Cogito ergo non sum: I think therefore I’m not, I wonder if René meant that as well. To be means to think, so to think means to be? I feel like Shakespeare, the son of god, the oldest trick we got in the book. I guess we’ll go over schematic lifeless information, the stuff we know and love, seeing that I have yet to break my own promise to myself: separating thing from idea.
Pooping has never been the same ever since we left Sardegna more than two months ago. You ever poop on the beach? Digging the hole, squatting, watching your insides come out of you. It’s quite beautiful, the human body, and I still don’t get this “natural ugliness” that we tend to inherit after the first few years of our lives. When exactly does the body get ugly? When is it weird to touch kids? I think it has something to do with function. You pick a kid up to say hello, but when is the kid not a kid? Aren’t we always going to be children, isn’t that a genetic definition? Seems like morality once again has turned it into a psychological state of mind, and it’s ok to be a child when you are a child, which in my case would be forever, but when you are acting like a child (happy without any reason to be happy, feeling no guilt or self-esteem issues (until you learn those from your parents)) it’s somehow negative. Logic, reasoning, excommunication. We should be like children without being like children, or at least not my idea of children, which is a good one, because I still see myself as one, more biologically than religiously, what was the difference again?
So poop magically avoided that paragraph. It just feels so much better to put pressure on your intestines to squeeze out the brown excrement, making room for more lard. Apparently it’s also more natural (not that word again). Sitting on a toilet isn’t comfortable for me anymore and ever since I was younger I would always lean as far forward as I can, putting pressure on my intestines (I didn’t know this at the time). So I guess you could call me a born-again shitter. Why is it illegal again?
Well, number 1, it stinks, and that’s inconvenient (woe is me).
Number 2, it’s bad for my health, so I need a place to do it out of the way.
3, I’m ashamed of pooping in front of friends. Public decency anybody? Respect?
Which leads us back to fear, and this idea of the body being this dirty disgusting collection of matter. This right and wrong schematic, this backwards cause and effect we’re taught, and we like it, and it makes sense. Woe is me.
So I’m back in the states and it’s supposed to feel different. I should be as depressed as the economy, and should feel bad for not having a job, not supporting nor respecting government nor religion, which brings me to the same point I have been writing over and over again: we, being insecure, feel threatened when people stop being afraid of us. Aren’t republicans against big government? Aren’t democrats for it? The conversion to socialism is almost complete, thank you messiah. Change is what we needed, and change is what we got, right? I mean, look at everything that’s changed.
A funny quote came across me the other day, “Preventing people from failing will only make them fail.” I like it, it’s dark, it doesn’t invoke this fear of being wrong, of being unhappy. We can do it, it’s ok. Let the kids fail, it’s better they know now instead of being lied to their whole lives.
Empiric knowledge is another laughter box that I like to eat out of daily. The Church is great, when it comes to marriage, nothing like a bunch of virgins telling you how to raise a family and when to have sex. We don’t trust the homeless for financial advice, nor do we let leapers give facials (thanks Robin), so why, how can we put our trust into those uneducated folks with the multi-colored robes? How can I listen to myself, seeing that I don’t have a degree? The hypocrisy is peaking.
The idea of the subconscious was bugging me on the train as I said goodbye to one of the Italian families. I wanted to cry, I tried to, and I told them, but it didn’t work. Talk about the end of a good film, the whole family accompanied me to the train station and then waved a handkerchief in the air. Little hands and wind are what I remember most vividly.
So we don’t directly control things that happen in our body, like when my heart beats, it beats, but I don’t control it, that is, with my conscious body. Aren’t we missing the fundamental assumption? We need to have control over our own bodies, even if we don’t, so we make up this subconscious so that we can blame ourselves and be responsible for things that we don’t either know about nor think about. “It’s probably my subconscious,” well if we don’t have control over it then how do we know we don’t have control over it? It’s a great idea, I just don’t see the logic. Why do we have to have control over our bodies?
I never told you about the crotch-less experiment. I had a pair of shorts with a broken zipper and instead of getting self-conscious and afraid I decided to walk around Florence with a broken zipper. I did not, for the record, go commando.
So at first it was weird, different, and then I did something so irrational that it’s rational: I got used to it. Most people wouldn’t say anything about it in passing, but when we were around a group of people, sitting down for example, they would start out by casually saying, “You’re fly is down.” When I responded with, “Thanks,” they stopped, but when I responded with, “Thanks for looking at my crotch and having the decency to tell me,” they started getting defensive. What’s with the penis and vagina that makes them superhuman? I guess it has to do with the sexual/reproductive side of things, but I don’t get the hierarchy.
