When delivering his brief remarks about each honoree, President Obama thanked musician Bob Dylan for opening up his world. "I remember in college listening to Bob Dylan and my world opening up because he captured something thatabout this country that was so vital," Obama said. The president also noted that he's "a really big fan."
Bob Dylan started out singing other people’s songs. But, as he says, “There came a point where I had to write what I wanted to say, because what I wanted to say, nobody else was writing.” So born in Hibbing, Minnesotaa town, he says, where “you couldn’t be a rebelit was too cold”(laughter)Bob moved to New York at age 19. By the time he was 23, Bob’s voice, with its weight, its unique, gravelly power was redefining not just what music sounded like, but the message it carried and how it made people feel. Today, everybody from Bruce Springsteen to U2 owes Bob a debt of gratitude. There is not a bigger giant in the history of American music. All these years later, he’s still chasing that sound, still searching for a little bit of truth. And I have to say that I am a really big fan.
Oddities of 2012, where beast and fowl and fish behave in strange events, severe weather, uncertain noises heard locally around the globe, the sun controlling earth...
WASHINGTON, DCDATELINE OCTOBER 27, 2003. Forging an identity in these uncertain times is not an easy task for someone who has prided himself on his independence, first and foremost, from most of the reckoning powers pursuing his support or demise, whichever comes first. As a result of this hesitancy, the Scenewash Project has little to promote but is simply a slowly developing critical work-in-progress concerned foremost with identifying in fresh terms the strategic forces now influencing the corrosive state of American politics, its public policies, both foreign and domestic, and in postulating, after careful consideration of the formidable body of evidence, a compelling worldview better suited to these uncertain times which try humanity's collective soul, contaminate our air, corrupt our speech, implode our habits, regale our future, and break our very wills to contribute to a sane and friendly but progressive and fearless community.
We have considered this task a worthy occupation to the end of our lives, if need be, because we believe that the original promises of these United States of America still beckon, and that the American political experiment, despite its follies and excesses which certainly require checking, is superior to any the world has yet seen. We will not prepare for a collapse of the West, just because a few malingering malcontents clamour for world revolution, whether it be from a Marxist, Maoist, or an Islamist perspective, but shall fight these perspectives while calling for a more focussed revitalization of America's own backyard.
Now more clearly understood as a rather ordinary attempt to peel back the layers of a conflicted mental landscape where art and politics beat each other up while few are they the wiser, we will express ourselves in terms of the past and the present, and will not appeal to an uncertain future which fatalists of every tradition, especially those of religion, of politics, and of science, pay homage to and usually broker every prejudice and every pride in vainglorious attempts to thrust the spirit of humanity onto the flaming pyres of god, gold, state, and imperialist superstition.
These dialecticians who worship the binary while faithlessly praising the unitary, operate on misguided principles which presume dialectics is an inclusive exercise of expression rather than the polarizing noise only well-entrenched and sometimes well-meaning fools and their followers, unquestionably trapped in status and nuance, can embrace.
Originally conceived as a wrecking ball to schoolboy aspirations, this site has no choice but to erupt from the silent passages of time and truth by urging a return to those same aspirations, reflecting a growing inversion of the individual artistic urge and its involuntary suppression by the forces of a co-opting culture. This culture is a mythology in which the artist, the politician, the ordinary citizen and varied patrons are forced by necessities of survival to conspire with lessons and insults to separate the vigorous mind from the expansive spirit with shop-worn tautologies and fantasy, eschewing the everyday, the mundane, the merely indifferent, rendering as obsolete the witnesses of this takeover.
A fading youth spent in ceaseless searching, knocking, seeking, and digging only to discover little of lasting value is one whose only inspiration translates an energy dedicated to the enumeration of differences between zero and nothing, self and the other, in recovering value and anti-value based not on a system of indulgences, individually or collectively wrapped, but on an absolute proof that language is mere alphabet dirt and slogans are only wordsuck. Languages run amuck become dangerous constructs perhaps of better service when fashioned into ploughshares of silence than into callous weapons of feathering alienation and mass confusion. Unless followed by actions appropriate to productive language, language has become nothing more than a functionary of aesthetics, and its practitioner, a co-opted pretender.
