Primitive Candide

A Parody of Inherent Contradiction

Composing with a vocabulary most people don’t share only gets you so far. Take John Zerzan, for instance. Zerzan is anarcho-primitivist and writes about civilized destruction from a very deep, intellectual level. His conversations about the philosophy of taking modern culture back to its early Homo roots is beyond the knowledge of common understanding, and so far beyond the thought processes of primitive people’s, there’s little room to convert heady, mind games into a present, spiritual overview.

I find trouble connecting to their ideas. As much as I’m alienated by popular culture, mass-marketed schematics and basic communication, I also feel very distant from many of the radical, green, anarchist environmentalists from our latest activist craze. I’m intrigued by their attempts and successes in reaching larger, supportive audiences, but can’t fully comprehend the methods and tools used to do it. There isn’t a variety of innovative departure or a divergence from the currently used mediums of destruction. Maybe we’re the middle children of the movement, further along the stone path than the moderate environmentalists of the 1970’s and 1980’s but not yet near the soft, fertile, soiled end. It’s clear there are fully active, violent and completely insane clusters of radicals putting an immediate stop to earth destruction, but the vast majority of us are of nature’s adoration and not natural fortification.

Some of my critiques and attitudes come from jealousy. I’m not doing enough, and not spreading my passionate, verbal ilk to those who need it most. But I see their faces in films, read their names in books and wonder if their perspectives are cleverly marketed to people like me, just as mass media markets to convention. I’m a bystander, writing my own stances for myself and the few who read an everyperson’s blog. I desire to be known, yet argue internally over the inherent contradiction. That phrase, ‘inherent contradiction’. What does it mean?

When considering morals, values, ethics, judgment or anything along the spectrum of acceptability, restraint and merit, I convince myself via inherence, a brief but fully-enveloped and embalmed venture into my brain, or my cognitive and mnemonic stores of beliefs. Immediately I’m aware if what I do next will hurt another individual, group, ecology, energy or universal intangibility. What I’m never sure of – or really can’t seem to overcome – is the hurt it causes me. But that’s another, more personal journey.

From the awareness of my inherited stance, I can easily determine if that next move is contradictory. Less often than all, I avoid doing and avoid hypocrisy. When I was younger this wasn’t so easy to come by, finding and using my awareness of inherent contradiction. I was reckless, and though the ideals were present, I was so impulsive and flagrantly pleasure-seeking, my ration and passion couldn’t compete. It’s much easier today, yet I’ve begun to channel it to the motives of others and have been second-guessing my lifestyle and path because of exposure, or a lack thereof. Does the level of influence and importance hinge on Candide?

I’ve never read Voltaire’s satire, yet I understand the basic premise of the plot, and through some collective unconscious of knowledge, literature and philosophy, there’s conjointment. I’m autonomously brought to lexical parallax, a multiple-viewed wordplay whereby one hilarious character from an Enlightenment comedy now represents a whole demographic of people I’ve been trying to summate candidly enough as to not be offensive to them or anyone affiliating with them. There’s parody of major theme and ridicule of major party, yet it’s not that funny unless the wit is contagiously inherent. I don’t know, maybe you get it too.

You see, I used to think my desire for mental constructs was learned from years of schooling and even more years of higher education. Now, I’m more inclined to say this is how I’ve always been. I’ve always found the earth more important than myself. I’ve always loved to write words, play with words and create words to describe indescribable. I’ve always made fun of others, which today has become solemn critiques of more than their work. I make fun of their being, but I never fail to make fun of mine. I think that’s what gives me free reign and a terrible rapport with overly-sensitive academics. I’m open-mouthed and -hearted. I can’t hesitate because I’ve already tapped my internal reserves. I do it synchronously as we communicate. Or I’ll fabricate, with expectation, what you might say. Either way, you need to defend what I already think I know or come up with a new angled frame.

But all of this is less about the frame of ‘inherent contradiction’ with which I work and more about the over-analyzation of simple, survival actions intended to salvage what is left of fairly abundant green and primal ecologies. The people I’ve looked up to or respected as brave compatriots for a sustainable future are also decimating it a little more than I am, with exception. I’ve always found it worthwhile to learn about how some of the radical environmentalists and anarchists live. John Zerzan, for example, lives in Eugene, Oregon, in a little cabin-styled home as part of a collective. He doesn’t drive or own a car, doesn’t have a computer and doesn’t have a credit card. As for resources such as water, electric, sewage and waste, a collective might or might not take care of such needs sustainably. I’d like to find out.