Looking for a job and will probably graduate in a year, welcome back to the system Anthony. It’s funny, the one question I have been hearing from just about everyone is, “So what are you going to do now?” And my answer, for at least the next 6 months, is going to be: “I just got back.”
-Anthony
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Oh, the Insanity.
My mind has been rather at ease the past few weeks which usually isn't normal. I speak more Italian these days than English and am getting closer to my goal: being deficient in both languages. Speaking of languages while speaking in languages, is there other ways to speak? Let's not get started too soon with the damn questions that really don't have answers. Which brings me back to truth. But I guess instead of bouncing off these walls I should try to give some concrete information about where I live, what I do, blah blah blah. It helps us understand, I know, and it's fun sometimes. Minute details, basic lifeless facts, stuff to talk about, stuff that doesn't worry us. Time to get back into the pool for a little bit:
June 1 was day one of homelessness. Me and a good friend had decided that instead of looking for places to stay after his contract was up that we would sleep in a medieval castle a few kilometers to the south of Florence. We had been there before and it has a great panoramic view. It's under restoration but a simple fence hop was all it took to reap the benefits of the past. I was at a party last night (beware that Italian parties are a little less drunk than American parties) listening to many a heated conversation. Apparently Italians either talk about politics or soccer, and tonight it was the former's turn. Florence, albeit a beautiful city to locals and tourists alike, has its share of problems (as every city has had since the conception of a city). One of the more intellectual ones is its connection to the past. The former capital of the Rinascimento (Renaissance for you Frenchies) hasn't really changed the past 500 years, which doesn't seem to bother anyone.
Where are we going? What is progress? Aren't we just trying to solve problems that we have had forever? Seems like we are going in circles, solving and creating problems as we solve them, leaving me to believe that there is no point, no "end", no "finish line" which begs me to continue to ask the question: why? Faith is a cop-out, but that's old news.
Needful to say we didn't stay at the castle last night, instead we stayed at my buddy's apartment. The next day we had to leave, technically that night we had to leave, but the walk was long and we were in the center until late. So we went to school, to begin our squatting experience. Did that for about a week or so, waking up at 10 to 6 so that the cleaning lady didn't see us. It's funny, I didn't feel a drop in class nor a guilt for doing something deemed "illegal." I guess we really can talk ourselves out of things that we talk ourselves in to. It was fun, hanging out at school, yelling "honey I'm home" as we walked through the door, asking our guests to call next time before they stopped by. We had a big mosquito net and some couch cushions and slept as good as we had ever slept, maybe even better. So shelter is important, but not houses.
After that time we were going to get kicked out of school. It was going to close for old students and the door (to the upstairs lounge) was going to be locked. So I emailed the second Italian family in via Romana and asked if their grandmother would host me, since we had talked about it in the past in passing. The grandmother was busy but the family itself said of course. I now sleep in their living room on a cot, wake up early, get three meals, and walk around my favorite city. There's nothing to it: they are sweet, real people, enjoying themselves just like I am. Nothing different, no language or culture barrier, just more of the same. It's great, I've learned more Italian the past week than I have the last few months, which is more my fault than Italia's.
Finished my internship and took my egyptology test. Oral exam in front of the teacher, she asked me questions (all in Italian) about the history and then I read some hieroglyphics. Then we chatted about Italian and American institutions and grading systems, she was very helpful and kind. I got a 25/30 which is a B. Not bad for a 12 unit class. For my internship I had to write a report. Me being me, I went the "philosophical" road, but I have a hard time understanding that excuse. Does it mean that it's wordy? That it makes people think? That it isn't straightforward? I'm still dealing with this idea of definition, of classification, the breaking down and reorganization of knowledge in order to understand it. It's really fun, not philosophical, just fun. What's in a name? That thought pondered me in class a few weeks ago, and this is what I came up with (first in Italian, than my translation):
Perché nominare l'amore?
Poi per saperlo manipolare?
Poi che diventa dopo che è stato capito?
Se ne va? Quindi meglio non sapere?
Più puro, cioè la verità? È tutto e non si sa?
Si sa che non si sa? Eccola? Capire di non capire?
Why give love a name?
To be able to manipulate it?
And what comes of it after its understood?
Does it go away? Therefore it's better to not know?
Most pure, that is to say like truth? it's everything and no one knows?
