Except

It is impossible to become exceptional while living moderately. To become extraordinary, one must walk the path of excess.

Note to Self

Be quicker to volunteer your ignorance than your wisdom.

Secrets

To keep a secret is admit of a duty to deceive. Therefore, do not feel that your trust has been betrayed when someone lies to you. Who else could keep your secrets but a liar? Do not be deceived – it is only the deceivers who can be trusted.

Tomorrow

The time is coming when playing stupid will not be enough to advance the direction of philosophy. The philosophers of tomorrow shall be forced to learn a new ingenuity.

Progress

In every period of history, more progress in thought has been made by a single honest idiot than by all the articulate geniuses combined.

Deeds

In many cases, a sense of accomplishment is indistinguishable from actual accomplishment. It is for this reason that it is an abomination to criticize another. In shattering another's sense of accomplishment, you destroy the accomplishment itself. Do not be mistaken: I do not mean to say that the feeling of being accomplished is itself accomplished. Rather, whenever you feel that you have done something, that feeling always corresponds to - and instantiates the reality of - the actual accomplishment. I do not know of accomplishment any more real than that of the man who says, "I have really done something."

For, if we are not free to identify the feeling of something with its actuality, where else can we look to evaluate the reality of achievement? At least by equating the appearance with its reality, we free the subject to be responsible for his own reality. The only alternative would be to displace the notion and value of achievement onto a third party, over whom the subject is to have no power - thereby displacing the valuating power of man away from himself and onto those others whom he gives himself over to be controlled by. Those others may take on many forms. Do not be fooled: just because one wills oneself to be controlled does not make one free. I can do something and feel that it has been done; the worst thing would be for you to come along and tell me I have done nothing.

The worst thing - the worst favor. For how else are we to live except by the hands of others? Can we really hope to live entirely in a world of our own creation? And do any of us have the necessary stamina - the courage to stand wholly outside the world of others, and the staying power to remain, despite the ever-present call to return?

An End to Questioning

If truth is mediated by a questioning dialectic, then where shall we find our questions? Are we to be metaphysicians and look upon existence herself as the question it is our task to answer? Are we to be psychologists and look upon ourselves as that which is unanswered, attempting to mediate through an infinitely inter-referential complex, so as ultimately to discover only ourselves? Or are we to be simpler, and consider that the answer may have already been given - that every question is itself questionable, and the answer, even when unknown, is always and everywhere immediate? For what is an answer except an end to questioning - what is truth, except the absence of doubt?

Many paths lead to the same destination - but not all destinations lead to the same path.

The Truth Machine

Truth is not merely multifaceted - it is also multi-layered. Wherever you cut into the truth and however deeply you penetrate into it, you find a different stratum of interpretation. Typically, we consider the image of penetrating deeply into the truth to be a matter of digging deeply enough. We assume that there is a privileged deepest layer - that if one is seeking the truth, it is located at this deepest stratum.

In imagining the truth in this manner, we forget that the truth is a totality, and therefore indivisible. Like a machine, you can take it apart to see how it functions, but try as you might, it is impossible to identify a single part as the agent responsible for the functioning of the whole, for every piece in some way contributes to that functionality. The truth is like that: unified, it speaks for itself; divided, it is unintelligible.

Interpretation is the dismantling of the machine that is the truth. Interpretation is only necessary where understanding is absent. It is for this reason that interpretation dismantles the truth - so that it can create a reliable blueprint that may be used to reassemble the truth in all its functionality. To interpret the truth well is a difficult task - more difficult even than knowing the truth for itself. Many expert mechanics lack the skill to create a blueprint for building the machines they know so well. To interpret the truth well, one must have a thorough acquaintanceship with the unlimited human capacity for misunderstanding.

Existence

Just because you don't get the joke, doesn't mean it's not funny.

Pretension

The more you're interested in music, the less I'm interested in you. Those who will, do. Those who can't, talk. Man is a sponge: he can only absorb so much before something drips out.

The Aesthetic of Being

The plainer the speech, the less inclined it is to annoy. Taste in adornment often amounts to simplicity. Beauty is a singularity, and in this, it must always be pure. Beauty is a harmony, and since we are most of us amateur at composition, we would be wise not to overburden ourselves with too many intricacies. Only an expert can amaze - the rest of us would do well just to avoid offending.

Subtlety, Depth and the Common

Social beauty is thick and dull. The extraordinary of the ordinary excel only in their thinness; their subtlety scratches barely past the thick protective hide that divides the common from the divine. Truth is value, and value truth. The profound is essentially beyond the grasp of the everyman. Every man can come to it, but to do so he must pass over the crowd and everything of himself that has love for it. That which is worthy is scarce; there is economy in the divine. Value truth, for truth is value. Prometheus was no hero, for in bringing the fire down from the mountain, he extinguished the divine flame. There is burning, but whither is there warmth? If truth is a woman, she must be won over, but not only. She must be led to herself; she must be seduced. She loves no coarse hero, no matter how bold his deeds. Fortasse fortuna fortes adiuvat - sed sinceritas subtiles.

Debate

The stronger the opinion, the weaker the man.

Emotional Transference

If friends can be family, can family be friends?

Education

Given time, the educated watch their education slip away and feel they must make use of it. But their education is so broad that they cannot possibly make use of it all. So they inject it into casual conversation, speaking around the things they mean to say until they can no longer talk straight. They are the worst kind of pretentious; as they demonstrate their knowledge they show only how worthless knowledge can be.

Profoundly Obvious

In my philosophy, I walk the line between the obvious and the profound. Sometimes I err on one side, sometimes the other, but every so often I hit the sweet spot and everything I wish to say comes out as beautiful, true and clear. The rest of the time what I say is either too pedestrian and dull or too enigmatic and dense. The challenge to say just enough - not too little and not too much. The challenge is to show another the world through one's own eyes, and to be seeing the world newly at that same time. It should not ever be forgotten that philosophy has as its focus both truth and beauty, that it matters not only what one says but how one says it. And which is this, trite or profound? At one time one, another time another - perhaps even both at once. For would it not be best - to expand the trite into the profound and contract the profound into the trite? To explode the atom into a universe, and to condense the universe into a pea? Where truth and beauty fall apart and together, at that moment, we lose and find ourselves and forget to care which. This is the beauty of philosophy and its truth. This is - it's glory.

The Way to Experience

The problem is deeply rooted. For if we are to reach this deeply buried root, we must dig through the strata of dirt that thousands of years have settled over it and become sedimented around it, and this process of unearthing could very well endanger the root which we are seeking. Experience is a very old tree. It's roots have become very tough as it has grown into its ever-changing environment, and as its environment has changed in order to accommodate its needs. We could content ourselves with leaving it be and resting comfortably in its shade, but alas - it has grown so old that it has come to wither. What is to fault? It has an abundance of the sunlight of reason shining onto its leaves, and we water it regularly with the outpouring of our life's blood (er-lebnis). Alas, but the roots dig deeper and deeper into the earth to find a ground with enough nutrients to permit it to grow healthily, and it meets with nothing but the clay of dead cultures compacted hard all around. The strata of meaning that have separated us from the goings-on of experience are too responsible for threatening its life.

The only thing left for us to do, we human beings, caretakers of the garden of thought, is to carefully dig out the dead soil and replant the entire tree. But what labor must be done for such a feat! Even for the smallest plant, it is a great danger to lift it out of its defining environment and bring it into another. For such a majestic Sequoia as experience, it should surely prove impossible! We must remind ourselves that if we are indeed gardeners, the whole garden is our concern and we should not allow one bad apple to spoil the whole barrel. Has experience grown so wide, so thick and so high that it has cut out the sunlight for the young saplings at its base? If it is the life of thought itself that is threatened by the overgrowth of one Idea, is it not for the best that it die so as to bring new life to the rest? But it has not yet been settled whether experience means the life of thought or its denigration. What if just the opposite were the case - what if experience should prove to be the very lifeblood of the garden of Anglo philosophy? In the words of Saint Mark, what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? If experience is that, our soul of philosophy, we would bring our vivacious garden to lie fallow were we to let it die. Indeed, this is the problematic of experience: if it is worth our while, it is the most important thing in the world - but if it means nothing, we would be wasting our time were we to tend to it at all. With regard to the role of experience in philosophy, the matter is still very much up to question.

Inspiration

The poet seeks inspiration in the world; the philosopher, in a single word.

Experience

"That all our knowledge begins with experience there can be no doubt" (Kant, Critique of Pure Reason). But what then do we know of experience? Are we capable of approaching an understanding of experience, and if so, would that not necessarily implicate an endless regress, whereby to know experience is to have an experience of it, ad infinitum? Alternatively, is there anything more certain but that all talk of experience is insufficiently understood, and that experience itself is by and large left unknown? Is not experience itself largely understood as a mere placeholder, its meaning understood vaguely if it is understood at all, and therefore, isn't it philosophically irresponsible to make use of it as a conceptual tool? For, if we are to make use of experience in our philosophical discussions, we must first ground experience on a sure foundation, such that what comes of what is said amounts to more than a mere house of cards.