To that end, we offer few strategies or discernable guideposts to the currently self-enchanted. We have no use for those satisfied warriors of the establishment, those who wear the stripes of our enemies, smile the crooked smile, and walk the crooked mile beautifully camouflaged behind the mysteries of selfishness. We shall show how they also have no use for us. With a multitude of theories calling for bombs and abortion, no one is safe in this calculating world. Of course, wethe radical centrists refuse to be pigeonholed, not by the haranguing extremists nor by the denizens and addicts of apathy. If we are a hybrid breed of political creature, so be it.
We, however, boast of a singular aim. To articulate a well-considered argument describing what we believe to be the only hope for America and the world, and that hope, in a phrase, is progressive centrism. The center is nearly always dismissed by the polarizing POWERS OF ENTRENCHMENT as mushy or wishy washy, unable to make up its minds. We however, believe that it is these polarizing powers of the Left and the Right, who fight false wars on false battlegrounds, who make well-choreographed concessions in lucrative soundbytes and photo op activities merely for appearances sake who have truly betrayed this country, and this planet.
In the United States with its two party system, the aggragate lobbies and special interests attest plainly to this phenomenon of hypocrisy which disrepects and excludes (while still clamouring for its vote) the progressive centrist. These dialecticians who worship the binary while faithlessly praising the unitary, operate on misguided principles which presume dialectics is an inclusive exercise of expression rather than the polarizing noise only well-entrenched and sometimes well-meaning fools and their followers, unquestionably trapped in status and nuance, can embrace.
The byword is moderation in all things but truth. Extremism is killing us all. Polarization is the sword that fertilizes the fields of plenty with the blood of innocence, and rots the crops of destiny. Our manifesto is not the place for specific criticism, but the Scenewash Project web site will by the best laid plans of mice and men, embrace this dialectical mission.The Left and the Right must be reeled in.
The greed of the right and the stupidity of the left have rendered the vast majority of us useless, oppressed by the perfumed stench of their theories and their actions. The salt of the earth purifies and preserves. Where do we begin this purification process? Who will be our leaders? Is it possible that a renewed sensibility can arise from the falsifying political landscape now pulled taut like a rubber band by the existing powers that be? We don't know, but we insist on trying.
We are reminded of this metaphor. Jesus of Nazareth was walking along the road to anywhere. The mother of two of his disciples who were brothers, rushed up and voiced her desire that he grant her wish that one of them sit on their master's left hand (wing) and the other to sit on his right. The Nazarene's reply was simple and to the point: "You don't know what you are talking about. He went on to describe that the rulers of the heathen exhibit hierarchies of the strong who oppress the little ones, but it must not be so among them, the chosen. I add a footnote. Among the common folk there is a general consensus that politics is the mother of all harlots. Thus, I derive my notion of the "progressive centrist" as originating with this tale.
There must be a better way to fix what ails us than rupturing the rubber band while trying to maintain the status quo or sending the globe into unfathomable chaos as many on the far left and far right would advocate, each according to their own specific madness.
In another of the synoptics, the story is retold without the mother's presence, but it is the brothers themselves who approach their teacher with this request for special position and honors. The remainder of the incident is identical to the other.
It is clear. The Left and the Right each boast a portion of the TRUTH, which can be likened to a rubber band that has no beginning and no end. The progressive centrist inhabits the area within the circle created by the band itself, open and free space loosely formed and with equal access to the truth which lies along the circumference of the band. Both parties in the extreme meanwhile haplessly mark battle lines shouting war cries and stretch the band of truth as far as they can by pulling it deep and taut into their own camps, tightening and oppressing the more central and observable truths and those populations which dwell inside the once freely-circulating circle.
Once the tightened rubber band has been pulled to its extreme limit and has been popped, truth no longer exists in its most perfect sense with no beginning and no end, of equal benefit to all, but becomes the ultimate weapon of deception, far worse than the chartable deceptions of the band-tightening oppositional parties in their constrained tugs of war. Surely we can recognize the political landscape in this metaphor.
