Let’s get something out in the open… I’m not here to preach or polemicize – even if I do come off that way at times. I’m not here to save the world. I’m not here to please you. I’m not here for you at all. If at times I say things that bother you, irk you, make you angry or get under your skin it’s you not me that is allowing that to happen. When I began blogging a few years back it was for one reason, to examine my own life, my thought, my beliefs in the sense in which that old goat, Socrates meant – under Plato’s mask: “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
I’ve always tended toward literary things as a matter of course. Politics, philosophy, the sciences and history along with sociology, psychology, essays and many other aspects of our cultural heritage have always been a part of my ongoing education. And that’s how I see it… I write to educate and work through thoughts we all share in the public sphere. I’m no great savant, no published author of novels, philosophy, or anything of value other than to myself. People always assume too much, assume a blog is some platform to speak to others. It may be to others, and I use the stock pose as do others of speaking as if I had an audience who is interested in overhearing my thoughts. It’s a cliché of the trade, folks, nothing more.
We all have opinions and concerns, but at times I’ve had people who begin trolling me as if my message was to them personally so that they take it upon themselves to begin a slow and methodical attack. That’s fine, just don’t expect me to sit back and take it. I’m nasty if I need to be like most other humans. I don’t trust politicians, or philosophers, or any intellectual authority or experts with matters of life or mind. As I stated before I am a contrarian who opposes above all… the bullshit and mindlessness around me. It’s stupidity and ignorance that bothers me, not people per se and if I get obnoxious and overwrought, long-winded and polemical at times it’s because some things just get my goat and I have to get it out of my system. During these episodes I can be cantankerous and down right mean spirited toward ideas, but I don’t mean anything personal about it. It’s just my way. No excuses for it. No apology, either.
People always want you to be other than you are… want you to meet their expectations, be what they themselves are not. Why should I live up to your expectations if you don’t do that yourself? I’m not here to be either your friend or enemy, I’m not here for you at all. If you come upon my blog and happen to agree or disagree it’s because that’s the way we’re built. We’re all contrarians at heart, even when we deny it. We’re all opinionated and full of strange ideas and modes of being. If we weren’t the world truly would be a place of pure repetition and boring as hell… I for one am glad it isn’t.
I can be a bastard at times, granted. I can be a stodgy old cuss, cynical and pessimistic to boot. At other times I tend toward the idealism I despise because like Whitman and Emerson I have a sign above my door that says: “Whim!” So don’t try to peg me down, reduce me to some singular thought or philosophical or even, scientific spectrum of ideas. If I contradict myself, it’s because I have no self; it’s rather an ongoing project not some pre-existing agency. I’m not what I will be… I AM what I Am Not. Motion, movement, thought… the accelerating vector of a multiplicity. Schizophrenizing rather than schizophrenic: a difference that makes a difference.
My two mainstays: James Joyce and Thomas Pynchon. Between them I oscillate like a yo-yo in-between gathering the cultural worlds of our modernity. The one Irish-Catholic of ancient Celtic stock whose mind sought exit from family, church, and State. The other Jewish born, an inner émigré of ancient traditions, a gnostic-kabbalist whose comic pessimism riddles the world with paranoiac dreams between paradise and apocalypse. Joyce the kinder and gentler voice of Liffy, goddess of returns and beginnings. Pynchon the scream across the void of war and death, the living remains of our ruins and days. Both challenging the extremities of our radical imaginations, presenting us with the worlds past, present, and to come. Neither prophet or savior, only two men at the ends of man seeking answer for the human condition.
Deluded we stand united in this condition of the human. Our Buddhas and Christs would offer us paths out of the delirium. Our philosophers like Plato or Aristotle offer both and neither – the one sponsoring the exit from the simulacrum; the other seeking a way into rather than out of its sensual entrapments, and understanding of its motions and forms. Wandering in the circular worlds of thought after them have we truly come any closer to knowing or being? No. We’ve all filled in the dots and niches of our ignorance with more ignorance, trapped in the darkness of the Mind, our thoughts given to us from the Outside in of the brain’s own cave we exist only as a construct of momentary motion, memory, and thought in-between the self-reflective void of a void so luminous we cannot move beyond its horizon. And, yet, how wondrous it is this lustrous emptiness we are…