Unfortunately, with reference to the usage of the term, all experience is experience, and so although we would like best to delineate a narrow meaning and, as it were, speak of "true" experiences and "false" experiences, this cannot be the case. For all experience is experience if it is experience at all.

We could go on an ideatic journey and explore the growth of the term through history and how it has come to mean now what it does, but such an examination, however thorough, would only provide us with the confidence that we have come to an understanding, without getting at the real truth of the matter. There is also naturally the issue of the association and interaction of languages with each other in the development of the idea, and how Hume may have first popularized experience philosophically, while Kant followed in his path, and in this manner experience passed through English into German as both erfahrung and erlebnis, and then passed back into English. All of this is fascinating but insufficient. Also insufficient is to tie the notion of experience with a posteriori knowledge and the scientific revolution. For instance, we could take this as our jumping off point and retroactively define experience as a scientifically derivative term, and in this way show that it is improper to speak of all knowledge coming from experience if we are to also assert that there is knowledge outside of science and its mode of "experiencing" reality. This would clearly be inadequate, since experience has since been reappropriated to include non-scientific experience within it, for, as we have already said, all experience is experience.

There is a common root between experience and experiment. In this manner we can show right off that, though recourse to a word's origins can frequently be helpful in the unearthing of meaning, in this case it is very little help. To experience the world is not to experiment with it, even though experiments too are obviously experiences.

Linguistically, the truth of experience is buried deeply. It's truth lies beneath the English, beneath the German, beneath even the Latin. The descent of a word may be preserved in it without the users being aware of this hidden meaning in using it. Experience must be torn asunder, broken past the point at which most dictionaries of etymology stop, identifying experience with experientia, experiri, and periculum. None of these get to the root, for they are each all the hanging fruits from an even older stem. Allow me to admit straight off my status as a novice with both Latin and the study of etymology. But it seems clear to me that experience must be separated from the roots that modify (ex, per) before it can get at the core substance that is being affected (ientia, iri, iculum). Is experience a kind of entity (entitas, ens, esse)? Is it a kind of passion (ira) or an irruption (irruo)? Is it a kind of violence (ico, ictus)? Or, better yet, is it simply what is to be had for breakfast (iento, ientaculum)? It is clear that there is a lot of ambiguity on this level, and we could very quickly make fools of ourselves if we are careless. Although I would like very much to give the primary meaning of experience to the violence of a blow (ico, ictus), I think that perhaps the most likely root here is a much more common word, namely eo, ire. Unfortunately, even here the ambiguity is just as high, if not higher, than at the topmost level of our closest familiarity with the original term, experience. If experience is always a going through and out of, what is it going through, what is it coming out of, and most importantly, how does it proceed?

Intimacy

When I discover an old copy of a book, it is the only one I find. Later I learn that mine is not the only one and become disillusioned. There is something romantic about thinking that a book has been lost forever - that it cannot live on except through you.

Luxuries and Necessities

The better you have it, the more you complain that you don't have it better.

Higher Education

"I don't need to be interesting - I already have a job."

Form and Content

The obsession with the distinction between form and content has been as much a hindrance as an aid to the progression of philosophy. We speak of form and content as if the whole world were composed of nothing but so many jugs of wine. But the content of a thing cannot so easily be emptied of its form. Like so many distinctions that are made, in both philosophy and our daily lives, the line dividing one thing from another is hazy at best, indefensible at worst. But worst of all, these matters are so rarely thought of as they truly are, that is to say, as useful yet imperfect analogies. We compare one thing to another, dissimilar to it, such that each may appear in the light of the other and thereby be seen anew. Parallels are discovered while differences are forgotten, for the one thing appears in the light of the other. To forget the differences between the present object considered and the analogue by which it is understood may be defensible, but to forget that the object is seen as such by cause of its analogue is most certainly not. The object and its analogue stand apart even as they dwell together.

The Weight of Words

Words possess feeling. To speak means to give weight to one's words - a weight that is not foreign to the words themselves. A word may be simply a word, but when I talk about what is real, there is something real about its very mention. Likewise, when I talk about what is imagined, an entirely different feeling emerges. Certainly we can express ourselves with a variety of intonations and enunciations - but the weight that words wield lies not only in the way that we wield them, but so too in their inner construction. Not even the best swordsman can decapitate a man with a sword made of cardboard.

We like to fancy that we have outgrown superstition in the modern age, but there are still many relics of our primitive origins that dwell with us daily. We still cannot manage to separate the signifier from the signified. We can imagine them as separate, but to truly separate them is quite a different matter. This unity of consciousness with its object central to the German Idealism of Kant and Hegel is not merely a philosophical event - it is the re-emergence of a phenomenon that was never quite intellectualized into submission. It is the realness of the very mention of the real, the conjuring of object through the mention of its name - it is, unmistakably, the execution and real life of magic.

Value

Never better. Never worse. Always different.

Wisdom

Wisdom is knowing when to say "when".

American Philosophy

American philosophers have not yet found their distinctive "style". They are, alternatively, too German, too English, and too French. A truly American philosopher cannot come to be until American philosophy discovers its "voice" - or perhaps, American philosophy will discover its voice through the advent of the first American philosopher. Whichever way it happens, there is one thing that is certain: academic philosophy in America is in no way whatsoever conducive to the self-discovery of the American spirit. It is this "American spirit" that remains the fundamental aporia, simultaneously blocking and enabling the possibility of the creation of the first American philosopher. But this should not be misunderstood as a political matter.

Discernment

In civil society, I find it best to say precisely the opposite of what I think. This serves as a good filter, for those who are able to discern that I mean the opposite of what I say are usually more willing to hear the unpleasant truth, while those who can't tell are often the ones who would take the most offense.

Within society, there exists a wide range of mental refinement and astuteness of observation, with the strange and unfortunate corollary that there is no quick and easy way to distinguish the sharp-witted from the crass. Due to this, one must devise certain universal tests that quickly and reliably separate those who are observant and discerning in thought from the more common and plain-thinking folk amongst us.

Let it be known: those who are most wealthy are not the most refined, and those most poor are not the most undignified. Similarly, there is no such generality regarding the development of one's judgment and discernment according to occupation or culture or gender. Character is to be found within, seemingly without any relation to the circumstances of one's life. Thus, in a paradoxical twist of fate, it is only by the cultivation of one's own judgment that one can grow to discern the character of others; only by developing one's own virtues that one may become cognizant of the virtues of others.

Thoughts on Thought

Thoughts are constituted by and situated within the language in which they are thought. Thoughts do not merely consist of words, they are barely anything but the words themselves. Barely, and yet certainly a bit more than "mere" words. The problem here is that we are accustomed to think of words as being "mere", that is to say, as lacking a certain something that they never actually lack. Never is a word expressed without a certain affective sensibility. That is to say, there is always something else besides the strict reference of a word that is "going on" when a word is exchanged. It is always accompanied by the sense in which it is expressed, whether or not that is lost in translation.

And so, though I say that there is barely anything but the words themselves in thoughts, I say this only with reference to our prejudice of thinking of words as lacking an accompanying sensitivity. The literal truth is that there is absolutely nothing in thought but words. This is not to say that thought may be understood simply, for words are no less complex than thoughts.

If thoughts and words and just as complex as one another, why make this shift at all? Should we not be aiming, in our discussion, toward making the complex simpler and more comprehensible? But while this does encompass part of our method, it would be a crime to present a complex matter in a way that did not do justice to its complexity. Sometimes simplification is oversimplification.

In making the move from thoughts to words, I am steering our line of inquiry toward certain peculiar insights of Wittgenstein. In the Blue and Brown Books, he suggested that thought may consist precisely in the expression of thought, and nothing enigmatic or mysterious besides that very performance of thinking. He suggests we consider the possibility that, when someone is writing, the organ of thought may just be the writing hand, and not the mind. For what is a thought besides its expression? There is no disjunction between thought and expression, and so no reason to think them distinct from one another.

Now, all this is very disquieting. Surely I know what it is to think. Surely thought is something that occurs separate and distinct from expression. After all, I think all the time! Who is Wittgenstein to dispute my private experience? I know what I know, and for such matters there is nothing anyone can say that can bring these matters to doubt.

It is my contention that there is such a thing as thought outside of communicative expression. What then, is my experience of thought, and how may I adequately describe it, such that it may be shown to have an existence apart from expression?

I consider thought to be principally an auditory phenomenon. When I hear someone speak, the words reach my ears and travel through them into my brain, where they reside and gradually grow to become residual. It is the same way with thought outside of interaction. Thought occurs not in the brain, but rather in certain self-agitated reverberations of the inner ear. I know not thought outside of being able to hear my own thoughts.