There must be a better way to fix what ails us than rupturing the rubber band while trying to maintain the status quo or sending the globe into unfathomable chaos as many on the far left and far right would advocate, each according to their own specific madness. So while we recall that the life and works of Thomas Paine are a good place to begin analyzing the difference between zero and nothing, the left and the right, extremism and moderation, life and death, we acknowledge that we do not live in his time, and therefore, must invent new methods to render equality, peace and plenty equitably upon the earth.
What say ye?
So, there is much work ahead of us, and we promise only this:
To experiment with the strident advances of web technology and design, deploying each to an oddball degree, while avoiding the genuflection of a generic stylism which furnishes the cynic with a strategic mouthful of pleasure while leaving us sad and purposeless. We will commit to compiling a point and counterpoint latticework mapping the existing political schematic as we find it. We shall then parse, and emerge with what we consider to be the radical centrist position along this latticework.
To furnish enough raw material to keep us busy through the thick years of our recorded visitation. To live the literary life along the bold, new terms of hypertextual reality, scratching out both an artistic body of visual work to match the music in our heads, keeping our eyes on our own pages and thus working to defeat the demons of boredom that envy and indifference can frequently induce and inadequately generalize while keeping free from the entanglements of frenzy the world mandates with its emphasis on competition and so-called originality. To work the gravitational pull of our own simple orbit, one field of inertia at a time...
NOT MUCH TO REPORT this side of more music, more music, more music. Some Maximum Rock & Roll cuts from the late 1980s "Not So Quiet on the Western Front". Some decent music, some decent politics. The radicalized Far Left's wail against Ronald Reagan however seems pale today, as we wade into the heated pool of history.
Dissatisfaction with the limited opportunities afforded today's youth in a corporate culture hell bent on exporting American jobs across the globe in the hunt for cheaper labor is one thing, but the vicious anti-Americanism we now see everywhere was just coming of age in the 1980s, and shows itself in all its thunder in the hardcore punk bands making the underground music circuit click and hiss. Separating the wheat from the chaff in this cozy corner of rock music's sniveling subculture can be difficult, but is a task worth the effort.
Once Radio Scenewash has been fully realized, we shall be able toundertake a closer look into the politics of these bands and their music. Stay tuned.
Since no one has staked a commercial claim on the air in my lungs, and noting the work of the butterfly on Julius Caesar’s last gasp, I hereby claim ownership of the oxygen on this planet, plant my invisible flag, and extend my grasp to the perennial rays of the sun.
I have been a registered as an Independent most of my adult life. Let me state for the record in case someone is having trouble comprehending my criticism that American democracy and capitalism are the best things going in this sad vicious world. In fact, let me be clear: I believe American capitalism to be the purest form of communism ever practiced on the world stage. But if the runaway thieveries and market consolidations by these castle-building moguls (from rock stars to athletes to talking head bean counters) of every dominant stripe are not reeled in, the regis of European-style socialism will continue to look better and better to those minions who can't muster a say or a stake in the present system. After all, to have a system based on the apotheosis of grandiose winners, there must be lots of penny ante losers. In the pages of his recent bookThe Crisis of Global Capitalismnoted Wall Street Wunderkind George Soros has clearly seen the writing on the wall, and this book was released just BEFORE the recent Enron, WorldCom, Global Crossing, and similar scandals hit the fan.
The antics of the hard to crispy LEFT and the hard to steely RIGHT continue to amaze me. Neither side speaks anything close to the whole truth, and neither brigade recognizes the grains of truth the opposing army brings to the battlefield. I heard recently, a pundit from the crowd of usual suspects remark on the "mushy middle" which decides this nation's national elections. This insulting characterization of the "cautious, thinking independent" is typical of the demagogues on both boilerplated shanks of the political spectrum.
My involvement with the 1992 Ross Perot presidential campaign did little to convince me that third parties for their own sake are the answer. In Perot's DC office operating in full bloom was politics as usual. At some point as it became evident that Perot was not going to win but was too embattled with conspiracy theories aimed at his family, all but an annointed handful were "locked out" of the offices, literally. Meetings were held to determine why, but the core players suddenly would have nothing to do with the grass roots folks.