Me, I live in a three bedroom, one bath, two story, 850 square foot house with a partner and two dogs. I use electric and water supplied by the city. I have a company pick up my trash and recyclables once a week. I own a car and drive it about 20 miles a week, at most. I don’t have a credit card or debt. I make all my meals each week sans two. I use three personal item outlets, all with power strips I unplug each night. The other stuff is pretty common sensical – recycled toilet paper, cloth napkins, reusable water containers, canvas shopping bags, scrap paper for tablets, and a few other odds and ends. To change my entire energy and waste infrastructure is desired, but I’m not at the economic level capable of achieving it yet. I’m poverty-level, although my partner isn’t. I do have the technical ability to head in such a direction but a space is needed, as are friends to do it with. Now it feels like a classified ad. I’m also interested in gardening and farming, hunting and gathering, but as before, no space and no help. It’s a domesticated issue I can only complain about for now, yet my circumstance with love is euphoric and the balance tilts firmly with it.

Before heading off to appease other intellectual needs, a fair-minded assessment is just. I don’t intend to offend. I don’t want to ridicule or blaspheme those I know are making productive strides in an inherently, non-contradictory direction, yet I’m not interested in continually and conceptually outwitting those I have no hope for or whom have no hope for themselves. Instead, I want to encourage even more highly-developed and evolved survival behaviors, techniques, mentalities and personalities by challenging, conflicting with, and supporting those I have much in common. It’s a psychological fault to resort to accusation when one feels inadequate, and that’s where I’m at. No Candide at this time, just candid, brutal honesty about what else needs to be accomplished.

Inner Liberation Through Anarchy V

Generosity and the Celebration of Psychic Relief

There’s a level of personal, selfish relief that goes along with finally reaching this weapon of Bey’s anarchic magic. The fulcrum of sexual identity either enables easy passage to happiness and pleasure, or it restrains the traveler on an unquantifiable incline of day-tripping. With the immediate release of relational and sexual attraction to any and all plausible attractors, we don’t have to hesitate to fulfill layers of meta-rationalization with conciliatory drivel. Nope, we just head on through the thinly-veiled bubble of candid superficiality without a hint of leftover or residue. Unfortunately, there was quite a dramatic shift of paradigmatic action to get here. So let’s tell.

Generosity is psychic relief. Divulging shared, mental experience – dimensional action traversing landscapes of objective and essence-less depth – can acutely influence a panacea of heartbroken wanderers. Giving another individual insight into what ails us is like a hug, kiss, monetary donation or warm bed and meal. It’s simply a matter of perceiving it as such, with our long-strewn lines of flight from pointlessness to a zero-point metaphor for momentous malfeasance. The standard for celebratory, psychic relief condones counteraction to acceptable autosuggestion. In fact, the basis for each and every weapon of anarchic magic is the cosmically-playful retort and triviality of the ideology and epistemology so many people compound on. A reiteration of the koan ‘Look from one side to the other but never submit yourself to slur’ remains appropriately unsolved on the matter.

The expectation of real examples being undeclared frustrates the common activist desiring completion to attain celebration in infinite presence with finite essence. The movement is the celebration. The incomplete explanation is the generosity. If the attitude of a solution is intended to relieve psychic debt, where’s the remnant to prosper towards? What becomes obvious is the adage of the search as a precursor for more serious wonder/wander.

While attempting to retain a certain academic objectivity and lexicon along the same dialogical mindframe as previous weapons, a resultant, irresolvable potential fills the body. The congratulatory interactions necessitating psychic relief were present all along. The deep breath it takes to get from generously omitting one’s excuses from another person’s life, to reiterating every and all words taken to get to the purely intertwined causality of human and on to silence,  arrives secondly. It was here, is here and is gone…but wait – another arrives! How aspiring the inspiration is!

Of the many anarchists and liberated thinkers who compose as a means toward anarchy’s majesty, the continued inscription is latent action and immediate gloom. On and on we drive forced, semantic energy into a structural formula for others in the same negative strata to understand and appreciate. The misstep lacks humor, lacks the slur and isn’t drunk enough to condone insult. We lack the self-awareness to commit flagellating aggrandizement of reverse schadenfreude, a spiraling slip into a decay of self-deprecating farts. Hold your breath now and the weapon of silence is even more powerful to meta-rationality, liberated consciousness, knowledgeable meaning and sex.

In conclusion, as I sit and use the first, recognized term of ego in American English, I look forward to silence. I see “The Language of Communicative Cognition” and want to skip right passed it, moving on to compose the word ‘silence’ over and over again. I then remember that my anarchic model of anarchaos relies on three words: less, simple, silence – roted throughout each and every weapon, subliminally or flagrantly. I want to get there so bad, so often, in the presence of others with brains gryried and sulcied as mine, or when faced with the instruments of death targeting the decimation of my anarchic allegiance. I will make a list, formality pending, but it won’t keep me from ending this, from my teleological de-notion of intentionality, Bey’s noema to my noesis. Your rhizome to my sprouting line of flight. The it to the me. The to…

Next and now: The Language of Communicative Cognition

Read above and look for words you don’t understand. Then sit and shut.