With words, there is never expression without impression; and whenever there is expression, there is both content and mood. There is no separating expression from impression, no separating the communication of meaning from the evocation of emotional response. But already I am presenting an inaccurate picture. There is not simply a speaker attempting to impart information on the one hand, and a listener responding emotionally on the other. Rather, there is content and mood involved both in the expression of a speaker and in the impression of a listener. There is no separating content from mood; there is no separating expression from impression.

It is in this way that, when we think, we become both speaker and listener without any speech or expression proper occurring to mediate the interaction with ourselves. In so thinking, the wrapping up of content with mood and expression with impression becomes an intensified complex of activity. For, in merely thinking, one is not limited by the confines of a medium of communication. In speaking, one may only speak so quickly, but there seems to be no such limitation on the rapidity of thought, even for those who do no possess an extraordinary mental capacity. One need not be brilliant in order to think much; one need not be a genius in order to have much to say.

In all of this mental activity, we must continuously refer back to the actuality that is thought, that is to say, the exchange of words. Although we may be able to think in a seemingly unlimited fashion, the quicker we think the quicker we lose our train of thought, for the simple reason that the more is said, the less one listens. In everyday interactions this is a common understanding, but when we are involved in interacting with ourselves alone, we fancy that different rules apply and so quickly disregard the principle of pace. But this principle is just as true here as it is in society. The more quickly you think, the less you pay yourself attention.

This is especially dangerous, for as we noted above, when speech becomes internalized, the complex of interaction becomes only more complex and more liable to lead to misunderstandings. Here again we encounter a common understanding that is oddly disregarded simply because the circumstances have changed. We all know that misunderstandings between people are inevitable, and so we constantly adjust the way that we speak in order to minimize misunderstandings. But when we are alone with our own thoughts, we deny ourselves this possibility. What could be more obvious but that it is impossible to misunderstand oneself? What could be more obvious but that nearly everyone does?

Rocks and Sand

Usually if you have to say that you enjoyed something, you did not. In these cases, the claim of enjoyment serves as social consolation and reassurance.

But for what sake? In social situations, all rough edges must be smoothed - all conflicts given to resolution. One cannot have open conflict in civil society - else it would not be civil, and hence cease to be society. Society is a self-refining process. As it works upon itself, all of its constituent social relations become smoother, just as the ocean churns rocks against each other in order to form sand.

But let us return from these general, overarching observations back to the particulars of the the everyday, that which is more "down to earth" and therefore grounded. Let us ask ourselves, for whose purpose does this process of social leveling [Cf. Nietzsche] serve? In smoothing over the rough edges of the social relations we are engaged in, what is gained, and for whom?

We may accept a certain broadly human appeal to society itself as the moralizing force, that is to say, that sometimes things are to be done simply for the sake of society, that it may be perpetuated and preserved as society itself [that broad ever-present abstraction].

But at the ground level, in our everyday actions we are rarely motivated to serve lofty, ungrounded goals alone. Generally speaking, the more abstract a motivation, the less motivating it is. All people are simple people and are motivated most effectively by what is personally impactful. Unless someone has something of theirs at stake in a matter, they will rarely act. Our actions are directed in such a way because we have something at stake in the affairs of others.

In this way, we must ask: what do we have at stake, what kind of vested interest do we have in the goings-on, and with that in mind, are we to allow ourselves to be beaten against each other like so much rocks, to be averaged out and dissolved into infinitesimal, nearly-identical grains of sand?

Trauma

Trauma always either embitters or enlightens... usually both.

Strength

Strength is too often conceived as ability, and therefore understood scientifically, in terms of experimentation and demonstration. But strength demonstrated is not strength proved. Strength is not ability - strength is will. It is not a physiological phenomenon, it is psycho-spiritual force.

At the Fringe of Understanding

In describing and trying to comprehend that which refuses to be categorized - that absolute individuality, that singular uniqueness - one must give oneself over to the poetic instinct.

Wikipedia

The prejudice against Wikipedia is so widespread that it is not convincing to suggest that the motive is entirely situated on reasons and reasoning. I suspect that this prejudice is expressive of a certain popular skepticism of the power of the populace. That is to say, people are largely skeptical as to what they think collectives are capable of.

It would be interesting to compare how favorably Wikipedia is viewed in countries with value systems different from our own. Ones that place more faith and weight in collective, congregate action - as compared with our own culture, which has faith in little except the power of exceptional individuals.

Just Works

When something 'just works' its presence is imperceptible, its absence is anything but. Generally the air just works, and there isn't much to celebrate about that, it is assumed. But when it doesn't ... you notice.

Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat

What is the power of a truth that is not expressed boldly? Can we really be expected to judge the question of truth dispassionately? Do we dare permit ourselves to become so bored with truth that it loses its capacity to inspire?

The Source

Words are the occasion for meaning. But this does not mean they are the source of meaning. The source is before and beyond language. Meaning is not found in words, but rather by way of words. A word does not possess meaning - meaning does not belong to a word. Meaning belongs to something much more primordial.

Affirmation is Negation

Affirmation is negation, and negation affirmation. A truth and its opposite run parallel. What is lacking is the bisecting perpendicular, which intersects both truth and untruth at a point so infinitesimal that it remains both unperceived and inconceivable until the uniting schema has already begun to come undone.

Giving Expression

One must give expression to something several times before it can be first articulated.

Profound Truths

Do not be deceived: Just because a truth is expressed simply does not make it any less profound.

The Cancer

The purpose of writing is to get others to think. Philosophy is a cancer - it does no good unless it spreads.

Conviction

Do not always believe what you hear - even if it is said with conviction. I want to say - especially if it is said with conviction.

Communication, Interpretation and Trust

In communication of any kind, there are many who give out two books: one that says what they mean to say, and one that tells their listener how to interpret it. These people think of language as being fundamentally personal language, such that you have to provide a translation matrix along with every message that you send out. This seems, as it were, to be the default behavior of human beings today; wishing not to be misinterpreted, we preemptively interpret ourselves. In a manner of speaking, we become both speaker and audience, and thereby leave nothing for our audience to do but uncritically absorb our message.

Everywhere today, this is the predominate mode of communication. However, this is not the mode proper to communication itself. It is rather a reactionary move, a preemptively defensive posture taken on by speakers once they realize that interpretation is a basic function of communication itself. That is to say, I can say what I will, but there is no telling how you will take my meaning. Knowing this naturally fills us with a sense of dread and anxiety, since we do indeed mean something when we choose to speak, and it seems to be wantonly careless to leave the critical matter of interpretive understanding up to someone as unreliable as a listener.

Nevertheless, there can be no communication without trust. To speak is to take a blind leap into the dark unknown of another's mind, hopeful that the other will listen to you with discretion and the benefit of the doubt - that is to say, hopeful that the other will truly listen, and take steps to acquire a genuine understanding. After all, communication is a co-operative endeavor. It is the pursuit for a common truth - and such a journey cannot be taken alone.

Reading and Writing and...

There are certain people who especially love books and reading and learning of all sorts, and they would especially like it were we to grace them with a label as generous as "bibliophile", but we'll avoid such an abundance of expression at the moment so as to avoid unduly praising that which is too commonly praised in either the spirit of egotism or in a sadly-acceptable appeal to the norms of the status quo. Here, we wish to discuss those who love reading and their experience of reading, in an attempt to discover the meaning of the essence of the being of a book, through the experiences of those who particularly enjoy reading them.

Whenever a reader may first begin to read, and whatever he may start with, he will eventually-invariably come to a point where he thinks to himself the simple and too-simple thought: "This is good." In an implicit acknowledgment of the basic cruelty of the universe, it is at this inconvenient point, when the reader lacks any sort of self-scrutiny or -awareness, that all the critical questions become answered, even before they may be properly asked. But, for us, situated much later than this rhetorically imagined first-reading and first-valuation of reading, we may ask several strange questions. The innocent reader will surely have no idea how to adequately answer our questions (which he has, of course, already and unknowingly inadvertently answered), and so he inevitably answers poorly, aiming to please the questioner rather than drive home some vaguely ethereal notion of the real truth of the matter. So we cannot trust his answers (which are of course our own).

And so we eventually come back to the present, to the advent of the opening of a space adequate for questioning. What is quality when it comes to a book; what constitutes the value of a book? Moreover, what constitutes a "book" and the being of a book? Oddly, our minds immediately fall upon and dwell with the first question, the question of quality, rather than looking deeply into the second, less obviously interesting question of what constitutes the essence of the book's "being". But this is to be expected. While the first question conjures thoughts of a dandy philosophical adventure traversing the bold worlds of aesthetics and ethics in a good and honorable quest to slay that ever-elusive dragon that is the Good-in-Itself, the latter question falls by the wayside in that it does not seem to hold any promise for gold or conquest or glory; it is not a hero's quest but rather a trite and too-ordinary errand. After all, what is a book but a book? Who cares about what a book is? A book is a book - and there is not much more you can say than that.