Now that California has possibly supplanted Florida as the laughingstock of American politics, there is once again increasing chatter fearful of the possible emergence of a viable third party and equal player on the American political landscape. Some even sense a growing taste for the broader appeal of the parlimentarian system many other nations prefer in their own experiments with democracy But any political groupies who value their own voice should distance themselves from this misplaced anti-Americanism that flows eagerly off the tongues of many safely sheltered within the elite classes with all their pretty ribbons and bows, posturing leathers and torn cotton tees.
With this nation and much of the West now in the hair-trigger scopes of religious and anti-religious fanatics alike, blood-thirsty agitators and aspiring titans who would like nothing better than to disrupt, conquer, and rule this country with an iron fist unlike anything this nation has ever seen, including the eighteenth century Redcoats, these idealist lefties need to refine and clarify their stances, and thereby earn its mantle as the outcast prophet crying in the wilderness.
The RIGHT needs to reread and practice the light revealed in its own holy books, the US Constitution and the Bible of their forefathers. The radical middle needs to get its individual heads out of its collective ass, stand up for what it believes, or else indeed be considered "mushy" and unworthy of its gift of superior but understated intelligence. Blaming today on yesterday won't get us very far tomorrow.
Okay, here's a gamer. Since no one has staked a commercial claim on the air in my lungs, and noting the work of the butterfly on Julius Caesar's last gasp, I hereby claim ownership of the oxygen on this planet, plant my invisible flag, and extend my grasp to the perennial rays of the sun. Therefore, ALL HUMANITY, must now pay tribute to my nifty little corner on the market, validated by this capitalist system I embrace with muted reservations. Any refusal to do so will result in charges of conspiracy to commit unrepentant communist acts and/or criminal intent to steal and utilize for purposes beyond the scope of fair use those raw materials and products associated with human breathing and sight, the sustenance of all life, not to mention those vital rays of redemption all subsequent intellectual composition requires.
Unless one is properly licensed to use these rather valuable properties of oxygen and sunlight, its is forbidden to engage in any activity which requires them. In short, I own you, you silly humans, rich or poor, cute or ugly, beast or priest. Pay up my darlings, or forever be branded as thieves and liars, subject to the whims of MY judicial system.
Great minds think alike...You know the phrase. It's always said in public with a snark, and for some unstated reason until now I've never had occasion to find the remark the least bit flattering or of any appeal, nor have I taken the time to assess why. But, in fact, I take a bristling exception to that rather vulgar juvenile expression. Great minds do not think alike.
Great minds sense and tend to original edicts reconfiguring the inconclusive sift of the expanding findings of likeness, resolution, and sustainability in order to create a more perfect union, or tomorrow. Groundbreakers of a certain musical note wrestle with all-consuming effort the compelling and often repugnant, systemic breakdown of nature itself. The evidence, empirical if not already carved in stone, is overwhelming and as unpredictable as verbalizing the exact time of one's death at the exact time of one's birth, even though we have seen that death is more certain than birth over the course of unexplainable life.
Great minds set the pace that lesser minds only attempt to follow. I suggest to you instead consider once and for all that is the proverbial hoi polloi who tend to think alike. True, they tend to overstate this homogeneity with generalities, but then they live in the province of generalities. Great minds live in the province of specificity. And no, I do not consider myself a great mind, but I will never stop pursuing the ghost of that earliest potential now lost to the persistent struggle for identity among friends, foes, and displaced, delinquent, deplorable but all too desperate counterrevolutionaries of the soul. You may quote me if you can. Even though that last remark is just another sad revolting cliché in this old book of life...
Make it your own, because angels with great minds earnest for necessity live among us...
IF HEALTH INSURANCE WERE like car insurance, I would be responsible for obtaining it as opposed to having my employer supply it for me. After all, it's my body and my healthwhy do I expect someone else to be responsible for it?
