage that with aid of some kind.
Is it some kind of subliminal training we put ourselves through?
For the last couple of days, I have walked to work and found myself on the verge of tears. Usually there is a song playing on the iPod that I connect with something I can’t connect to at the moment, and all that disconnection brings tears. It means a time so profound some little while ago, and yet I think…
Creating meaning. People can’t take away the things that mean to you. Did you know that? You, yes you. The reason most academic papers say to shy away from the pronoun “you” when writing is that it becomes to personal almost immediately. The consciousness, the psyche, is so absolutely terrified of being addressed directly (and believe me when I say this happens much less frequently than you probably realize) and seen for what it is (nothingness), that it is jarring to find that word in print. It is even more jarring when the you is connected to something that makes you feel. Have you ever been hurt? Have you ever been loved and left? Do you remember the one you loved? Today, I had one of the moments where I ran into a thing you wouldn’t believe. You are simply reading along, and all of a sudden, you stumble across yourself in between the lines on page. You were an asshole at that time and you know it. There is no going back to change it, but every time you go there it brings the tears to your eyes. Can you believe the things you did? Can you believe the things you said? It brings tears to your eyes now as you think about it. You have to believe that you made all the right decisions, because, essentially, you did. Who’s to say you didn’t? You did what you had to do. There is a certainty you know who you are. Or are you the one who felt the searing pain of dislocation? Were you the one who felt like your arms were being ripped out of your sides and your legs were being ripped off of your body? Were you the one whose time was suddenly wasted? You still loved. You still felt. The carpet was pulled out from under you and you were left naked and alone in the depths of psychological despair. You re-live the pain of every smile you thought was so genuine, but now feels so genuinely false. You re-live the hurt of every joyous moment in their arms when you go back into your memory. You tell yourself that wasn’t what you want. You put a gigantic psychological band-aid on and move into the world a new person. You were to many scars as it is. Why can’t you ever pull yourself out of the past? Why can’t you stop the perpetual onslaught of the bleakness of the future? There is weariness in your gait. There comes a time when you probably ought to stop asking questions and start answering them, but that time is difficult to assess. Do you know what’s going on right now? I, which is to say, the author, am subjecting my sub-conscious to an evacuation. I don’t even actually know what this is about, but the fingers are furious at something and they fly more quickly than I can keep up with. Yet, I still know when I end sentences in prepositions. …-the Fuck? We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the dessert, when you came to mind, and I played your song. Who are you? Do you even know? And we’re back to questions again. Sometimes I have intense delusions about people coming back to my work after years and years and years and having to collate and bind all of these words into some kind of manageable whole. Blogging is very much like masturbation. But what if it actually winds up meaning something. I know for a damned sight that if I were to go back through these bastards I would probably have some kind of mental shock that would ruin my system for at least a week. The overload would be palpable. I have hereby written almost one thousand one hundred words in almost exactly twenty-five minutes. I’m officially too lazy to do the math on that. But it comes down the fact that some times are meant for disposal, and what better way to dispose of oneself than to create meaning, because that is something I have done here. Whether or not it’s a decent meaning or an important meaning or a loving meaning or a worthless meaning is secondary to the fact that it is meaning. Does it mean to you? Perhaps, perhaps not. Some times are not for you. Some times are reserved for me and me alone. You know, I only started these words because I needed some time to charge up the iPod for the journey I plan to take to Home Plus so I can return a sheet that is the incorrect size and buy: water, gin, and olives—I have grown beyond the need for vermouth. Just chill the goddamned gin and serve it to me in a cocktail glass please. In another random note, I’ve been learning some Korean lately—which is important when you understand that Korea is my current residence—and I can officially say, “Hello. My name is Eli” in Korean. Oh, it’s the small battles that are sometimes the biggest. Oh, to be there and alive in that corner of time in the world. Could you ask for anything more? Welcome to the world of my in-sink-er-ator. This time it’s for you to make meaning from.
I just realized that my hands are reflected upside down in the shiny part of the middle of my computer speakers, and visual oddities always make me do a double take. It’s absolutely stunning the power that seeing something can have.
Recently, I started edited a work that I wrote last year, and it’s funny to see it again. It’s very much a snap shot of a very strange time in a fellow’s life.
The thoughts fly so rapidly at times that it is simply absurd to try to lock them down. Answer this question for me: what do you do with all of your down time? When you have nothing to do, what do you do?
Would it be possible for somebody to convince you that if you simply focused on constantly being productive in the here and now that you would manage to get one helluva lot accomplished?
Would it take the example of an entire life?
Sobeit.