Nevertheless, it is precisely this latter question that gives the former one its weight and potential for glory. After all, the value of a book may be gauged only against some sort of "Platonic Ideal" of its being-a-book - which is to say, a book is only good insofar as it resembles the singular and ideal Book which is not merely an instance or example of book-ness, but rather the quintessential perfection of a book's basic being.

And so, lengthy preamble aside, what constitutes the essential being of a book, by which we are to gauge the value of all books? Unfortunate as we are, we do not live in Plato's time or times when Plato was taken more seriously than today, and so we are forced not to take his notion of the Form of something quite literally, but rather to consider it within a quasi-Kantian hierarchy of basic human subjectivity. Which is to say, we each of us have different ideas as to what the ideal book is, and these ideas do not perfectly coincide into a single Platonic Ideal; and so we must deconstruct our own subjectivity, and in all hopes, with it the subjectivity of all other judging and value-giving human beings. Which is to say, we shall look back at the time when we were so careless as to think that we knew what we meant, so careless indeed that we unintentionally gave birth to meaning in the things we said - with the additional conflating self-deception that those meanings were inherent to the things we were talking about, and not instead fundamentally subsisting in ourselves.

We were young, we were naive, and we blessed books with the notion of goodness. We are now older, wiser, but still stuck thinking that there are some books better than others. This does seem to be an unavoidably inevitable valuation, discriminating between one sort of thing and another, divvying up reality according to our perceptual appraisals of value... and so we must ask ourselves, what were we thinking when we weren't thinking? If we can be that naive again, can we recall what made us think that certain books were good, that is to say, that somehow they resembled the perfection of being a book? And then, if we are so lucky to get that far, may we successfully invert our perspective and our inquiry so as to reach forward rather than back, toward the future rather than the past, away from reading and toward the reciprocal motion that is, of course, writing?

Let us avoid, right from the start, the sort of dull and overdone discussions of subjectivity that address nothing but the relativity of personal pleasures. It is clear that everyone likes what they like, but we are here discussing philosophy, not psychology, and it would be foolish for us to fancy ourselves psychoanalysts and embark on a lengthy and trivial examination of pleasure. I know that some people like reading some things, while other people like reading others, and for different reasons always. That doesn't interest me. What interests me is the possibility that there is a tendency, if not perhaps even a universality, that flows through all ideas of what a good book is, uniting to form a collectively-subconscious understanding of the fundamental being of a book.

And it does occur to me that there is just such an underlying tendency, although it is not universally present in all instances. A book is always a condensation; more words go into it than come out of it. That is to say, I have a thousand thoughts before I write a single sentence, and somehow I, as the author, have considered the alternatives and set upon the proper sentence for this particular place in the book; and that this process happens over and over until the work is complete. And once it is complete, it is finished. The book stands, for all time, as it is.

It is clear to me that this near-universality is a singular misunderstanding regarding what the basic essence of a book is. A book is supposed to be timeless; that is to say, it stands outside of time despite the fact that it is a product of time. The book is written, and it is finished. It is a "work", and it stands complete. This is how we read and think of books. Although a book may burn or be forgotten, and fall forever from the bookshelves of eternal remembrance, it still stands and subsists in a singular removal from time's flow. And when we are reading a book and consider it to be especially good, it is because this book is somehow more eternal than the rest. How we evaluate this eternality, and what we consider to be a quality that makes a book "good enough" to stand outside of time, is not our concern.

But we said, and maintain, that this is a misunderstanding. Books are created in time, and the goodness of a book lies not insofar as it stands outside of time, but precisely insofar as it stands within time, and within the timeliness of time. It is with this in mind that we say that we should not think of works as stalwart pinnacles that erupt, removed from the course of time, existing without beginning or end, but principally as malleable works of creation, that can be cut and skewered and re-mended a thousand times and still exist just as surely as they did when they existed in a somehow more "virgin" state. For there is no innocent virginity for such a thing as a book - books are products of the worst violence and the most depraved ideological molestations and lexical rapes. There is no purity in a book - the book is an abomination - and the perfection of a book lies exactly insofar as the book presents and represents an extensive and penetrating mockery of existence itself. For this is precisely how the writer gave rise to his work - and who are we to question the originary spirit of creation?

Whatever Man

+: Hey Yo, Yo wha'chu doin' wi'dat cape on ? I ain't nevah seen nobody wit no cape on befoh, you some kind'a supa hero?
-: Whatevah man.
+: Whatevah man, Whatevah man, I ain't neva heeeerd a' whatva' man befoh, wah'choo do?
-: Whatevah man

Dealing With People

How are we supposed to get along with each other, really? This question is dealt with so often that it hardly seems to deserve to be asked. However, precisely because it is dealt with so often gives us good reason to inquire directly into the matter, seeking a philosophically sound and universal answer to a question that is addressed too individually, and answered too variously.

Encountering one another in our daily doings, we are hurled into the chaos of the moment, where anything can happen at any time, and thousands of variables must be considered, calculated and calibrated before anything can be done. Indeed, we are forced to deal with each other without the necessary tools or time to do so adequately. And so we make do, and somehow we get by.

But at the end of the day, after having to deal with each other without any kind of preparation or due thought, we may pause to consider whether we have acted justly, judiciously, or more often just jerkishly. Being constantly forced to accommodate each other on the spot, we should pause and take the time to step back from time and inquire into our personal affairs not only extemporaneously, but also extra-temporaneously.

One of the most common matters dealt with between people is the question of personal offense. It is commonly known that diversity breeds animosity. Of course, it is also well known that familiarity breeds contempt. Basically, we all hate each other. If you are different from me, I hate you for reminding me that mine is not the only way of life. If you are similar to me, I hate you for reminding me of my own inadequacies. Whatever the cause, we always find reason - and good reason! - to hate each other. What are we to do about it?

There are two common techniques. You can either (1) avoid the people you can't stand, or (2) avoid talking about why you can't stand them. But frankly, both of these options are untenable. What kind of world are we living in where we can't voice our contempt for each other openly? I thought we were supposed to be living in a free society.

I offer a third alternative. Rather than working toward a more "sensitive" and "diplomatic" society, let's quit fucking around and just be ourselves. After all, this is America! If we can't openly express our contempt for each other, what else is left to bring us together? We must stand together, united in our common contempt! Only then may we truly call ourselves Americans.

Ships

In a dark and lonely ocean, we seek a lighthouse to help us to shore without knowing whether there is either shore or lighthouse. We find only each other in the darkness but the similarity of our positions gives us little to no comfort. Sometimes there are lights in the distance but there is no way to know whether they are lighthouses or mirages born of desperation, and by the time we sail close enough to find out we may be too far from a lighthouse to ever reach the shore.

Language and the Creation of Meaning

Unless something is difficult to say, it is probably not worth saying. Everything that is easy to say comes easily because it has been said before. The words we have, we learned - and so too with the meaning associated with them. If it hadn't been said before, we would never have learned to say it ourselves. Language is learned socially and by means of repetition. We say what we hear; it is for this reason that the words of others come more easily than our own.

We seek that all-elusive perfect combination of profundity and originality. And if we cannot reach that apex, we may at the very least strive toward some approximation thereof. To speak means to contribute to the history of a language. To say something means to contribute new meaning to a culture. So what are you going to do with your words? Are you going to allow yourself to reinforce the repetitions of bygone eras and the values of others? Or are you going to truly speak and say something that bears repeating?

There is truth to be spoken. It is new and fresh, and it flows from an ever-fecund source that lies deeper than our deepest understandings. If we have the courage and determination to speak past our words, to find their inner meaning and give meaning itself new life, the truth may come forward and bear us as its witness. This is the heart of poetry (qua the creation of meaning) and the font of both beauty and truth in all their manifold forms. May we all, then, have the courage to speak new life into our words, and to transform our language thereby.

"The Vacuity of Freedom" By Dr. Neil and Dark Hippo

People everywhere, especially in America, are always talking about freedom. But what is freedom, and what does it mean? Strictly speaking, freedom is freedom. If you are free, you are free to do anything. But though optimists often go around saying exactly that, it is patently false. If you are free, are you free to do that which is literally impossible? Can you morph into a squirrel at will, or can you calculate the value of 1 divided by zero? Clearly, there are logical boundaries for what freedom can possibly mean. So we are compelled to ask: Under what contingencies is one able to do anything? What inherent limitations are there to the notion of freedom?

There are some who would simply amend the definition of freedom to mean that one is free to do anything that is not logically impossible. But what do we mean by the phrase "logically impossible"? Isn't this just another way of saying "You are free to do anything that you are free to do"? This sort of circular definition is clearly both meaningless and insufficient.