If health insurance were like car insurance, I would be able to shop around for the cheapest insurance with competitive rates from multiple vendors to find a plan best suited for my lifestyle. If health insurance were like car insurance, I would not be denied insurance unless I demonstrated repeatedly offensive and ill-advised behavior.
On the other hand, what if my car insurance were like my health insurance? My employer would be required to obtain my car insurance, which means I couldn't drive if I didn't have a job. Everyone would pay the same for auto insurance regardless of driving history. The system would breed lack of accountability since there would be no incentives for good driving behavior and no repercussions for accidents or speeding. Sure it would be economical for the irresponsible driver, but only at an exorbitant cost to the safe driver and society as a whole.
There is an urgent need for major overhaul of the health care system in the United States. While the debated health care reform bill addresses some issues that warrant change, it continues to penalize the delivery of care by cutting reimbursements without providing incentives for healthy lifestyles and quality of care.
The argument above was snipped from a thought-provoking piece by American Thinker contributor, Jon George MD. Uniquely unserviceable, the entire hypothesis of personal healthcare is stigmatized by tall tales, bald-faced lies, limp-wristed half-truths, rotten damned statistics, dubiously forgotten if not forbidden habits, twice wilted violets, luridly gilded stopwatches and post-convoluted twists of fate far too frankly philistine to be repaired in its current state.
And thus needs to be scrapped. The facts are these: there is the concept of literate self-reliance, bound by cold capitalist principle, personally tempered by an odd and multitiered assortment of fancy humane considerations. Then there is somebody else trying to oblige you your very existence. The whole "healthcare" argument is really about government control of populations. When I vote, I'll vote to keep my freedom as reckoned against belonging to the giant government-controlled family.
So in that spirit, I highly recommend the whole article, if only in the context of the rich reader commentary which follows it. The intelligent reader will quickly comprehend the bottom line is one's own and is ALWAYS the endgame, no matter how consistent or inconsistent the rules of play.
Don't be an accident statistic. Obey that nerve which commands choice and resolve.
In his articleConfessions of a Cultural Drop-outpublished by Pajamas Media, Victor Davis Hanson slays the huffing and puffing dragon of popular culture by assessing the thin veneer of cultural iconology as it swishes by with no apparent staying power. His last few paragraphs begin with eerily the same language I just this past weekend used to describe my own general malaise which can also be summarily dismissed as simple aging by those who, in Kierkegaard's terms, simply refuse to make distinctions , so I start here...
A FINAL, ODD OBSERVATION. As I have dropped out of contemporary American culture and retreated inside some sort of 1950s time-warp, in a strange fashion of compensation for non-participation, I have tried to remain more engaged than ever in the country’s political and military crises, which are acute and growing. One’s distancing from the popular culture of movies, TV, newspapers, and establishment culture makes one perhaps wish to overcompensate in other directions, from the trivial to the important.
Lately more than ever I try to obey the speed limit, overpay my taxes, pay more estimates and withholding than I need, pay all the property taxes at once, pick up trash I see on the sidewalk, try to be overly polite to strangers in line, always stop on the freeway when I see an elderly person or single woman with a flat, leave 20% tips, let cars cut me off in the parking lot (not in my youth, not for a second), and patronize as many of Selma’s small businesses as I can (from the hardware store to insurance to cars). I don’t necessarily do that out of any sense of personal ethics, but rather because in these increasingly crass and lawless times, we all have to try something, even symbolically, to restore some common thread to the frayed veneer of American civilization, to balance the rips from a Letterman attack on Palin’s 14-year-old daughter or a Serena Williams’ threat to a line judge, or the President’s communication director’s praise of Mao, civilization’s most lethal mass murderer, or all of what I described above.
I don’t fathom the attraction of a Kanye West (I know that name after his outburst), a David Letterman, Van Jones, Michael Moore (all parasitic on the very culture they mock), or the New York Review of Books or People Magazine (they seem about the same in their world view). So goodbye to all that.