Maybe that’s my goal. What is possible in a life? The other day I read a story about Nikola Tesla that said he averaged two hours of sleep a day and lived until he was eighty-something years old. Granted, he was a bit of a freak, but do some math:
22 hours every day * 365 days a year * 65 years (for example) = 521950 hours
16 hours every day * 365 days a year * 65 years = 379600
Tesla essentially lived twice as much as other people. Who needs sleep? Oh, well, I suppose that if you’re okay with murmuring to yourself and not being able to control the physical self when the mental self takes over, then you’ll be fine.
There has to be some kind of balance, right? Maybe that’s what all that eight hours a night business is all about. I have found that six hours is more than enough for me on just about any given night. Eight hours sometimes makes me groggy. I know a lot of people that manage to sleep for ten or twelve hours, and I can only EVER manage that with aid of some kind.
Is it some kind of subliminal training we put ourselves through?
For the last couple of days, I have walked to work and found myself on the verge of tears. Usually there is a song playing on the iPod that I connect with something I can’t connect to at the moment, and all that disconnection brings tears. It means a time so profound some little while ago, and yet I think…
Creating meaning. People can’t take away the things that mean to you. Did you know that? You, yes you. The reason most academic papers say to shy away from the pronoun “you” when writing is that it becomes to personal almost immediately. The consciousness, the psyche, is so absolutely terrified of being addressed directly (and believe me when I say this happens much less frequently than you probably realize) and seen for what it is (nothingness), that it is jarring to find that word in print. It is even more jarring when the you is connected to something that makes you feel. Have you ever been hurt? Have you ever been loved and left? Do you remember the one you loved? Today, I had one of the moments where I ran into a thing you wouldn’t believe. You are simply reading along, and all of a sudden, you stumble across yourself in between the lines on page. You were an asshole at that time and you know it. There is no going back to change it, but every time you go there it brings the tears to your eyes. Can you believe the things you did? Can you believe the things you said? It brings tears to your eyes now as you think about it. You have to believe that you made all the right decisions, because, essentially, you did. Who’s to say you didn’t? You did what you had to do. There is a certainty you know who you are. Or are you the one who felt the searing pain of dislocation? Were you the one who felt like your arms were being ripped out of your sides and your legs were being ripped off of your body? Were you the one whose time was suddenly wasted? You still loved. You still felt. The carpet was pulled out from under you and you were left naked and alone in the depths of psychological despair. You re-live the pain of every smile you thought was so genuine, but now feels so genuinely false. You re-live the hurt of every joyous moment in their arms when you go back into your memory. You tell yourself that wasn’t what you want. You put a gigantic psychological band-aid on and move into the world a new person. You were to many scars as it is. Why can’t you ever pull yourself out of the past? Why can’t you stop the perpetual onslaught of the bleakness of the future? There is weariness in your gait. There comes a time when you probably ought to stop asking questions and start answering them, but that time is difficult to assess. Do you know what’s going on right now? I, which is to say, the author, am subjecting my sub-conscious to an evacuation. I don’t even actually know what this is about, but the fingers are furious at something and they fly more quickly than I can keep up with. Yet, I still know when I end sentences in prepositions. …-the Fuck? We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the dessert, when you came to mind, and I played your song. Who are you? Do you even know? And we’re back to questions again. Sometimes I have intense delusions about people coming back to my work after years and years and years and having to collate and bind all of these words into some kind of manageable whole. Blogging is very much like masturbation. But what if it actually winds up meaning something. I know for a damned sight that if I were to go back through these bastards I would probably have some kind of mental shock that would ruin my system for at least a week. The overload would be palpable. I have hereby written almost one thousand one hundred words in almost exactly twenty-five minutes. I’m officially too lazy to do the math on that. But it comes down the fact that some times are meant for disposal, and what better way to dispose of oneself than to create meaning, because that is something I have done here. Whether or not it’s a decent meaning or an important meaning or a loving meaning or a worthless meaning is secondary to the fact that it is meaning. Does it mean to you? Perhaps, perhaps not. Some times are not for you. Some times are reserved for me and me alone. You know, I only started these words because I needed some time to charge up the iPod for the journey I plan to take to Home Plus so I can return a sheet that is the incorrect size and buy: water, gin, and olives—I have grown beyond the need for vermouth. Just chill the goddamned gin and serve it to me in a cocktail glass please. In another random note, I’ve been learning some Korean lately—which is important when you understand that Korea is my current residence—and I can officially say, “Hello. My name is Eli” in Korean. Oh, it’s the small battles that are sometimes the biggest. Oh, to be there and alive in that corner of time in the world. Could you ask for anything more? Welcome to the world of my in-sink-er-ator. This time it’s for you to make meaning from.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Fantasy Letters to Famous People
Volume I:
Brandon Boyd
Dear Brandon~
As we have not ever met, I hope you don’t mind the familiarity of the first name greeting, but I have recently gotten the premonition that we will eventually meet under seemingly happenstance. The whys and wherefores of the meeting are not exactly important, but the fact of the matter is that I think we have something to say to each other. What that thing is I can’t say, but I feel as though you have something to say to me that can only be said face to face, and I feel that there is some piece of wisdom that I can impart to you. We will only know it when it happens.