Then there must be another limitation. Perhaps freedom is the freedom to do anything that you want to do. It is in this sense that we talk about the freedom to realize your desires and the freedom to be whatever you want to be. While this may be a very motivating notion for some people, it does not really mean much. What about all of the times that people do what they don't want to do? Without delving into a lengthy analysis of motivation and desire, let us be content saying simply that people are free to do both what they want to do and what they don't want to do. In this case, we have another tautological definition that means precisely nothing.

What about so-called political freedom, the freedom that is most commonly talked about in America? What does it mean for Americans to be free? With our egalitarian principles, an equality of rights and liberties is valued above all else. But total freedom is not egalitarian - it includes the freedom to oppress. In its most basic form, American freedom is restricted insofar as one is not free to violate the freedoms of another. Freedom is not the freedom to violate another's freedom... and so freedom is not freedom at all. Although many Americans live and die for this notion of freedom, it is even worse than meaningless: it is plain nonsense. American freedom is itself defined as restrictive. In an eerie parallel of Orwell's 1984, Americans equate freedom with slavery - which is frankly insane.

Looking at all the possibilities, it seems evident that there is no truly meaningful definition of freedom, and so we must conclude that freedom itself is meaningless.

However, slavery is very real. Understanding slavery as restriction, there are manifold ways in which human beings are constantly restricted as to what they can or cannot do, and what they can or cannot think. Slavery is very real, while freedom is an illusion. Once we fully understand that total freedom is logically impossible to realize, we may readjust our aims and methods accordingly. There is no such thing as absolute freedom, but there are various degrees of enslavement. Therefore, our goal should not be to become totally free, but rather, to minimize the degree to which we are enslaved.

"Adding Indirection" by Dr. Neil and Dark Hippo

Every time you try to generalize an observation you are playing with fire. On one hand, if your generalization is successful, you increase the power and import of the observation tenfold. But on the other hand, if you are unsuccessful, you negate the value of the original observation entirely. Also, each further generalization may possibly yield yet another exponential increase in value, but the chances of completely annihilating the value of the original observation is similarly increased.

This is the case with the generalization of generalizations. The further away you move from the concrete, the greater the risk of making nonsense out of previously useful information.

At first you have a particular thing in front of you - let's say a stapler. You make an observation: "This stapler is good for securing papers together". Then you decide to generalize the statement: "You know, staplers are good for securing papers together". So far, so good. But you decide to take the generalization further: "Staplers are good for securing all sorts of things together. You know, my hat doesn't fit very well. Maybe I should use a stapler to secure it my head."

So think long and hard about thinking long and hard, and consider that maybe you should just stop while you're ahead and say simply: "This here is a damn good stapler."

The Mind's Nose

Once you get out into the real world, you quickly discover that there are no rational people. How do people manage to remain so irrational, to see no connections whatsoever between their contradictory thoughts and actions?

The human mind can sense an impending contradiction - precisely in the same way that we can smell smoke before seeing a fire. There are many who would rather live with their contradictions than resolve them. And so, these people find it imperative to avoiding seeing their contradictions at all. Mindfully, they sniff out the stink of impending contradiction and immediately look away. A contradiction is near - beware! Stop thinking now, before it's too late!

For, once you lay eyes on a contradiction, it is already too late - the contradiction demands resolution. However, you don't really need to resolve your cognitive dissonance, so long as you remain ignorant of its existence. It is in this way that most people live - for whatever reason, we pitiful human souls are simply too lazy and comfortable to bear through the work that is necessary to become rational and consistent in both thought and deed.

Wittgenstein, Spirituality, and the Pitfalls of Specialization

"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."

Ludwig Wittgenstein

If religion and philosophy have the same goal, that they both wish to explore the spiritual or 'unspeakable' side of mankind, then Wittgenstein's statement may be taken as a kind of warning to all philosophy: that their principle aim is inherently unspeakable and ineffable (by its very nature), and so it would be better to say nothing at all than to say something that will inevitably be incorrect, or at best, inaccurate.

However, silence is not an answer to our questions. Rather it is the lack of acknowledging the question's validity, and such silence is much worse than censorship; it is the silencing not only of mistakes, but of any attempt whatsoever. It is easy enough for us to talk about the world around us, since we share it in common, and since we all live within it. It is much more difficult to discuss the world within us, especially since doing so is usually based on the usage of a language designed to talk about the physical (i.e. 'common') world. And so, it is clear why we need art, as human beings, since it alone is able to directly address our spiritual existences, to cut through misunderstandings and corporeal things and speak directly to our 'souls' by the only means we know how - namely, by addressing the spiritual with a language that itself is spiritual (e.g. myth, music, etc).

But, to get back to the matter at hand: Should we relegate the care of spiritual matters to the world of art, or should we be permitted to address spirituality in an analytical fashion? Should philosophy forget about spirituality altogether, and confine itself to smaller and more manageable concerns, thereby allowing itself to be transformed into a specialty to be practiced by 'experts' alone? Similarly, should religion simply be 'done away with'? And would it be responsible for human beings to take on such an attitude? Would this kind of transformation merely restrict the aims of philosophy and religion (which are presently the concern of all humans), or would it also restrict the field of art? Since we are all spiritual beings, wouldn't this kind of transformation of purpose affect the spiritual lives of everyone? Would we all be forced to become artists in order to satisfy our spiritual needs, or would art too become a specialty relegated to specialists alone, to whom the rest of us would have to turn to fulfill our spiritual needs? And if the latter were to occur, would this not mean the spiritual deaths of many?

If we could not express our spiritual uniqueness on an individual level, we would have to rely solely on the spiritual expressions of others in order to give our lives meaning, lest we resign ourselves to accept an altogether meaningless existence. And if so, if we are to accept this kind of narrowing of the purpose of religion and philosophy, and if we would not, thereby, all become artists, then this would invariably mean the creation of a new upper class, a new ruling class... a ruling class of artists. With art becoming a specialty, the artists would reign supreme as a unified force which represented the total spiritual meaning of every individual's life.

And is the alternate possible? Though we are all capable of being spiritual, are we all capable of giving expression to our spirituality by means of art? Are we all capable of becoming artists? Though we may all need art in our lives to feel whole, I fear that we are not all equally capable of expressing ourselves artistically.

Habit and Mood

Mood is constitutive of reality. How one looks at what exists changes its mode of existence. This is not only to say that one's mood "colors" one's perceptual apprehension of reality, but also that one's mood has a direct affectation on reality itself. To look at something is to change it. And to look at something in a certain way is to affect it in a corresponding way.

Reality is sensitive. To look at it is to come into contact with it; to come into contact with it, to touch it; and to touch it, to cause it to react. Mood is not mere subjectivity, it is constitutive of reality itself. If there were no human beings, mood would still be constitutive of reality. And so, we can see that a radical re-imagining of mood is necessary, for in considering it merely as a part of our inner selves, we have not yet grasped its true meaning.

It is clear that reality may agitate moods within us, but what we are describing is a total reversal of this all-too-common experience. What we speak of is the agitation of mood within reality by us. How is it that reality senses us? How is it that we can say it senses anything at all? Does the world weep when a tragedy occurs? Does it rejoice in triumph? Does it feel anxiety, and does it know pleasure?

Before we can re-appropriate the motion of "mood" into a larger and previously neglected context, we must clarify exactly what it is that we mean by this reality which "has" moods. If it is true that we emotionally affect reality, it is certain that these affectations are limited both in scope and in scale. When we speak of reality having moods, we are not speaking about all of reality, but only a small part.

Man engages with his reality as his reality engages with him. Reality is a network: man dwells in a house which is situated in a town which exists in a county... et cetera, ad infinitum. And so we do not engage the entire world and all of existence when we do what we do. Rather, we encounter only a small part of reality in our worldly doings. I sleep, and in so sleeping, I engage with my environment. I work, and in so working, I engage with my environment.

It is in this way that my environment acquires a mood. My work place acquires a workly mood, my home acquires a homely mood. I cannot think of feeling what I feel at home at work, for the environment has not been established for that purpose. And each of these places constitutes a reality, a world of its own.

And it is for this reason that a place demands to bear a task. If I have always slept in a certain place, that place will make me want to sleep, for it affects me with its own expectations. And if I wish to take that place and use it for something else, I may - but this will only add another level of expectation to that place, without removing the previous level. Locations have moods, and they do not easily give them up.

It is in this way that we may re-imagine habit as something that belongs to a place, rather than a person. To change a habit is not merely to change one's own state of mind, to make a personal decision, or to change one's actions. All this is insufficient to change one's habits, for a person forgets much more easily than a place. Made of stone and brick, concrete and iron, a place remembers all that has been done within it, and its expectations linger without end. To change one's behavior is insufficient. Permanent change is possible only when accompanied by a change in location.