Horace called this reactionary nostalgia the delusion of a laudator temporis acti, the grouchy praiser of times past for the sake of being past. Perhaps. But I see the trend of many ignoring the old touchstones of popular entertainment and life as a rejection of establishment culture—a disbelief in, or utter unconcern with, what elites now offer as valuable on criteria that have nothing to do with merit or value. I was supposed to listen to Dan Rather because Murrow once worked for CBS? I am to go to the Cinema 16 because Hollywood once made Gone With the Wind or On the Waterfront?
I don’t particularly like the idea that I want little to do with contemporary culture. But I feel it nonetheless—and sense many of you do as well.
BEGIN ANOTHER SWILL, THIS ONE WON'T LAST FOREVER...
KUBHLAI: Forgive me if I seem to be stating the obvious that every cobbler and candlestick maker already knowsbut isn't this the typical form in which we daily witness the 'dialectic'?
Far from being a perpetually moving process of change, the construction of a dialectic is normally witnessed as a mechanism by which a certain order, a certain "stasis", is attained and by which a condition of NON-change is secured. In terms of geosiftics (hopefully)we observe a certain kind of standing wave.
GABRIEL: NOW YOU'RE TALKING!
KUBHLAI: Not only does this dialectic 'happen' to be of the kind which does not produce real change, but moreover, such static dialectics are a fundamental condition of status quo. This is so not merely in the political context I have drawn it from, but is a universal (what else!) feature of realitydialectic is the root of order, the great preserver...
GABRIEL: Yes, mysteries spun about in cafés in order to impress and get laid, and perhaps one day get taught in a classroom somewhere over the rainbow. Meanwhile , change happens all around in the great hordes of popular culture so despised and ridiculed by the posturing dialecticians who are merely jealous monks when compared to those living the slow shift of incremental revolution pop culture involves. The human condition is a slow train. Indeed those who demonized rock-n-roll (with the sexual revolution & drugs roaring in to complete the triumvirate) in the 1950s have had their prophecies attain full measure. But the pendulum will swing. What is next, the dystopian nightmares of the Mad Max vision, or perhaps Huxley's Brave New World. Which is preferable in the short term, the long? Time is the great equalizer, dialectic the mild tranquilizer, the preserver of that sense of change, but there is no change in the way men think, even when the words they use to express these thoughts bounce about like they do in pop culture. The brain patterns, The ego at war with society. Society at war with the individual ego.
KUBHLAI: I wonder, if when Engels 'saw' the transformation of a dialectic within the process of historical change if he didn't inadvertently put the idealistic cart before the material horseSuppose that the dialectic was changing DESPITE itself, that its motion was the reluctant result of its overthrow by a force which was motive precisely because it 'lacked' a dialectical opposition? (How, for example, do revolutions succeed if not by surprise?). As Oswald Spengler saidThe secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious.
GABRIEL: Which has been my point all along. Life is not static, but is in constant flux. Only the faces change, and they will change whatever man tries to accomplish. When I flag the term "status quo" as that political force with which I am most profoundly certain truly has meaning, I am not saying a despot should remain in power, nor am I suggesting he SHOULD be assassinated, but what I am saying is that these political activities should have little to do with the extraphile (to borrow Len Bracken's term). An extraphile should rejoice in that freedom FROM politics high and low, and as Nietsche would put, concentrate on himself, his own orbit, leaving the status quo to itself, to rise and fall upon its own sword. Bracken has accused me in the past of "having no discernable politics" and I merely laughed to myself, muttering smalltalk at the wall, knowing exactly what I know and nothing less. To follow up on the point you made above, dialectic is what keeps us all in fear of each other because it tends to require that we LEARN SOMETHING, to learn something in order to FIT IN, and around every corner there is someone ready to pounce, someone ready to TEACH us something, and thus the sword of oppression and hierarchy is drawn. Siftology as we seek to understand it however puts the freedom and the crux of responsibility for all knowledge and all wisdom directly on the individual. I have nothing to teach you and you have nothing to teach me, EXCEPT THAT WHICH WE JOYOUSLY EMBRACE.