Does it seem strange to feel so certain? Perhaps it ought to, but I also feel as though it doesn’t matter if the premonition ever comes to fruition, because, in a way, I am meeting you here in these words.
I remember my late teens and early twenties being something of an “All-Incubus-all-the-time” kind of ridiculousness. There was something that made me gravitate towards the pain in SCIENCE, the activity in Make Yourself, and the dawn in Morning View. That has been my journey, too.
I also want you to know that while this volume of words is addressed to you specifically, it by no means means to exclude the band. You see, what I didn’t understand at the time, and something I understand only slightly more now, is the organic nature of the music and the words. Mike and Jose and Brandon form the core of something that manages to speak. Oh, there are a lot of people that don’t like your band. Hell, there are a lot of people that don’t like everything… it’s a bit like cancer: you can get it from everything these days.
The danger is suddenly very apparent that this is wandering into one of those pointless hero-worship fan letters written by a fourteen year old girl, which is by no means the intention. What I think you all have come to understand in your lives is that it is possible to develop the human character. The arc of your musical accomplishments and undertakings is something that smacks of in development. There are methods to develop the mind—and I would imagine that you are all great students of not only your instruments, but your minds and characters.
Do you read a lot? I read a ton: Aristotle, Joyce, Proust, Tzu, Zizek, Epictetus, Sartre, Hegel, Dostoyevsky, and Rudolf Steiner all have a place on the spectrum of things that matter to me. It’s not about taking their words and believing them, it’s about applying them to the character. One of the things Rudolf Steiner believed was that the soul or the spirit existed outside the body (as opposed to inside it). Just think about the potential ramifications of something like that. Don't judge it. Let it be. But think about it. There are so many things, but what do they mean? It’s important to give up ever actually finding out. There is no answer.
The answer would ruin it. The answer would fuck everything up. Without questions there can be no development. It’s the question that was put into place. Whether you believe in god or Buddha or Jesus as the son of god or Shiva or Zeus, the function of god is to provide people, not with an answer as is so widely assumed, but with the question. There is a very famous line from a very famous book that says that if there were no god it would be necessary to invent him. (In an unrelated note, if you’ve never read “The Brothers Karamazov,” it’s worth the time and effort.) It would be necessary to invent him precisely because of the fact that people need to have the question. What I see in the music of the band is precisely this type of development that comes from asking the right questions.
One of my many personal aphorisms is that I learned to read in High School, in college I learned to ask questions, and while studying more intently at grad school, I learned how to ask good questions. To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember a whole lot about EXACTLY what I learned, and this is probably because I have never had a brain for facts. My focus is simple truth. Facts feed the brain. Truth feeds the soul. And there are far fewer truths than there are facts, but I find the sustenance of truth to surpass the sweetness of facts. Facts are the fat group on the food pyramid. Maybe it’s because their illusion as fact is built into them. They are a fact because we want to believe in it. It is a fact that there are twelve inches in one foot, but only on earth does that fact matter even one iota, and there is a lot of universe out there. Facts are a might arbitrary to me. I don’t even think I could tell you one truth. I feel them. I know them when I see them. But I couldn’t tell you one. There are things I think I know, but one of those things I think I know is that there is always wiggle room in the things we think we know.
All that’s left is the understanding that the total development of the human character ought to be our only focus. We don’t even really know for sure what is possible in the human character (and I suddenly feel like I should explain that when I use the term “character” I mean the mental (cognitive), emotional, and spiritual aspects of humans), but I feel instinctively that if we only spend our life doing it, we’ll come to understand nothing—which I think ought to be the goal. When we understand, we stop questioning, don’t we?
I would like to sit and play a writing game with you, I would like to play guitar with Mike, I would like to drum circle with Jose, and I would like to sit and break bread with you all. One of the other things I think I know is that things tend to happen exactly as they’re supposed to, and really shouldn’t happen any other way. To fight the universe is to lose a fight.