Both Ignorant and Responsible

Our memory is selective. We are not dishonest, but neither are we true. Let's say we nearly evade a car crash - our emotions become wracked, our hearts tremble and our fingers shake. Our reactions may diverge greatly. One may shout profanities and make obscene gestures, angrily condemning the sure guilt of the other party. Another may bear himself more civilly, frozen still in the shock of the moment, thanking his god for protecting him. Whatever our reaction, it does not matter.

We wake up after our alarm has sounded, and frantically rush out of our homes in full knowledge that we will inevitably be late, but hoping that we will not be too late. Or perhaps we wake up, knowing it is too late, and decide that whatever it is that we're late to is not that important, and that we would much rather still sleep. Whatever our reaction, it does not matter.

There are times in which we know what we are doing, and know that our doing of it is important. Perhaps we are very subtle and sensitive people, and we remind ourselves every morning that each day has meaning, and every action significance. It does not matter. There is not even one person who lives always deliberately, always cognizant of themselves and their surroundings and the infinite possibilities of the present, always aware of what is happening and what their role is in the happening.

We overestimate our awareness and we forget even that we forget. We fancy that we remember the important events, and that we are in control of the situations that form the opinions others have of us.

In manifold ways, we forget that the world is without meaning and purpose, that things happen without cause or reason, and that all of this is true not only with regard to the greater world, but also to the very world that we inhabit, the very world that surrounds us intimately, the very world before our very eyes, and closer than the touch.

The events which are formative of our lives simply happen. When we are lucky, they happen in such a way that we happen to be aware of them. But just as often they happen without our noticing. And even when we don't notice them, we may still remain ignorant of them even after they have come to achieve significance before our eyes, through the powerful medium of Effect. That is to say: the small events are not small, and are often not recognized as large even after they become looming.

It is the same way with ourselves. That which is formative of our lives and our characters is as much the result of significant as insignificant events. We wake up and stretch our legs... and perhaps this becomes a vital turning point. "Why" does not matter. It has simply happened, and not only to us, but also by us. We have done everything that makes our lives, our persons, and our worlds what they are... and all the while, we had no idea what we were doing, right or wrong.

The Bar Scene

As Henry David Thoreau commented, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." Let us note that he wrote this outside of any specific context, and in the most general terms. He was not placing judgment on particular men in particular situations. He was rather only observing a phenomenon that we modern men are already too familiar with. Human beings are everywhere miserable. We hide it as best we can, but sadly even our bursts of passion are colored by an abject and pervasive suffering.

Although this is said quite aptly by Thoreau, the misery of mankind is not a new phenomenon. As we are all very aware of (or damn well should be), Buddhism cites as the very first "noble truth" that life itself is suffering. Everywhere, everyone is in pain. Everywhere, everyone is suffering!

How is it that we human beings manage to cope with this devastating state of affairs? Here, we have recourse to the inimitable Tolstoy. He writes, "If there existed no external means for dimming their consciences, one-half of the men would at once shoot themselves, because to live contrary to one's reason is a most intolerable state, and all men of our time are in such a state".

Miserable grouches that we are, we find recourse in drink and dance and song and sex, dimming our consciences and our consciousness both, dancing the nights away and slowly forgetting that we ever dreamed of a life without suffering. If we did not do all this, we would surely shoot ourselves, for to live contrary to one's reason is not merely intolerable, it is certainly unbearable.

And so, despite ourselves, we consciously pursue the clouding of our minds, and we call it fun and we call it pleasure. And even when we are hard pressed for our true opinions, we say the same: we say that it is fun and we say that it is pleasant. Is it pleasant to deaden one's reason? Is it fun to cloud one's mind for the sole purpose of forgetting one's own misery?

In Thoreau's words, "A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work". Then, do we masses not enjoy our pleasure because we have not worked for it? What kind of patronizing bullshit folk wisdom is that! We work hard for our pleasure, and we deserve it! We labor for endless hours during the week, persevering always to do what must be done, and some asshole who lived in the woods 150 years ago says we don't work hard enough? Well fuck him!

Except that's just the point: we slave away at our jobs, day in and day out, suffering every moment, waiting for Friday to come so that we might enjoy our lives just a little bit. But when the day finally comes, we have spent so much time suffering that we have forgotten how to enjoy life. We drink alcohol and we listen to loud music, we tell loud jokes and we laugh even louder. We spend so much time suppressing our urge to enjoy life that when Friday comes, it must be coaxed out of its hiding place through drink and dance. And so, we "let loose" and "have fun", all the while mistaking this release of the suppressed desire for pleasure for pleasure itself.

We say that it is fun because it is fun, that is, because we don't remember what fun really is. We say that it is pleasant because it is pleasant, that is, because we don't remember what pleasure really is. And one day there will come a reckoning for each of us, in which we faintly recall a desire we once had for something better. But then, it will be too late.

In Short

There will come a day in which we have all forgotten what is written here. That day has perhaps already come? In any case, it will be a day like all the others. It's like that game, you know, the game. The game you just lost. Except it's the opposite: you lose because you have forgotten to think about it.

To be fair, this is clearly an inconsequential post. It is likely far too self-referential for your tastes. But that is not to say that it is nothing. Good as nothing perhaps, but not nothing itself. It is certainly something... it is a certain something. And it certainly shall be forgotten, perhaps as soon as you have finished it, perhaps even as you are reading it now.

At this point you are likely asking yourself, "What's the point?" In which case, I can only say that the point has already been made. It's too bad that you missed it.

The Salesmen Scourge

It is clear that people admire and abhor others in direct proportion to their admiration and abhorrence of themselves. That which I find detestable in you corresponds to that which I find detestable in myself, and likewise with all things praiseworthy. And so, it is no leap of logic to conclude that those people we find wholly abhorrent and detestable are, in their very being, the perfect distillation of all that is abhorrent and detestable.

Who are these people, who perfectly embody all that is detestable and abhorrent in ourselves? They are the salespeople. You know them, the legions of salesmen and saleswomen who pollute our streets and invade our homes. They are the vermin of the earth.

Perhaps you are a salesperson, or have been one, or perhaps you merely sympathize with them. In this case I do not expect you to understand what I write here, for it is not in your nature to understand it. Suffice it to say that there is no human being who does not detest being sold something for which he has no use, no person who does not recoil in disgust and virulent hatred at the prospect of being manipulated for the sole benefit of another.

A salesmen is always a salesman, and he is always selling you something. When he steps out of his home in the morning, he is already ready to sell, for he knows thoroughly that the first thing he must sell is himself. You may cross paths with him incidentally and exchange a few passing words and already you find yourself filled with an inexplicable hatred. For, even in the most insignificant and inconsequential situations, he is always at the ready, willing to sell himself to whoever comes by. The salesman does not discriminate; he doesn't care whether you're white or black, male or female, rich or poor. Whoever you happen to be, you have something he wants, and he will get it from you.

Who are these people? How does anyone become so despicable? A salesman is not born a salesman; he is born like every other human being, but somewhere along the way something goes terribly wrong.

The salesman is not a person, he is not even an animal: he is a machine. The salesman is no man, he is merely a cog in the great social machine. Admittedly, we are all just such cogs, but that is not remarkable. What separates the salesman from the rest of us is in how perfectly he fits into the social machine. While most of us humans are imperfect, finding it necessary to readjust occasionally in order to function well in the social machine, the salesmen are perfect cogs which require neither adjustment nor calibration. Like all well-made cogs, they simply turn.

A salesman is always a salesman, and he is always selling something. That is his modus operandi: to sell. If he does not sell, he does not exist. It is his entire purpose, everything that he is and everything that he hopes to be. If he looks at his life and finds imperfections, he is not troubled: it is clear to him that he simply needs to work on his sales. If he is without a wife, then he must learn to sell himself as a good husband. If he is without a job, then he must learn to sell himself as a good employee. If he is without friends, then he must learn to sell himself as a good person. For the salesman, there is no problem that can't be solved with more salesmanship.

Being perfect social cogs, they fit everywhere and so, they are found everywhere. The salesmen pop up in the most unexpected places, so you must always be on your guard. If they were transparent, there would be no danger. But the salesmen are opaque, sometimes you don't even know they're selling you something until you've already bought it. Once they have hooked you, there is no getting loose. After all, what is it that salesmen do, except "pursue leads"? If you are hooked, it's too late. You have become a lead, and they will pursue you until they make a sale.

There is nothing you can do. The salesmen know what they're doing. No matter what you do, you will buy something. You may resist, but it's no use. Like quicksand, the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.

A salesman is always a salesman, and he will not stop until he has made a sale. If you spot one, it is best to give him a wide berth and avoid eye contact. But once he has you in his sights, realize that there is nothing you can do. Do not struggle: he is going to sell you something, and he can do it the easy way, or he can do it the fun way.

Open Letter

If we cannot have a genuine and honest relationship, I would rather have none at all.