Do we know we don't know? Is that it? Understand that we don't understand?
For my internship I had to write a report, a summary of what I did. I took the "philosophical" approach, whatever that means, here's a taste:
Language really is a funny thing, using muscles to manipulate air, making noises with our bodies to convey some sort of thing that we call an idea, giving it meaning, and then hoping that another collection of ideas understands that meaning. Not understanding seems to be a problem, and so we study language, for as much as it interests us, to be able to be, which to me seems rather strange. I guess it’s not that funny after all.
I am taken aback by something Gloria Venturini (before she was my internship tutor) said to us last year in Italian class. “Only 5% of a language is grammar. The other 95% percent depends on inflection, pronunciation, tone of voice, body language, eye contact, etc. Only 5%, and you study it so much.” And it made me think about language in a broader context than mere words. It brought out the idea of meaning, perception, and thought which hit me like a gothic circus. About a year later I sit and write about language and what I learned at the Regione (Region), and that thought cannot escape me yet. Or maybe it is me that keeps it hostage against its will.
I don’t really have much to say – which is a lie – about what I did, what I experienced, and how I know it is going to help me as I continue to float on this speck of dust that we call Earth in this big vast open beautiful obscure nothingness that we call the Universe. Capitalising words is interesting, using a pretty basic power scheme: bigger means stronger, which means better. We pretend as if there is only one “earth” and only one “universe.” I guess we could break them down like that if we wanted to, just like we break down a language. Words are nouns, verbs, prepositions, direct and indirect objects, adverbs, adjectives. You have active voice, passive voice, and probably something in between (even if it hasn’t been discovered yet). Language, as linguists say, is a finite set of tools with an infinite number of permutations. We can say whatever we want as long as it makes some sense, and if it doesn’t make sense we call it poetry. And in some weird way it starts to make sense, just not in the way we are use to, of course, until we are used to it.
There seems to be some sort of basic infrastructure, grammar, that tries to keep the language together. “Want eight by love for,” doesn’t make any sense, at least not on its own, which brings us to another topic: context. I’ve learned that both in Italian and English one word can have more than 50 meanings, all depending on the subject being spoken about. What is intriguing is most of these “relative” definitions are not united, that is to say, that for the word “identity” there are thousands upon thousands of definitions, but none of them really do a great job summing everything up. So we can’t find a dozen words that describe it. We can find volumes of books, although I’m convinced at times that more words bring less meaning to them.
Language is a great game; a play on words. Dancing, singing, shouting, whispering, chatting, being serious, cracking jokes, talk’n slang wid da peeps, speaking eloquently in the presence of the queen, reading every letter and giving it a moment of life. Just thinking about reading these words, what meanings will be imposed, how they will be pronounced in the heads of a few, how we will understand it, and how that will put us at ease.
I think that that is good for an introduction.
As for now I go to the beach on the 21st or 22nd and then make my way back to San Francisco via Dublin on the 25th, should be back on the 26th. Numbers are great too, and for the past few days I have been looking at myself. But really, looking at my limbs, moving my fingers, trying to understand how that works, trying to understand it completely, trying to figure out where my vision starts, and I don't feel it in my eyes, I feel it towards the middle of my brain. It's a great exercise, very intriguing, something we can all do whenever we want. We look past the obvious. Men are men and women are women. We have more things in common than we do different but our differences are shoved down our throats. George Carlin got it right once again. We have arms, legs, heads, brains, bones, etc., but the obvious isn't given as much respect, why is that? It doesn't make any sense to me. I think I started another group email. Truth, can't forget about truth. If there are an infinite number of definitions how can their be just one? I feel like I'm missing something, imposing my values on all of you, the reciprocal. The insanity. Oh, the insanity.
-Anthony
June 1 was day one of homelessness. Me and a good friend had decided that instead of looking for places to stay after his contract was up that we would sleep in a medieval castle a few kilometers to the south of Florence. We had been there before and it has a great panoramic view. It's under restoration but a simple fence hop was all it took to reap the benefits of the past. I was at a party last night (beware that Italian parties are a little less drunk than American parties) listening to many a heated conversation. Apparently Italians either talk about politics or soccer, and tonight it was the former's turn. Florence, albeit a beautiful city to locals and tourists alike, has its share of problems (as every city has had since the conception of a city). One of the more intellectual ones is its connection to the past. The former capital of the Rinascimento (Renaissance for you Frenchies) hasn't really changed the past 500 years, which doesn't seem to bother anyone.
