Life: a commentary (long shit inside)

[Socks]

This began as a letter to my love. Quickly did it turn to something more. What follows is not a philosophy, not a manifesto either, but a series of free flowing conjectures, loosely threaded within a greater fabric, ultimately unraveling and worth nothing but their effort of pursuit. The pleasure and privilege is all mine, the choice is entirely your to bask in the glory.


From the Author:

"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted;
persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished;
persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."    

Mark Twain

I’ve always envied your clear cut mind. There is a purpose, there is a method, and there is a means. Simple. If you believe, follow and apply, you shall achieve. Nothing else matters apart from this. No need to screw with the established order of things. Your grasp of this uncluttered and unobstructed concept impressed me to a stunned status of silent awe. I have no such orderly set mind state or life, my soul is constantly pulled in a million directions at once. Beseeched on all sides by what there is offered to see, know and understand, I live in a constant pleasure of experience. This is not of an indulging sense in itself of such nature, but I do feel guilty and foolish at times for lack of direction and determination toward a more concrete directive. In some respect I find it very disinteresting to focus upon a specific aspect of life and fulfill it to completion. You want to become a doctor, and anything which does not fit with that picture or plan must be critically considered, and likely discontinued. Everything revolves around a task oriented mindset. My friend, for example, is a finance major, there is no need for him to read history or learn ancient philosophy, so he does not. Because it has no direct application and or otherwise ‘useful value’ he finds it uninteresting and meaningless, fodder if you will. The same holds true of others.

Technocrats who society worships have one stock and trade talent and skill, and are often very poor individuals otherwise when this privilege of status is eliminated. I cannot stress how significant this notion is. Most people drive for a specific purpose, to a specific place, to facilitate some other purpose, and so on and so forth.  Their whole being is in consideration of this, from rushing to get there as fast as possible, parking as close as possible, and eliminating from action and from mind/heart anything that does not contribute to this need.  This is all life for such people. Yes they may be useful, powerful and be looked upon in good light, but really, they have so narrowly chosen to experience life and proceed through it like a horse with blinders. Our society has grown more accustom to this model and practices it almost religiously. Everything which does not have some direct, immediate, inherent, definite or specific purpose is not necessary, not pursued and ignored. That’s why people grow dull and ignorant and so self centered and narrow minded that it’s not even funny. The me, me, me, concept combined with a centric view of not just the present world, but of all of human existence, will create a world where troubles and  issues are compounded from one generation to the other, from previous stupidity passed on as easily as lineage replenishes population. Humanity of the past will be as foreign and unrecognizable to future people as pagers and floppy disks are to toddlers now. They will have forgotten those who came before them, and those that come after will summarily forget them. Without looking back, critically, and only moving forward at all cost, well, ha, we will fall so very, very hard!

The point here is not knowing the indescribable and infinite personal pleasure of perusing at will all possible conceptions derived from understanding what an 8-track is or how a record player works. Those are tragic losses that will one day be seen by indifferent and blank faces behind glass in a museum, like animals, plants and trees that still manage to exist in today's threatened nature, will one day be showcased. But of philosophy, the lifestyle, the concepts and ideas and creations of the flesh and bone people who once lived their own sort of life upon this same planet. Every bit as clever and emotional as you, and likely smarter too, applying that immense potential of human spirit, expression and ingenuity to fit their times and place, a reason, a purpose and a very different pace of rhyme for everything ever done. Sure it may be that way today, but is it still as universally true? Which is the more valid and profound existence? Without understanding something, a tool, an idea, a person, etc… at a basic and fundamental level, there is no way to personalize and familiarize that notion or object or person and incorporate them into your being. This is what separates us from machines… for how long, I dare not say. Otherwise these things one must learn on their own and understand on their own will forever remain abstractions, vague notions of half truths and half popular belief and half make believe. What a waste. Those poor souls of the future, will they even have a soul? Without  knowing what a soul is and what a soul ought to be and can be. Illustrating the point, that simple word, which is used less and less even today, as people are afraid to invest energy, emotions and care into something non-tangible and spiritual, something of no hard value or current currency. How distant everything shall seem. How unconnected and separate, as if totally distinct creations exist on this planet born of Man’s mind. They will find it incomprehensible to imagine a world where forests were abound, plentiful, and where lions and buffalo perform a timeless dance of hunt and survival. Much like students and adults who skip through books and stare at the picture, laughing at their own foolishness at how ridiculous those people are. Judging the past from their own limited 21st century values and perspectives, dinosaur skeletons for show, impressive bones and teeth, fear, shock and awe. Just something to look at for some hours to inject a different sort of stimulus to their otherwise perpetual, consumed existence, frenzied and desensitized, seen through the decentralized and deconstructed lens of that life.

