[24 and already a shadow of his former self, young droll D.C DeMarse climbed uphill, further on in life than he wished, in years, what a blessing to be young and feel old, however: to have had the changing thing happen at so impossible an age, that is, impossible to win, up against that obduration of a changing thing, a certain bravery to it, to rage on in the face of nothing to be angry about, the event dissolved past the last cascading spleen, and foolishly, like a child, it is only predictable he continue on in his anger, anger at the changing thing, or more because of it, causing more, and yet it all stemming from that one thing disappeared, long ago dissolved, that memory, that holyghost: yes, this change, or changing thing, what a mysterious blessing.] [It is one thing to breathe raw talent for the extent of your life; it is one thing to start on an a priori basis as such, with all its preternatural sense of space, organic rhythm, and crucial folly, that is, that so much is based upon it, and which is not true about the foundation, corrupts it totally, all that was written and thought in the realm of that functioning talent in the meanwhile - and say, through your very folly, how you came to what first was an immanent finesse, talent, grace, yes, would suffice. Being wrong first and learning to do the thing right is different from this because there was no raw talent to start. But starting with raw talent and losing it, working towards where you had started, again, reveals to this young loser a better understanding of why the finesse was finesse. To breathe raw talent, of course, is to exist only in the finesse, eternally, and in this know nothing of why - yet I would wager: if asked why, such a person would still be able to give you an answer as good if not better, to why.] [so I ask did what is permanent as to consciousness become so by distillation or a mere need to clean up. in one case, the aim is purity. in another case the only aim is to make room in the mind’s house for its furniture. or maybe it is not purity but what is left, the remainder. but in both cases the aim is aesthetic, though any remainder is bound to represent, as in any case of simple long division, something from the start not fitted to its method of organization or solving. I suppose there is a problem in both cases: there is a problem to solve. so I posit, if any of this is true, the need for order is the presage of something conscious, borne from its reaction to clutter, chaos, et al. morality is the psyche’s janitor - the mind’s house, that is - and is just as permanent a desire as any more cosmic places what I have said might bring one to.] [method of philosophy whereby the flaying of my own metaphors to their bare flaws, in revealing them, that I strongly communicate the problem that is the topic at hand, that is, nakedness, that bareness, bare forms are flaws, or that is where, or under where, hehe, they are. that is the skin can be there but what is under the skin is where the flaws pulse. but where is the problem in that concept, and why, after all, is it a problem? there can be bare beauties withal small chests, even; I’m an ass man anyway. I guess you can begin where you begin and everything upon going forth has to fall into that. but where you begin can be from anywhere; but it must be from. you can start something in medias res sure but that is the place it is from, moreover not a bit of the drama nor is a motive left uninformed. chaos can represent chaos and you can go wherever you decide but a theme is a theme because it lingers. I began this draft as something a little different than it turned out to be, after all.] [not only is the regular seen wrongly as lazy and close-minded, since after all it is the more consistently observed and so, more easily absorbed, more even than the news of a given day, over the day; but the irregular is not even hard to find, there is a place everyone knows to go to find the arbitrary, the odd, the quirky; there is as known and clearly accessed a place for the inaccessible as our daily truths. the difference: the inaccessible just wears the mask of being hard to find. some meme probably already has explained the latest meta-irony, telling us how to feel about something like “Faith Hilling” - in other words the function of the irregular is regular, and the regular is belonging to nobody, is just some symbol for tactless non-value. the daily drudge is for the populist, and is relatable enough to alienate the demographic it applies to, who then are left with a few things that compute, a few that “don’t not compute” [The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, ibid]
Posted on: Thu, 13 Mar 2014 16:14:03 +0000
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