Where are we going? What is progress? Aren't we just trying to solve problems that we have had forever? Seems like we are going in circles, solving and creating problems as we solve them, leaving me to believe that there is no point, no "end", no "finish line" which begs me to continue to ask the question: why? Faith is a cop-out, but that's old news.
Needful to say we didn't stay at the castle last night, instead we stayed at my buddy's apartment. The next day we had to leave, technically that night we had to leave, but the walk was long and we were in the center until late. So we went to school, to begin our squatting experience. Did that for about a week or so, waking up at 10 to 6 so that the cleaning lady didn't see us. It's funny, I didn't feel a drop in class nor a guilt for doing something deemed "illegal." I guess we really can talk ourselves out of things that we talk ourselves in to. It was fun, hanging out at school, yelling "honey I'm home" as we walked through the door, asking our guests to call next time before they stopped by. We had a big mosquito net and some couch cushions and slept as good as we had ever slept, maybe even better. So shelter is important, but not houses.
After that time we were going to get kicked out of school. It was going to close for old students and the door (to the upstairs lounge) was going to be locked. So I emailed the second Italian family in via Romana and asked if their grandmother would host me, since we had talked about it in the past in passing. The grandmother was busy but the family itself said of course. I now sleep in their living room on a cot, wake up early, get three meals, and walk around my favorite city. There's nothing to it: they are sweet, real people, enjoying themselves just like I am. Nothing different, no language or culture barrier, just more of the same. It's great, I've learned more Italian the past week than I have the last few months, which is more my fault than Italia's.
Finished my internship and took my egyptology test. Oral exam in front of the teacher, she asked me questions (all in Italian) about the history and then I read some hieroglyphics. Then we chatted about Italian and American institutions and grading systems, she was very helpful and kind. I got a 25/30 which is a B. Not bad for a 12 unit class. For my internship I had to write a report. Me being me, I went the "philosophical" road, but I have a hard time understanding that excuse. Does it mean that it's wordy? That it makes people think? That it isn't straightforward? I'm still dealing with this idea of definition, of classification, the breaking down and reorganization of knowledge in order to understand it. It's really fun, not philosophical, just fun. What's in a name? That thought pondered me in class a few weeks ago, and this is what I came up with (first in Italian, than my translation):
Perché nominare l'amore?
Poi per saperlo manipolare?
Poi che diventa dopo che è stato capito?
Se ne va? Quindi meglio non sapere?
Più puro, cioè la verità? È tutto e non si sa?
Si sa che non si sa? Eccola? Capire di non capire?
Why give love a name?
To be able to manipulate it?
And what comes of it after its understood?
Does it go away? Therefore it's better to not know?
Most pure, that is to say like truth? it's everything and no one knows?
Do we know we don't know? Is that it? Understand that we don't understand?
For my internship I had to write a report, a summary of what I did. I took the "philosophical" approach, whatever that means, here's a taste:
Language really is a funny thing, using muscles to manipulate air, making noises with our bodies to convey some sort of thing that we call an idea, giving it meaning, and then hoping that another collection of ideas understands that meaning. Not understanding seems to be a problem, and so we study language, for as much as it interests us, to be able to be, which to me seems rather strange. I guess it’s not that funny after all.
I am taken aback by something Gloria Venturini (before she was my internship tutor) said to us last year in Italian class. “Only 5% of a language is grammar. The other 95% percent depends on inflection, pronunciation, tone of voice, body language, eye contact, etc. Only 5%, and you study it so much.” And it made me think about language in a broader context than mere words. It brought out the idea of meaning, perception, and thought which hit me like a gothic circus. About a year later I sit and write about language and what I learned at the Regione (Region), and that thought cannot escape me yet. Or maybe it is me that keeps it hostage against its will.
I don’t really have much to say – which is a lie – about what I did, what I experienced, and how I know it is going to help me as I continue to float on this speck of dust that we call Earth in this big vast open beautiful obscure nothingness that we call the Universe. Capitalising words is interesting, using a pretty basic power scheme: bigger means stronger, which means better. We pretend as if there is only one “earth” and only one “universe.” I guess we could break them down like that if we wanted to, just like we break down a language. Words are nouns, verbs, prepositions, direct and indirect objects, adverbs, adjectives. You have active voice, passive voice, and probably something in between (even if it hasn’t been discovered yet). Language, as linguists say, is a finite set of tools with an infinite number of permutations. We can say whatever we want as long as it makes some sense, and if it doesn’t make sense we call it poetry. And in some weird way it starts to make sense, just not in the way we are use to, of course, until we are used to it.