It was nice to have met you. I’m currently teaching English in Korea. If you’re ever in the area, look me up.
Peace
Love &
Gonzo
Eli
Brandon Boyd
Dear Brandon~
As we have not ever met, I hope you don’t mind the familiarity of the first name greeting, but I have recently gotten the premonition that we will eventually meet under seemingly happenstance. The whys and wherefores of the meeting are not exactly important, but the fact of the matter is that I think we have something to say to each other. What that thing is I can’t say, but I feel as though you have something to say to me that can only be said face to face, and I feel that there is some piece of wisdom that I can impart to you. We will only know it when it happens.
Does it seem strange to feel so certain? Perhaps it ought to, but I also feel as though it doesn’t matter if the premonition ever comes to fruition, because, in a way, I am meeting you here in these words.
I remember my late teens and early twenties being something of an “All-Incubus-all-the-time” kind of ridiculousness. There was something that made me gravitate towards the pain in SCIENCE, the activity in Make Yourself, and the dawn in Morning View. That has been my journey, too.
I also want you to know that while this volume of words is addressed to you specifically, it by no means means to exclude the band. You see, what I didn’t understand at the time, and something I understand only slightly more now, is the organic nature of the music and the words. Mike and Jose and Brandon form the core of something that manages to speak. Oh, there are a lot of people that don’t like your band. Hell, there are a lot of people that don’t like everything… it’s a bit like cancer: you can get it from everything these days.
The danger is suddenly very apparent that this is wandering into one of those pointless hero-worship fan letters written by a fourteen year old girl, which is by no means the intention. What I think you all have come to understand in your lives is that it is possible to develop the human character. The arc of your musical accomplishments and undertakings is something that smacks of in development. There are methods to develop the mind—and I would imagine that you are all great students of not only your instruments, but your minds and characters.
Do you read a lot? I read a ton: Aristotle, Joyce, Proust, Tzu, Zizek, Epictetus, Sartre, Hegel, Dostoyevsky, and Rudolf Steiner all have a place on the spectrum of things that matter to me. It’s not about taking their words and believing them, it’s about applying them to the character. One of the things Rudolf Steiner believed was that the soul or the spirit existed outside the body (as opposed to inside it). Just think about the potential ramifications of something like that. Don't judge it. Let it be. But think about it. There are so many things, but what do they mean? It’s important to give up ever actually finding out. There is no answer.
The answer would ruin it. The answer would fuck everything up. Without questions there can be no development. It’s the question that was put into place. Whether you believe in god or Buddha or Jesus as the son of god or Shiva or Zeus, the function of god is to provide people, not with an answer as is so widely assumed, but with the question. There is a very famous line from a very famous book that says that if there were no god it would be necessary to invent him. (In an unrelated note, if you’ve never read “The Brothers Karamazov,” it’s worth the time and effort.) It would be necessary to invent him precisely because of the fact that people need to have the question. What I see in the music of the band is precisely this type of development that comes from asking the right questions.
One of my many personal aphorisms is that I learned to read in High School, in college I learned to ask questions, and while studying more intently at grad school, I learned how to ask good questions. To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember a whole lot about EXACTLY what I learned, and this is probably because I have never had a brain for facts. My focus is simple truth. Facts feed the brain. Truth feeds the soul. And there are far fewer truths than there are facts, but I find the sustenance of truth to surpass the sweetness of facts. Facts are the fat group on the food pyramid. Maybe it’s because their illusion as fact is built into them. They are a fact because we want to believe in it. It is a fact that there are twelve inches in one foot, but only on earth does that fact matter even one iota, and there is a lot of universe out there. Facts are a might arbitrary to me. I don’t even think I could tell you one truth. I feel them. I know them when I see them. But I couldn’t tell you one. There are things I think I know, but one of those things I think I know is that there is always wiggle room in the things we think we know.
All that’s left is the understanding that the total development of the human character ought to be our only focus. We don’t even really know for sure what is possible in the human character (and I suddenly feel like I should explain that when I use the term “character” I mean the mental (cognitive), emotional, and spiritual aspects of humans), but I feel instinctively that if we only spend our life doing it, we’ll come to understand nothing—which I think ought to be the goal. When we understand, we stop questioning, don’t we?
I would like to sit and play a writing game with you, I would like to play guitar with Mike, I would like to drum circle with Jose, and I would like to sit and break bread with you all. One of the other things I think I know is that things tend to happen exactly as they’re supposed to, and really shouldn’t happen any other way. To fight the universe is to lose a fight.
It was nice to have met you. I’m currently teaching English in Korea. If you’re ever in the area, look me up.