The more one knows the easier it becomes to make connections, the holy grail of a happy and fulfilling, prosperous life. Everything from personal moral, ethics, behavior, taste and perspective, to the space station, submarines, cell phones and tweeter feeds is incumbent upon and intractably indebted to the endlessly vast, ever growing, infinitely configurable living conscious that is out collective existence, past, and the always slipping present of the future. Without knowing, there can be no wisdom, which is the proper application of accumulated knowledge, not the instant feed of trivial information to fulfill an instant of necessity and give your hollow blank life a modicum of arbitrary self sustained meaning, momentarily relevant one incident into the next. A grand delusion conspired and conceived by almost all to justify and require its own monstrous creation. Think of how many things we depend upon which would be rendered defunct by a simple black out. That black out is a mind set, a subconscious unspoken agreement that regulates all human interaction and our more imaginary life within a life. It says that you will value my 20 dollars the same as I will value your 20 dollars, otherwise your money is not even worth the paper it is printed on. Remember here what I have said before about something being true and universal, and how few of those things there are in this reality. Cast aside all notions of career and money, I am not so much arguing their merit, as obviously they have merit if you choose to live in this world created without your input, without your consent, and which you by default are contracted into for mere hope of a ‘normal’ life. No. Think in terms of enriching your own being and in the process making life truly important and full of special secret privileges that will affect all others who encounter you.  I am shocked and bewildered with professors, senators, presidents and even astronauts, may tell you of their specific trade, but when you engage them as a human being, how rare it is that they will be a profound figure of depth and substance, a texture with feeling, a book of life worth reading. How can they go a whole lifetime without even know who Edmund Spenser is, or Kublai Khan? Or of the inscrutable pleasure gleamed and felt from staring at a sidewalk and the garbage there, for no other reason than to make sense of the entire world and your own soul and that of Man in that dirty sidewalk with that garbage?

I drive aimlessly around sometimes. No destination in mind and no time constraint, just me and my random decisions and the vastness of the world, surprisingly alike. The busy people, the same crowded space, all noticed by an open eye, from an inquisitive mind, curiously at work, observing and formulating my theory of life from that which I see at work around me. Do they notice me? Hardly. I drove around  the other day with no reason that was not my own. There was no social affair or purpose to pursue. I had all the time in the world and there was all around me the world to see.  I had no worry which was not my own, so I had very little to worry me. There was so much reason to be happy as my conscious guided me on the adventure.  I was free and noticed everything around with beautiful clarity of imagery. There was no importance to what I saw and so I saw all importantly distinct and equally part of the whole. You will not understand the love and wonder of the things expressed within my heart and from my soul. My identity did not matter in this realty. The truth is relevant without need for you and me. It is constant with eternity. All truths may vary in interpretation, but will always affect all things equally. If a condition of life is not shared, then it is not valid and requires no absolute knowledge. The truth can never be silenced. The truth can only be misunderstood, misheard and  misapplied.

I drive and park far from the entrance. The walk will not kill me, and I do not care to hunt for a nearer spot. I may stare at the floor mat, I may stare at the door, I may stare at the tree swaying in the wind, and I may whistle or hum a tune like dum diddle dee. These are not the doings of a maniac. You may be surprised at how much readily available learning and experience is around us at all times, beneath our feet, under our nose, right in front of our eyes! If one does not care for what others say or do, and proceeds to sense and see the world anew, then it will become so much more dear to you, full of unseen jokes and stories and tragedy too. It will be yours in  way no one can ever know, replicate or understand, and you will have the added benefit of knowing that it is true, as anyone and in all of time can and could do just the same, requiring nothing but compassion, a humble spirit and imaginative mind.