There seems to be some sort of basic infrastructure, grammar, that tries to keep the language together. “Want eight by love for,” doesn’t make any sense, at least not on its own, which brings us to another topic: context. I’ve learned that both in Italian and English one word can have more than 50 meanings, all depending on the subject being spoken about. What is intriguing is most of these “relative” definitions are not united, that is to say, that for the word “identity” there are thousands upon thousands of definitions, but none of them really do a great job summing everything up. So we can’t find a dozen words that describe it. We can find volumes of books, although I’m convinced at times that more words bring less meaning to them.
Language is a great game; a play on words. Dancing, singing, shouting, whispering, chatting, being serious, cracking jokes, talk’n slang wid da peeps, speaking eloquently in the presence of the queen, reading every letter and giving it a moment of life. Just thinking about reading these words, what meanings will be imposed, how they will be pronounced in the heads of a few, how we will understand it, and how that will put us at ease.
I think that that is good for an introduction.
As for now I go to the beach on the 21st or 22nd and then make my way back to San Francisco via Dublin on the 25th, should be back on the 26th. Numbers are great too, and for the past few days I have been looking at myself. But really, looking at my limbs, moving my fingers, trying to understand how that works, trying to understand it completely, trying to figure out where my vision starts, and I don't feel it in my eyes, I feel it towards the middle of my brain. It's a great exercise, very intriguing, something we can all do whenever we want. We look past the obvious. Men are men and women are women. We have more things in common than we do different but our differences are shoved down our throats. George Carlin got it right once again. We have arms, legs, heads, brains, bones, etc., but the obvious isn't given as much respect, why is that? It doesn't make any sense to me. I think I started another group email. Truth, can't forget about truth. If there are an infinite number of definitions how can their be just one? I feel like I'm missing something, imposing my values on all of you, the reciprocal. The insanity. Oh, the insanity.
-Anthony
Friday, June 5, 2009
Imhotep and Djoser - the first egyptian pyramid
If you ever want to understand this "truth" that you talk about then you're going to have to let it go. Becoming defensive and insecure, even irritated all relate to the idea that your idea is insecure, irritated, defensive, knowing that every waking second it could go away, and you can't let it go. Why must we hold on to things? What are we afraid to lose? Why do we always need justification for everything? Seems as if we just keep making it up as we go along.
Airport scenario:
"Hi, my name is Anthony and I'm real, can I get on that plane?"
"Not until I see a government sanctioned piece of material that assures me that you are who you are, better yet that you aren't going to try to scare anybody on that plane."
Birth certificates, death certificates, names, identification, you think we're not all insecure about everything we do? We have to write it down, the ones that think we are important, to keep a record for ourselves. Then we study the record to make sure that we all know what it is that we did and why we did it: doesn't that sound like a whole bunch of fear? History. We write history because we are afraid. Afraid that we won't be remembered, the things that we think were important. We write them down, like this email, hoping that through this new technological age it will last forever in cyberspace. I'm insecure so I write. I tell myself I'm happy, I tell myself I'm having fun. These are the lies I tell myself everyday in order to continue to exist the way I want to exist. Sounds like desire again has gotten the best of me.
Cause and effect, every cause is its same effect, everything is an effect, everything is a cause, which tells me that nothing is a cause, nothing is an effect. Take the bible; take any doctorate's thesis. All you have to do is make something up and you'll be able to find "reputable" documentation that proves or disproves your hypothesis. It's damn near full proof, this education thing, which brings me to my next unorganized non-point: stability.
Studying political science (or for us commoners who history will forget "the art of making simple things complex") taught me a thing or two about political science, which shouldn't be a redundant statement but it sounds like one. We pick a class we want to study, and we study it to learn it, it being given to us, and whether we do or whether we don't doesn't matter: it's all about the grade. Back to education in a fortnight.