Now of course this anarchic approach to everyday life, its revolution and its rewards is no panacea, but it is certainly a healthier path for the independent and intelligent lover of the human expression in all its galaxy of forms. This approach won’t necessarily bring social harmony. More than likely it will not. But this last point is very crucial to the emphasis we wish to place on liberty, making a distinction between the pie-eyed irrelevant Marxist and the quarrels of real praxis. Classicism itself is a sad joke, just as athleticism can be for those not biologically inclined. We might use Steven Hawking for all his shitty arrogance and famegrubbing, intellectual dishonesty or not, as an extreme example of this rather simple axiom. As individuals among many we are each at different points on the parallel lines of infinite possibility. As a individual struggling with the finite self, we reach those different points at different times and circumstances. The matrix of possibilities in terms of the universal defies any slogan that doesn't sound cliched or too simplistic, and rebuts any complicated tome past the first constricting idea. Hence, the stabilizing effect of a dialectic.
Len Bracken, with his dancing theme firmly in praxis, has surely arrived at something, for him, for now, but those factors are neither universal nor forever. I mean, the world is full of dancers, of poets, of dockworkers, of nurses, of guitar heroes, of drunks, of thin men, of men named Jones, but none of this is news to the innocent who love life without a theory, love life and live life armed with nothing more than inertia and some dull patchwork of conflicting ideals and myths, and until they try to PREACH that dull patchwork, insist it upon others heaping ridicule upon dissenters, I see nothing to criticize. The problem is with blanket spokesmen, piss-eyed preachers, hireling lobbyists, sky's the limit liars, and fool-proof con artists who paint with passionate wind the fear of all ages upon us, corrupting the spines of our children, none who have solved the riddle but the few who quietly seek to live the truely gallant life, as Len Bracken would wish upon himself and a few choice others we might presume.
Life is trickier than mere word games. The harder we judge we harder we fall. Relativity is in the blood. All else is one foot up, one foot down.
KUBHLAI: Of course this idea wot I'm 'avin' doesn't concord with the ancient Greek conception of dialectics very well eitherin so far as I understand it; if one accepted that 'thesis' 'antithesis' and 'synthesis' were the three conditions in a dialectical movement, then which of those three corresponds to the condition in which a stability is attained between the two poles of a dialectic which is specifically NOT synthesized, and is possible only because it isn't? The Greeks were always looking for perfection, yet the dialecticas an oscillating uncertainty within perception, perspective and worldviewis everything 'except' perfection. I suspect Crash might know of something within aesthetics theory which deals with this oscillation and ambiguity?
Well just because a sphere may float, bounce and roll within a hypothetical situation, doesn't mean man in his lust for compelling harmony, can sever the sphere in half and expect the same behavior or synthesis of the two halves to be maintained. It all begins to seem painfully embarrassing to me that this is obvious. Is it just a lack of sleep or what? Am I the last person to figure this out? The whole thing falls neatly into place with my daoist predilections. Take a martial art such as T'ai CHi or AiKiDopowerful motion is induced by withdrawing the opposition which would prevent itthis is the key to everything.
The universe is 99.999999x% stagnation caused by the tension of balanced forces. The energy in a grain of salt is enough to blow all of Europe off the map but it is reduced to a grain of salt by the mindless battle within ita battle of being and nonbeing. Everything must turn on its headit is not what is but what is not which really shapes the world, or rather it is not money which makes the world go round but the uncertainty of having any. Uncertainty is the ether (I think. Ether it is or it ain’t). Ah hail the creative essence of existentialism nestling in the armlock of wrestlers like a sleeping babe...
Needless to saywhat you are saying in that other Bracken/Thy post re supplanting the will to power with the will to purpose could cuddle up in there rather comfortably too. I'll think into that more deeply anon. And what was it that Nietzsche said about "vertigo"? (or was that Hitchcock?)
GABRIEL: Keep on drilling dude. Andre Breton would approve. Our polar caps are melting. Resistence is futile. Now if we can just storm past the waterfalls and the steam baths to complete the circuit, perhaps we shall find a beginning from which to initiate this discussion as to what ails us, why, and what it is we are supposed to do about it.