Sometimes I wonder that I have lived a life more full in these 20 years and realized more about it than some have done in a much longer lifetime. Sure they may have amassed more material things, more reputation and money, perhaps seen and done more things as well. But it is not the diversity, quantity of  activity or the frequency of them, it is the quality and manner by which they are seen, thought and done. This is what people don’t get, that you must first develop your character and sense of being, before the world can be fully appreciated and accordingly felt. I often use the painting example, of two people painting the same scene, with the same materials, yet how vastly different their personal experience and interpretation of it will be, perhaps more vividly reflected in the image they have drawn. I feel sorry for wealthy collectors who spend millions to buy a Monet, as it is the closest they will ever come to that view of life, when I can have it daily for free, and carry it around in my heart and in my mind, of course, no as easy for others to see and be impressed. It is only reflected in the way that I am and the manner of my own self conduct. It’s why I can enter any classroom and, if they teach something worth knowing, properly, I will feel right at home, no matter the context. Others expect that grades will substitute them for this, when in fact my A or C (gasp! god forbid, right?) is not even made of the same dimension and reality plane that your stems from. They purport to measure my intelligence by such things, tests, as if grades contain my entire life's work. You cannot judge a man by his usefulness in your own system. To that man, you and your system are mere entertainment. I hold  a higher opinion of mud on my shoe than I do of notes on an exam. This standpoint is why I can speak to any person as if they are part of me and we had long known of each othe. The more true they are, the more universal they are, the easier it is to ‘get’ them and to become lifetime friends and good buddies too. Then all of their eccentrics and quirks and whatever, will be easy to see where they come from, if there is truth, there is depth and there will always be reason, otherwise they are just irrational traits adopted without thought and incorporation, no real justification or merit to what they say or do. Sound like anyone your know?

People equate suits and ties with respect and power, because at one time for old worthy vets, they had earned it and all such men of class wore them. Now they might as well be rags, a cockroach in a peacocks dress. If I were to die, others looking at me from the outside in, trying to evaluate my life, would pass me over with no second look and little care, perhaps making some pitiful comment or pithy statement. And how wrong they would be! It is a proven biological fact that we see only 5% of a relative environment, the rest is a filled in mental image of previous experience, and so we ignore the majority of our own routine life. This is why when something is moved or added to a familiar space, your whole being bothers you so much to no end, to figure if it was always that way, or a new change. It’s why when you first visit a strange foreign land, with different people, everything impresses the senses at once, fully, with force and impact, hard to miss or forget. It forces you to pay attention, for your are not familiar with them and that place, everything must be learned, and it is so very interesting, a natural high, fun and insightful, inspiring and stirring… or at least initially. By the end of the trip you may get acclimated and the charm is gone, the wonder lifted for you think all there is to know has been seen and done. Maybe all that you absolutely needed to do or could do, that is, but everything? Not even close!

I wish I could explain more properly why I am this way, but I do not know. I am an idealist and romantic at heart, I am a poet in soul. Poets follow beauty as it always has truth. And if one cannot even make sense of that statement, well, I need not say much further and wonder how they understood what came before. But this very act mentioned above is one of a most special and total sacrifice. It demands that you have no identity, no set principle other than to observe others and describe them as part of who you are. Is everything not life? How can something have more meaning above another? A normal creature forces their impression upon the world, to mold it after their own likes, dislikes, opinions and appeals, so as to shape a reality more favorable to more such like creatures as himself. This not only ensures survival, but creates purpose and seeds dominance. I am no such creature. I am a poor and abhorrent creation, a coward to those with voice, a hero to those silent. I allow with free heart and heavy soul the whole world to force its hand upon me, to mold me in its image. Do not blame me for what you then see. I take a certain pitiful pride in this exception and delight over the effect.  I cannot say it better than Keats, my brother, my condemned, wonderful brother.

"The best answer I can give you is in a clerklike manner to make some observations on two principal points which seem to point like indices into the midst of the whole pro and con about genius, and views, and achievements, and ambition, et csetera.â€" 1st. As to the poetical Character itself (I mean that sort, of which, if I am anything, I am a member; that sort distinguished from the Wordsworthian, or egotistical Sublime; which is a thing per se, and stands alone,) it is not itselfâ€" it has no selfâ€" It is everything and nothing â€" It has no character â€" it enjoys light and shade; it lives in gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated â€" It has as much delight in conceiving an Iago as an Imogen. What shocks the virtuous philosopher delights the chameleon poet. It does no harm from its relish of the dark side of things, any more than from its taste for the bright one, because they both end in speculation. A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence, because he has no Identity â€" he is continually in for and filling some other body. The Sun, â€" the Moon, â€" the Sea, and men and women, who are creatures of impulse, are poetical, and have about them an unchangeable attribute; the poet has none, no identity â€" he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's creatures. â€" If then he has no self, and if I am a poet, where is the wonder that I should say I would write no more? Might I not at that very instant have been cogitating on the Characters of Saturn and Ops? It is a wretched thing to confess; but it is a very fact, that not one word I ever utter can be taken for granted as an opinion growing out of my identical Nature â€" how can it, when I have no Nature? When I am in a room with people, if I ever am free from speculating on creations of my own brain, then, not myself goes home to myself, but the identity of every one in the room begins tc press upon me, so that I am in a very little time annihilated â€" not only among men; it would be the same in a nursery of Children. I know not whether I make myself wholly understood: I hope enough so to let you see that no dependence is to be placed on what I said that day.