Back in the day there were three main ways to vote. One was the vote of belonging, meaning that you did what your parents did because you wanted to belong to a group, a club, and you felt good being supported. Two was the vote of exchange, when you were bribed with change, power, money, etc. Four is vote of conditioning, the act in which the media tells you what to think about and how to think about it. All of these promote for a stable continuation of politics because change is very controlled, things run slow, people know what's going to happen. I left out number three on our list: thinking. Thinking involves taking a topic, any topic, and thinking about it. Not reading books, not seeing what popular culture or your political party says about it, but thinking. Letting ideas manifest themselves, figuring out what you value (what you are afraid of losing), and making a conscious decision. This, unfortunately, promotes for a very unstable voting platform, because we think differently at different times. One day we might be against abortion, the other we might be for it, and it depends on the day and what's going on. But if we never think about it then we never think. This makes sense to me, not that it is right or wrong, but if we had a lot of people thinking about everything all the time, wouldn't there be a lot more shit to deal with? In other words, what if we taught people to think, grades didn't matter, the subject didn't matter. Better yet, what if we let people think? Sounds grand, sounds like freedom, sounds like violence. Sounds like everything, which is what I think thinking is.
That our own thoughts are who we are seems another one of the famous farces. Pooping the other day I wondered to myself why I wasn't a more angry person. I don't feel angry, I feel alive. I think all good philosophers are hypocrites, because what's the point of taking an idea and running with it, preaching just another dogmatic way of thinking to try to control more people?
It's all one big joke, and even the idea of it all being one big joke is funny. So I laugh at truth, I laugh at life, and I have a good time, and I laugh at that. It's the best lie I got, but to me it's not a lie, or at least it doesn't have to be, it can be true when I want it to be true: back to desire, back to truth. Can we stop putting off our happiness for another day? That day will never come.
Watched religulous yesterday and laughed a lot. Maher's point is strong: religion will kill us all, it is the cancer of cancer, and we really need to say that we don't know anything about anything. He markets doubt, and I like it, not as much as I thought I would though. I think his point is stronger than the obvious: we don't like talking about religion. It scares us, we're afraid because there is a great chance that we're wrong. Faith, have faith, believe in something just because you're told to. Hey man, don't worry about this world, there's another one, and if you follow these rules you get to go! I smell bullshit, and it stinks. How come one's a myth and one is fact? Why did the catholic church rape and kidnap jesus?
He's their property, but he wasn't always. He doesn't have to be, but for some reason we listen to the church(s) to hear about him/her/them and what he/she/it did, what it meant, and why it is important. I think Maher has a great point: we're all a bunch of sissies when it comes to religion. We can't say we don't know, it's not right if we don't know. What's wrong with not knowing?
Emotions, perception, education. I wanted to mention more about education. The stranglehold schools have on it, capitalism. We need to work, we can't watch our kids, we send them to school to get an "education." They are molded, taught how to think, learn, and what to think about and learn about. Our system does not promote for thinking, wrong. Only sometimes, we have martyrs, philosophers, every once in a while we get somebody that is radical. Radical is a funny word, it means to the root, to the center, to the bottom of things in a more contemporary context. How in the hell does it have a bad connotation? To the root, to the fact, to the truth if we're still hanging on to it. It's funny the way propaganda really can influence the way we think. Conservative too comes up. Saving, holding on to things. We're staying somewhere throughout the chaos, maybe it isn't so bad after all.
A fundamental theory in psychology is that we externalize things that we think are bad and internalize things that we think are good. That's why I never make myself mad, other people do, and that's why only I can truly make myself happy. It's our perceptions, the way we view the world (or are taught to view it), that allow us to choose how to feel. We have control over it, the way we assess a situation, an idea, and our reaction to it. It's no one's fault but our own. Happy? your fault. Sad? your fault. Mad? your fault. Calm? your fault. The good ones we say ok, we can be at fault if we are happy, but the bad ones, for some reason in our brains, or somehow we are instructed by our parents and friends, aren't a part of us. Again, when I'm happy I'm happy, but when I'm anything else that I see as negative it's always someone else's fault. We don't like to be responsible for our own emotions, seems like we are afraid of those too. But why? Always looking for neutral statements, "hi, how are you, where are you from, what do you do, that's cool, I like that, it was nice talking to you, see you later." We call it "being nice, being formal, respect" we throw a lot of words at the behavior because we are afraid to let it go. "I think god is an imaginary friend for adults." "I don't understand why we have to wear clothes all the time." "Do you believe in truth?" I feel like sometimes we never ask these questions, questions that I personally feel are more important than "how are you," but then again I go assuming that there is a better way of doing things, trying to instruct, to control, by talking about being controlled. The irony of it all, we can't escape our own minds, we don't have to, we shouldn't want to. More rules. I just keep adding more and more rules by taking them away.