Let's be honest: if we can't be honest with each other, what's the point? If I cannot say what I think to you and you cannot say what you think to me, then what are we doing saying anything at all to each other? Why are we speaking, when we have nothing to say?

Any relationship, be it amicable, romantic or familial, requires at the very minimum both time and energy, and often requires money as well. The point is, though a relationship is something intangible, there is not nothing at stake. This is not a selfish matter. I am not merely concerned with personal gain or loss, financial or otherwise. That has nothing to do with it. The point is merely, that although a relationship is intangible, it has a real world value. It matters. No matter what happens, we are both investing time, energy and even money in this intangible relationship-thing. And if we're not going to be real with each other, we're flushing all of that down the drain. And that is saying nothing of the emotional investment involved, regardless of the kind of relationship. There is a lot at stake, and if we're not going to be frank with one another, we're just fucking around.

And I have no time to fuck around.

The Search for Meaning: Part Three

(Continued from The Search for Meaning: Part Two)

But perhaps we are close to going too far. If truth is a woman, then she is not just any woman. If she is to be seduced, then we must first know something about her, lest we miss the mark entirely and seduce the wrong woman.

What we are after is meaning herself, and not simply truth. We do wish to say true things about meaning, and to discover the truth about meaning, but we do not want to mistake meaning for truth, or truth for meaning. It would be an easy error to make: after all, meaning and truth do tend to frequent the same circles. It would be easy to accidentally seduce truth, and bring her home to bed, only to later discover that we took the wrong girl home.

We may easily become bogged down in our quest and begin asking such seemingly relevant questions as "What is the meaning of truth?" and "What is the truth of meaning?". But we are not interested in the relationship between these two women and how they came to be friends! We are only interested in bringing one home with us. We are in pursuit of meaning, which is not the truth of meaning, but rather meaning herself.

Furthermore, the meaning of meaning is not just another meaning. It is easy to forget this, in a world of dictionaries, enumerating endless words with their corresponding meanings, giving an apparently equal weight to each word and every meaning. It would perhaps be better if dictionaries left certain words undefined, leaving them for the user to define as they will. After all, that is more akin to how things work in the real world. Plato would have us believe that for every word there is a single and certain definition, the form of which exists in a world beyond our own. But in reality the meaning of a word is neither single nor certain, but rather manifold and fluid; not otherworldly, but quite pragmatically of this world. Language is developed by its users, and is always developing. Language is dynamic, not static.

But perhaps again, we have come close to going too far. Here, we are on the road to meaning. If it will help us on our journey to explore meanings, then we welcome the opportunity, but only insofar as it helps to bring us closer to our destination, which is meaning itself.

The Search for Meaning: Part Two

(Continued from The Search for Meaning: Part One)

But how can we possibly be satisfied with this? If meaning is our Eurydice, who shall disappear the moment we turn back to grasp her, how can we be sure that she is behind us at all?

We may know the myth of Orpheus, but do we know it well enough? Do we sympathize with Orpheus well enough, not only with his loss, but so too with his anxiety before he turns? Too many of us may be quick to criticize Orpheus, blaming him for his mistake without adequately understanding his position. We should be careful to understand him, for we are in just this position ourselves. Walking forward, leading our beloved Meaning out from the netherworld of obscurity and vagueness and into the light of day, can we really trust that Hades has been forthright in his deal with us? Perhaps it was merely a trick, a ruse to get us to leave without our prize. Don't look behind, he says - because there is nothing there! Shall we risk bringing only a phantom of meaning into the light, just because we were naive enough to place our faith in the Devil?

That is to say, if meaning is always close to hand and yet slips away the moment we grasp for it, what leads us to believe that there is any meaning at all, and that meaning itself is not just an illusion? Is meaning a mere article of faith, to be accepted and never questioned, lest it be revealed for the vacuous dogma that it is?

But there is meaning, both in the world and in the words we use. During pivotal moments in our lives, we celebrate that something meaningful has come to pass. Birthdays... Graduations... Marriages... Funerals. And these significant events are always accompanied by certain ceremonial words. Happy Birthday... Congratulations... 'Til Death Do Us Part... Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust. Now these words and events may be repeated endlessly and grow to become mundane mere simulacra, devoid of any "weight" or significance. But, though meaning may be forgotten, it cannot be lost. If only one person comes along and says the ceremonial words with sensitivity and conviction, we are immediately reminded of the vital significance of what has happened. A thousand people may say "Congratulations" in passing, and we will forget it means a thing; but if just one congratulates us in earnest, all that is forgotten and we immediately remember why we say it in the first place.

Meaning may be forgotten, but it is never lost. It is locked deep within the words we use, ready to come to light if the right speaker comes along to subtly coax it to the surface. Here, the job of the poet and the philosopher is the same: both strive to lure meaning and truth out from the deep and into the light.

As Nietzsche wrote: "Supposing truth is a woman - what then? Are there not grounds for the suspicion that all philosophers, insofar as they were dogmatists, have been very inexpert about women? That the gruesome seriousness, the clumsy obtrusiveness with which they have usually approached truth so far have been awkward and very improper methods for winning a woman's heart? What is certain is that she has not allowed herself to be won - "

The Search for Meaning: Part One

If it is possible to mean something with the words that we use, if it is possible for language to have meaning, and to hold it, what then is the source of meaning? If language is built upon the foundation of meaning, what then is the bedrock upon which meaning is situated? Or are we to believe that it is, so to speak, "turtles all the way down"?

There are those who would advocate a sort of infinite regress in language. After all, "meaning" is a word, just like any other word. To search for a meaning of "meaning" that exists outside of language might not be logically possible. Words get their meanings from other words; to look for a single "origin" of meaning is absolutely impossible. Words only mean what they mean because of the total language they find themselves in. This is, roughly, the "structuralist" position regarding meaning and language, as was first given shape by linguistic pioneer Ferdinand de Saussure.

But although this question is apparently only a linguistic concern, it has much broader philosophical implications. Effectively, structuralism amounts to a transcendental nihilism, a denial not only of meaning in the world, but of meaning itself, effectively charging meaning itself with meaninglessness. But, if meaning itself were truly meaningless, surely that wouldn't mean a damn thing.

Meaning is not meaningless. There is meaning, both in the world and in the words we use. Where does it come from, and where does it go? This is perhaps the most elusive question we can ask. Like Orpheus trying to lead his beloved Eurydice out of the underworld, if we glance back at her too soon, we shall lose her forever. It is this way with meaning: it is always closest to hand, yet if we reach out to touch it, it slips away and our hands "grasp nothing save the yielding air".

Suffering and Strength

Only those that suffer hard develop iron wills. Living softly, comfortably, it is difficult for us to think of a good reason to move; like a man lying on the sofa on a lazy Sunday, he only shifts his body so as to be more comfortable; sometimes he must get up, for he has to use the restroom or get himself some food. Those who are comfortable value their comfort, but only realize how much they treasure it when they have become uncomfortable. Additionally, the level of activity of a person is directly proportional to the level of discomfort they are under.

Being comfortable is like living in a viscous sea: you cannot move much, for you are so enveloped in relaxation that you don't even notice how stuck you are until the muck slips away. And even then, you just yearn for this sea of slime to return to you, so that you may slop about in it for just a little bit more.

It is only natural that in such times as ours, nobler souls will yearn for displeasure and actively pursue the painful; despising slime, they yearn to suffer in the dry, arid sun. Let our skins dry and crack, let them even burn! Anything for the chance to move freely and swiftly, with purpose, direction and intent. Let the rest of our brethren wallow about in the muck, for we will have no more of it.

Appearance and Reality: The World and Its Chains

Man lives not in a cave, but behind a fence. We are chained, and see wonderful things beyond the fence, but few see the fence. And how quickly do we stop even noticing that it is there!

The masses look quickly beyond, and delude themselves for all their lives that the world beyond the fence is the real one. Few realize the fact that we are chained, to walls and through fences, and we shall never escape.

Fewer than these few both see the chains and come to love them. Graced with a wisdom not of their time, they accept the inevitable and live happily with their chains, knowing full well that they are a necessity of life itself. For, just think: what is real? If we will not be free of the fence nor the chains for all of life, then bondage becomes as real and as necessary as food and water.

However, there is a problem. We, who are bound, know how to communicate our ideas about bondage, and thereby enslave ourselves even further. Unfortunately, life has this tendency to wrap around itself, so “society” is born, and with it, new chains. How do these new chains compare to the old? Woe to mankind, who bring endless misery unto themselves! These imaginary constrictions, although no more real than the world beyond the fence, endlessly confuse the unwise in how closely they resemble the truth.

Postmodern Disconnection

While the virtue of language may lie in its ambiguity, the virtue of thought lies in clarity and precision. But what has happened to the common language? We have none – each of us excels in speaking only our own language, with the too-personal meanings that we put into our words. In what may be called a “postmodern disconnection”, distinct cultures gradually dissolve into one another as we move toward a global community.