In the 2d place, I will speak of my views, and of the life I purpose to myself. I am ambitious of doing the world some :good: if I should be spared, that may be 'tbe work of maturer years â€" in the interval I will assay to reach to as high a summit in poetry as the nerve bestowed upon me will suffer. The faint conceptions I have of poems to come bring the blood frequently into my forehead â€" All I hope is J that I may not lose all interest in human! affairs â€" that the solitary Indifference Y feel for applause, even from the finest spirits, will not blunt any acuteness of vision I may have. I do not think it will.

I feel assured I should write from the mere yearning and fondness I have for the] beautiful, even if.my night's labours should J be burnt every Morning, and no eye evev shine upon them. But even now I am perhaps not speaking from myself, but from some Character in whose soul I now live.

I am sure however that this next sentence is from myself â€" I feel your anxiety, good opinion, and friendship, in the highest degree, and am

Yours most sincerely,

John Keats."

Can you not see why I am a prisoner of my own jail? I refuse to take any step upon the world and harm even one grass upon a little hill. Forever shall I tolerate the intolerance of those foul tempered tyrants. I refuse to mimic their image, so I am condemned for my self sacrifice as stupid and insane, a fool, or a useless man, because I choose beauty and the precious nature of existence above my own. I breathe life to the world and not illness, I am the same man with clothes or without, circumstance does not make or become me. The state of my being matters not, only the conscious state of my soul. What is wrong with the modern world cannot be contained here within a few pages of thought. It would take a lifetime of speculation and we might no more get past this point; that to be anything means to be nothing. To be nothing is to be everything. I have made my choice, others have made theirs, for better or worse.

" . . several things dovetailed in my mind, & at once it struck me, what quality went to form a Man of Achievement especially in Literature & which Shakespeare possessed so enormously--I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason--Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half knowledge. This pursued through Volumes would perhaps take us no further than this, that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration."

"As tradesmen say every thing is worth what it will fetch, so probably every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer--being in itself a nothing--"

Comments? Or is your tongue twisted cold. I'm sizzling boys, and burn hot as the sun. Come join me in the sunshine, where squinting eyes, sweating heads and struggling hearts shun your rays, and seek sheltering solace in the shade.

[applesauce]

Good essay/letter/read, though I would be careful with some of your absolutes.

I think that there are a lot more people out there with similar thoughts to you than you think-- sure, most end up crushed by the vast American "thing" that surrounds them, but there are many like yourself, to a greater or lesser extent (you're apparently towards the greater end, at least in frustration).

As much as I believe what I wrote above, I am continually struck by how few people seem to comprehend vast, unguided ambition. This is, perhaps, a strike against my argument.

Regardless, I hope you take comfort in knowing that there are thousands of others across the globe who are reading the texts they care to read, paying attention when they care to pay attention, parking a few rows beyond the furthest cars in parking lots, and taking long walks alone (I do all these).

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

Visibly, people generally don't exude that perpetual state of wonder towards the world around them,  but I think that more or less has to do with the culture they were reared. Western culture is built up from an individualistic standpoint, but there's so much focus and emphasis placed on establishing a strong and admirable social self that people tend to forget about the individual; themselves.
I have an artist friend who's "flighty" because she can pick out intricate patterns and details in everything and constantly does so. She has a perfectly likeable and wonderful social persona and is fascinating to talk to, but she's entirely uninhibited when it comes to revealing her personal self, and that bothers people sometimes.  The people who tend to berate some of her eccentricities are the same people who walk down the street with their eyes on the sidewalk and with their noses buried in their cell phones.

People notice, they just don't process, because they don't have to.