How things are "actual." This ideological view that there is truth out there and there is a way to find it. What is the meaning of life? We don't know, but we know that we have the capacity to know. So one says to not question everything, another says to question everything. One falls back on discipline, on education, on the farce that there is a better world out there and that we have to do what WE say to do in order to see it. Plato, interesting, everything stems from one idea, the ideal, and we have to break ourselves out of the cave in order to be able to see the truth. Nietzsche, as interesting, the only world is the perceived, there is no such thing as the ideal, truth is relative. I like them both, I don't feel the need to choose, to say they are different, to classify. I'm just doing what we all are doing, living.
What is life? Life is floating around a miniscule speck of dust in a vast open nothingness that we have no idea how to understand. So we make things, we hold on to them, we write things down, we think, we try to know something, and we have fun. Or we don't, does it matter?
Paradox: everything is meaningless. The statement has to have meaning in order for it to be true, which negates its very existence.
Paradox: the truth is that nothing is true; there is no truth. Again, the statement has got to be true for things to not be true, a never-ending circle (always back to those damn circles).
So what do we have to make of it: question, be unsure, enjoy ourselves. Know that we can be happy wherever we are, because we're really nowhere, floating around on a speck of dust. The universe, what an adventure. To think it’s the biggest thing out there, to think the atom is the smallest, only limit our ability to think we can understand. Time to get rid of freedom and truth, to become truly free.
-Anthony
Airport scenario:
"Hi, my name is Anthony and I'm real, can I get on that plane?"
"Not until I see a government sanctioned piece of material that assures me that you are who you are, better yet that you aren't going to try to scare anybody on that plane."
Birth certificates, death certificates, names, identification, you think we're not all insecure about everything we do? We have to write it down, the ones that think we are important, to keep a record for ourselves. Then we study the record to make sure that we all know what it is that we did and why we did it: doesn't that sound like a whole bunch of fear? History. We write history because we are afraid. Afraid that we won't be remembered, the things that we think were important. We write them down, like this email, hoping that through this new technological age it will last forever in cyberspace. I'm insecure so I write. I tell myself I'm happy, I tell myself I'm having fun. These are the lies I tell myself everyday in order to continue to exist the way I want to exist. Sounds like desire again has gotten the best of me.
Cause and effect, every cause is its same effect, everything is an effect, everything is a cause, which tells me that nothing is a cause, nothing is an effect. Take the bible; take any doctorate's thesis. All you have to do is make something up and you'll be able to find "reputable" documentation that proves or disproves your hypothesis. It's damn near full proof, this education thing, which brings me to my next unorganized non-point: stability.
Studying political science (or for us commoners who history will forget "the art of making simple things complex") taught me a thing or two about political science, which shouldn't be a redundant statement but it sounds like one. We pick a class we want to study, and we study it to learn it, it being given to us, and whether we do or whether we don't doesn't matter: it's all about the grade. Back to education in a fortnight.
Back in the day there were three main ways to vote. One was the vote of belonging, meaning that you did what your parents did because you wanted to belong to a group, a club, and you felt good being supported. Two was the vote of exchange, when you were bribed with change, power, money, etc. Four is vote of conditioning, the act in which the media tells you what to think about and how to think about it. All of these promote for a stable continuation of politics because change is very controlled, things run slow, people know what's going to happen. I left out number three on our list: thinking. Thinking involves taking a topic, any topic, and thinking about it. Not reading books, not seeing what popular culture or your political party says about it, but thinking. Letting ideas manifest themselves, figuring out what you value (what you are afraid of losing), and making a conscious decision. This, unfortunately, promotes for a very unstable voting platform, because we think differently at different times. One day we might be against abortion, the other we might be for it, and it depends on the day and what's going on. But if we never think about it then we never think. This makes sense to me, not that it is right or wrong, but if we had a lot of people thinking about everything all the time, wouldn't there be a lot more shit to deal with? In other words, what if we taught people to think, grades didn't matter, the subject didn't matter. Better yet, what if we let people think? Sounds grand, sounds like freedom, sounds like violence. Sounds like everything, which is what I think thinking is.
That our own thoughts are who we are seems another one of the famous farces. Pooping the other day I wondered to myself why I wasn't a more angry person. I don't feel angry, I feel alive. I think all good philosophers are hypocrites, because what's the point of taking an idea and running with it, preaching just another dogmatic way of thinking to try to control more people?
It's all one big joke, and even the idea of it all being one big joke is funny. So I laugh at truth, I laugh at life, and I have a good time, and I laugh at that. It's the best lie I got, but to me it's not a lie, or at least it doesn't have to be, it can be true when I want it to be true: back to desire, back to truth. Can we stop putting off our happiness for another day? That day will never come.