But as this happens, we lose more and more faith in our basic ability to connect to social unities like nations and cultures, and so we increasingly retreat into our selves, abandoning all hope of connecting to or communicating with any social whole whatsoever.

As time passes, we lower and lower our expectations – at first not caring to communicate with the world, then losing interest in speaking with a common cultural tongue, next forgetting our national identity, eventually losing even the hope of having a genuine connection with those closest to our hearts.

There is a profound disconnection in the world around us, from the smallest, most intimate level to the grandest, most universal level – no matter where we are, everyone we meet seems to be unaware of a vital something – the scientists don't understand intuition, while the religious cannot grasp reason; the old become rigid and unyielding in their ways, while the young are too youthful to simply sit still and listen. Whatever the case, everywhere there are impossible barricades separating mind from mind and heart from heart. And this is what we call a global community?

Everywhere, people “just don't get it” - whatever “it” happens to be. And so we search – desperately. If we can find just one person to share a common tongue and understanding with, someone whom we may fully trust to understand the meaning of our words – then we are happy, and happily say: “Let all the world be destroyed, so long as I have my other.”

But isn't this consolation the saddest thing of all?

“Us against the world!” - but aren't you still part of that world, and doesn't it still pain you to witness the disconnections that persist? This connection that you were so lucky to find – does nothing to change the fact that we all have lost a much more primal connection – and does nothing to assuage the duty of each human being to fight to reclaim this lost humanity.

Madness and Civilization

Moderation in all things, even things that aren't stuff. And so too, with sanity? Between madness and sanity lies the brilliance of possibility, the power of strength, and the luminosity of spirit.

And it is this way even before society has determined what madness is; for homo sapiens is both naturally social and evolutionarily socially-aware. What is this evolved sense of social awareness? What it is aware of is not always clear (that is to say, what it attunes itself to and how it is affected by this attunement). However, its presence is evident always and it is felt most keenly in this thing called empathy. It seems that our specially (species-ally) social-egregious nature has developed the literal-physical capacity to in-feel (em-pathos), which is the capacity to feel myself exactly what it is that you feel. It was and remains best for our species that we each have this capacity to share our emotional experiences with one another, and be confident that they have been shared accurately.

But what of madness and culture? What we seek are the roots of civilization, since it is civilization wherein our own roots lie. And though it would seem that culture is the expression of a civilization, that civilization predates culture, the truth is precisely the opposite.

There is a pre-civil culture that has been imprinted upon the genetic makeup of every human being. And we are approaching it again, returning back to a more basic humanity.

And so, civilization, as the civilizing of mankind, as the domestication of homo sapiens by itself, as the human counterpoint to the ecological process of evolution, as the attempt for mankind to provide its own impetus for the improvement and progression of the species... and so, this great experiment called civilization has thus far achieved nothing, precisely.

It is my hope that civilization has thus negated itself such that it may come to know itself better and thereby proceed toward the creation of a truly human civilization, where humanity itself (as the humanness of humans) is neither demonized nor deified, but rather cherished and, more frequently, cautioned.

What Is Before Thought?

The “pre-rational” is literally that which is before reason. It is not “irrational” simply because it is technically not rational; it is not relativistic rather than absolute; it is not “primitive” thinking, if we understand primitive thinking to be somehow inferior to “developed” thinking. The pre-rational is simply that which is within us, that suggests we do or say or express something; but it is that something which exists within us before we have assigned words to it. We may casually refer to it as “a feeling” in the same sense that we say “I have a feeling that...”; but these feelings are not emotions per se, rather they are only accompanied by emotions. Indeed, if the pre-rational, pre-expressed thoughts were not accompanied by emotions, we might not even know that we had them. And even though we do, the relevance of these judgments before judgment, these expressions before expression, these thoughts before conceptualization, rationalization, or thinking – the relevance of what I call the pre-rational – is hardly understood or recognized whatsoever. What is not recognized is that, in actuality, these non-emotional “feelings” are the ultimate basis for all true thoughts, all genuine statements, and all virtuous deeds.

Loosely put, the pre-rational is the feeling before the reason; and just as it can be described as occurring before reason, it exists also before language, before any rational conceptualization whatsoever. In this way we can definitely affirm that there is a "substance", an under-standing, or a foundation, upon which language rests – and it is upon this pre-linguistic foundation that all meaning is situated, such that there is meaning outside of language after all.

The Inevitability of Misunderstandings

The principle purpose of writing is to communicate meaning, that is to say, to assist in the transference of meaning from one mind to another. But though this is the primary purpose of writing, the predominate purpose, namely, the goal which is pursued to the greatest extent, which takes the most time and consists of the most “talking”, is the dissolution of present misunderstandings and the avoidance of misunderstandings yet to come.

Because just as often as someone tries to say something, it is misread, misheard, misunderstood and misinterpreted.

Just as often as meaning is pronounced is it misinterpreted. Avoiding misinterpretation, in many respects, is easier the smaller the audience is. Talking with one person, it is easiest to communicate one's intentions. Speaking to a group, it is challenging. Addressing all humankind, it is almost impossible. But, only almost – for I maintain that it is possible, though exceedingly difficult, to communicate the truth to the widest audience imaginable. It is possible not only to come to absolute knowledge, but also to communicate that knowledge effectively to all humankind. Were this not possible, philosophy would be a fool's errand.

Power - The Second Excerpt

To have is to have; it is to possess, and all possession is power.

To have is to have; it is to hold, that is, to take hold of with a gesture of grasping. To hold is to grasp, to grasp to take hold, and to take hold to make a claim for ownership.

To have is to have; it is to own, and all owning is an extending of one's power, that is to say, the extension (expansion) of one's own being.

To have is to have; it is to make something one's own; to own, to make something one's own, that is to say, to bring it within oneself. When one possesses a farm, it is not ever through inheritance; such is legal possession, but it is not true having.

That which one has, has one; that which you own, owns you; to have a farm means to be responsible for it, and for it to become responsible for you. True ownership transforms the owner.

Power - The First Excerpt

To be powerful is to have power; power is possession, it is past. To be powerful is to be willful, to “have” will-power, which is to be capable of willing things into presence. Power is directed toward the future, in its willing-nature, but finds its source in the past, in its having-nature.

But also, to be powerful is to be empowered; that is to say, to be with power, for power to be with-and-in you, for power to be present.

Admittedly, this is highly counter-intuitive. Common sense says that the existence of power is dependent on its being exercised. Power that is not exercised is merely theoretical.

But power as presence is not theoretical. The exercise and execution of power is not necessary for it to exist; it exists in the present, as an inactive activity, as an active inactivity.

It exists in the present not theoretically, not possibly, but actually, whether the one possessing power is cognizant of its being-there or not.

We speak of people having airs about them, of people emanating an “energy” or “aura”. Although typically such words conjure images of fortune tellers and new age metaphysics, there is nothing mystical about the practical existence of this so-called “atmosphere”.

We all have just such an atmosphere about us, always. Our being reaches out into the world whether we bear witness to it or not.

The Two Houses

To live means to choose. To be born means to be born into society. To be social means to live in the world of others, both dead and still living. To live in this world means all of these things. To choose means to step into one of two houses. There is no reconciliation, there is only separation and choice. One cannot walk from one house into the other; to waver in one's deciding is to step no further than the threshold of either house. Only those who live in the house know what it means to do so; and we cannot ever know what the other would mean. Total strangers, those who live in the one house rather than the other. They cannot know each other, they cannot understand each other; they are separated by an infinite unseeing abyss. And none live outside of both, peering into the windows. Not one.

The irreconcilability of perspective, the fractures innate to existence herself.

This is my natural understanding of my circumstances; I go straight from concrete actuality to the most abstract abstraction. My second movement is to drop all abstractions and write (and say) only the facts, but this is a hopeless endeavor. As little as those foreign to myself understand the abstract generalities I express, even little can they grasp the significance the bare facts have for myself. Even expressing the bare facts of my subjective apprehension of the scenario is ineffective. What I understand by saying "I feel" shall be quite different from what another says by those same words; specificity of feeling is the most challenging thing to relate to another. We do not feel generally; our feelings are quite specific, quite unique, quite incommunicable.

The dangers of the intuitive mind which lives still within the haze of indiscernibility. Our emotions are flavored into complex recipes, frequently of disaster. Follow your heart, speak your mind; the heart has its reasons which reason does not know (Pascal), the reason has its understanding which the heart cannot penetrate. The heart does not have words to speak; it speaks in implication and misdirection. The heart has no words to speak; but fools that we are, we try to let it set our reason into motion. We should not be surprised, then, when our heart wraps our words into an irrational senselessness.

Love thyself first and highest. Honor thyself.