Peace
Love &
Gonzo
Eli
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Documentation
Things written recently:
“I am re-entering the USA. I am less than thirty minutes from American soil, and my heart is racing.
New York City… goddamnit. I’m back. For a week.
Claire on Wednesday.
Patrick on Thrusday.
I think I will take Caroline her Pee-Wee.
We are very done.
I can see it.
I’m shaking right now. Why?
I don’t think I want to be here. I’m pretty sure that American is not my home anymore. The world between my ears and the joy in my heart are officially my new permanent residences. Just as my job is now (quite simply) a writer, my home is (quite simply) wherever the words are that I am.
Good-bye to angst-ridden questions of where I ought to live. Wherever I find myself, that’s where I’m supposed to be.
Funny that I make that already clear distinction right now. Keep in mind that one can never know the future.
Do your year in Korea again. You must, must, must.
What now? What comes next?
Last night at the Ramble Inn, they brought out a guitar. Why is it that when I start to play, the people are happy, or (as it happened at the Jisan Valley Rock Festival) wind up sitting behind you on the hill, clapping for you, and sitting through an entire impromptu set only leaving when you stop playing?
Ah… stupid question. Change: “What is it about my performance?”
Perhaps there is something there isn’t there? The key, now, is to find a way to make a living out of it. On the road? On Tour? You can do it my boy. You can do it. Rock and Roll!”
Written after Seeing You
Seeing you well
makes my heart
quake.
Can you ever know,
really, what you
meant.
You and I, we were
not meant to
be,
and yet we, yes we,
were something to
mean
that for which forever
was built to
stand.
What does that mean?
We, as in us, isn’t
a thing we can make
real,
and yet we, as a
thing that cannot
be,
some ways manages
to mean more
universally.
You were perfect for me at that time;
and I would be a fool to resent it.
Isn’t this what you wanted, really.
Cautious leap of faith into skills.
“Would that it were a home
instead of a house,” one might say.
Interlocutor reply,
“But a house IS a home,”
“Explain yourself,”
and the like.
Thusly to the breach, we fly!
A well-flung phrase,
a thrust of wit,
and the game dances itself
across its own hardwood floor.
Who thought these things?
Who thought into him?
All pieces of game,
all the smackings of might,
suffer a neophyte learner
to sink ever more and ever more
into my being with
__________________________.
“I am re-entering the USA. I am less than thirty minutes from American soil, and my heart is racing.
New York City… goddamnit. I’m back. For a week.
Claire on Wednesday.
Patrick on Thrusday.
I think I will take Caroline her Pee-Wee.
We are very done.
I can see it.
I’m shaking right now. Why?
I don’t think I want to be here. I’m pretty sure that American is not my home anymore. The world between my ears and the joy in my heart are officially my new permanent residences. Just as my job is now (quite simply) a writer, my home is (quite simply) wherever the words are that I am.
Good-bye to angst-ridden questions of where I ought to live. Wherever I find myself, that’s where I’m supposed to be.
Funny that I make that already clear distinction right now. Keep in mind that one can never know the future.
Do your year in Korea again. You must, must, must.
What now? What comes next?
Last night at the Ramble Inn, they brought out a guitar. Why is it that when I start to play, the people are happy, or (as it happened at the Jisan Valley Rock Festival) wind up sitting behind you on the hill, clapping for you, and sitting through an entire impromptu set only leaving when you stop playing?
Ah… stupid question. Change: “What is it about my performance?”
Perhaps there is something there isn’t there? The key, now, is to find a way to make a living out of it. On the road? On Tour? You can do it my boy. You can do it. Rock and Roll!”
Written after Seeing You
Seeing you well
makes my heart
quake.
Can you ever know,
really, what you
meant.
You and I, we were
not meant to
be,
and yet we, yes we,
were something to
mean
that for which forever
was built to
stand.
What does that mean?
We, as in us, isn’t
a thing we can make
real,
and yet we, as a
thing that cannot
be,
some ways manages
to mean more
universally.
You were perfect for me at that time;
and I would be a fool to resent it.
Isn’t this what you wanted, really.
Cautious leap of faith into skills.
“Would that it were a home
instead of a house,” one might say.
Interlocutor reply,
“But a house IS a home,”
“Explain yourself,”
and the like.
Thusly to the breach, we fly!
A well-flung phrase,
a thrust of wit,
and the game dances itself
across its own hardwood floor.
Who thought these things?
Who thought into him?
All pieces of game,
all the smackings of might,
suffer a neophyte learner
to sink ever more and ever more
into my being with
__________________________.
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