Watched religulous yesterday and laughed a lot. Maher's point is strong: religion will kill us all, it is the cancer of cancer, and we really need to say that we don't know anything about anything. He markets doubt, and I like it, not as much as I thought I would though. I think his point is stronger than the obvious: we don't like talking about religion. It scares us, we're afraid because there is a great chance that we're wrong. Faith, have faith, believe in something just because you're told to. Hey man, don't worry about this world, there's another one, and if you follow these rules you get to go! I smell bullshit, and it stinks. How come one's a myth and one is fact? Why did the catholic church rape and kidnap jesus?
He's their property, but he wasn't always. He doesn't have to be, but for some reason we listen to the church(s) to hear about him/her/them and what he/she/it did, what it meant, and why it is important. I think Maher has a great point: we're all a bunch of sissies when it comes to religion. We can't say we don't know, it's not right if we don't know. What's wrong with not knowing?
Emotions, perception, education. I wanted to mention more about education. The stranglehold schools have on it, capitalism. We need to work, we can't watch our kids, we send them to school to get an "education." They are molded, taught how to think, learn, and what to think about and learn about. Our system does not promote for thinking, wrong. Only sometimes, we have martyrs, philosophers, every once in a while we get somebody that is radical. Radical is a funny word, it means to the root, to the center, to the bottom of things in a more contemporary context. How in the hell does it have a bad connotation? To the root, to the fact, to the truth if we're still hanging on to it. It's funny the way propaganda really can influence the way we think. Conservative too comes up. Saving, holding on to things. We're staying somewhere throughout the chaos, maybe it isn't so bad after all.
A fundamental theory in psychology is that we externalize things that we think are bad and internalize things that we think are good. That's why I never make myself mad, other people do, and that's why only I can truly make myself happy. It's our perceptions, the way we view the world (or are taught to view it), that allow us to choose how to feel. We have control over it, the way we assess a situation, an idea, and our reaction to it. It's no one's fault but our own. Happy? your fault. Sad? your fault. Mad? your fault. Calm? your fault. The good ones we say ok, we can be at fault if we are happy, but the bad ones, for some reason in our brains, or somehow we are instructed by our parents and friends, aren't a part of us. Again, when I'm happy I'm happy, but when I'm anything else that I see as negative it's always someone else's fault. We don't like to be responsible for our own emotions, seems like we are afraid of those too. But why? Always looking for neutral statements, "hi, how are you, where are you from, what do you do, that's cool, I like that, it was nice talking to you, see you later." We call it "being nice, being formal, respect" we throw a lot of words at the behavior because we are afraid to let it go. "I think god is an imaginary friend for adults." "I don't understand why we have to wear clothes all the time." "Do you believe in truth?" I feel like sometimes we never ask these questions, questions that I personally feel are more important than "how are you," but then again I go assuming that there is a better way of doing things, trying to instruct, to control, by talking about being controlled. The irony of it all, we can't escape our own minds, we don't have to, we shouldn't want to. More rules. I just keep adding more and more rules by taking them away.
How things are "actual." This ideological view that there is truth out there and there is a way to find it. What is the meaning of life? We don't know, but we know that we have the capacity to know. So one says to not question everything, another says to question everything. One falls back on discipline, on education, on the farce that there is a better world out there and that we have to do what WE say to do in order to see it. Plato, interesting, everything stems from one idea, the ideal, and we have to break ourselves out of the cave in order to be able to see the truth. Nietzsche, as interesting, the only world is the perceived, there is no such thing as the ideal, truth is relative. I like them both, I don't feel the need to choose, to say they are different, to classify. I'm just doing what we all are doing, living.
What is life? Life is floating around a miniscule speck of dust in a vast open nothingness that we have no idea how to understand. So we make things, we hold on to them, we write things down, we think, we try to know something, and we have fun. Or we don't, does it matter?
Paradox: everything is meaningless. The statement has to have meaning in order for it to be true, which negates its very existence.
Paradox: the truth is that nothing is true; there is no truth. Again, the statement has got to be true for things to not be true, a never-ending circle (always back to those damn circles).
So what do we have to make of it: question, be unsure, enjoy ourselves. Know that we can be happy wherever we are, because we're really nowhere, floating around on a speck of dust. The universe, what an adventure. To think it’s the biggest thing out there, to think the atom is the smallest, only limit our ability to think we can understand. Time to get rid of freedom and truth, to become truly free.
-Anthony
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