But honestly, the terms “communicative” and “cognition” reek of dynamism and ever-perpetuation. I can’t seriously describe a language of talk and think on the level an Umberto Eco would conceive of for a structural hierarchy of semiotics, or devise a Chomsky-Pinkerian tree branch of modulation for anarchist rhetoric. NP→V tangentiality is sterilized notation far beyond natural use, with the resultant process of realization from word after word composed tediously depicting feelings never arrived it again. I know Bey didn’t posit the arrival of a characteristic process, judging the process as uncharacteristic in-itself. There are faults in every statement and every cognitive strategy to remain logical in the realm of self-ridiculum scholasticism. And there’s no space in this root for anything more than what is there. So, again, read back through, understand you can’t understand and move on to the next weapon, the most powerful weapon an anarchist with clear conscience has against every organic deterrent not coalescing within a similar psyche. Be active in quiet. Less, simple, silence.

Now: Silence.

Free Radical Anarchaos

Soft Versus Hardcore Responses

I’ve written about Derrick Jensen and his books Endgame I and Endgame II, but I have a new revelation about his stance based upon watching a preview for the film “End:Civ” by Franklin Lopez. There’s a quote on the film’s webpage and it reads, “If your homeland was invaded by aliens who cut down the forests, poisoned the water and air, and contaminated the food supply, would you resist?” The obvious answer is yes, but the invasion is coming from ones of the same species, ones we were told to love unconditionally, for that’s what will help to create a better earth and accomplish righteousness the spiritual way. Of course, Jensen is destruction and another question is begged, “Are there two (or more) species of Homo sapiens sapiens based on non-physical/non-physiological/non-anthropological criteria?”

The running theme within the anarcho-primitivist circles is the civilized destruction of civilization. In order that today’s material foundations be destroyed to result in more primitive means of survival, civilized tools and materials must be used. To destroy a nuclear reactor, one must use the knowledge of physics, the tools of mass destruction and the modern forms of protection and safety from hazardous substances. To bring down an antennae tower or disassemble a backhoe, welding torches, wrenches and machines of power and force have to be used. There’s inherent contradiction, but we already know that.

Deeper within the contextualization of endgame civilization is the need to persuade mainstream activists and environmentalists – the “Gandhi shield,” as Jensen likes to call their defensive stance. But it’s clear it won’t happen. Radicals, or free radicals at that, are willing to yet only occasionally face physical and verbal conflict in defense of what they hold most dear, notably earth and it’s dying ecosystems. Soft versus hardcore responses to earth’s destruction is the embattled mentality being waged for via media – books, films and websites are the proxy aimed at altering consciousness, which brings me to the next point, the thesis and answer to my question.

Daniel Pinchbeck and many others (starting with famed gurus Albert Hofmann, Aldous Huxely, Tim Leary, Allen Ginsberg, Ken Kesey, Terence McKenna, Julian Jaynes…) have stated the potential rise for a new consciousness, one remaining unnamed until our awareness lends us to a term of similar, perpetual mystery such as “consciousness”. Pinchbeck, in his book 2012, conjures evidence from several experiences with hallucinogenic organisms and the inevitability of the Mayan 14th baktun as the preternatural conception of this new consciousness. While Jensen and others will only have a year and a half to end civilization as we know it and fulfill the expectation of apocalypse, there’s another parallax with which to view this cosmic shift of 4th-dimensional existence.

Without delving into an argument of elitist versus vanguard, or dichotomous intellectuality and socioeconomic status, a clear separation of the USAn mentality is obvious. Whether developed by mass media as blue and red, democrat and republican, liberal and conservative, or forged by anarcho-primitivists as radical versus popular, Homo sapiens sapiens is separated on a rhizomatic plane of consciousness. There are many expressions of awareness, yet not individual awarenesses synonymous with theological discussions of unique souls or philosophical discussions of essence. It’s a declarative statement, yet the limitations of logos amongst modern, social groups amount to very particular worldviews, belief systems and indoctrinated, cognitive, identity theories. The sole option to account for differentiation from our self-declared taxonomic, schematic rendering is chaos. Some people are chaos and some are order, and the remaining few question from in-between.

In my normal state of composition, the sentence from the previous paragraph seemed a fitting end to a short, but sweet essay. Unfortunately, I feel recruited to assume some larger truth over the matter. I’ve been a target for lethargy, omitting myself from action because wei wu wei appeared a most suitable lifestyle philosophy to embody, while anarchaos – my dialogical impression of epistemology – was a sidenote retaining clarity only through words. I’ve had major mental deficiencies when attempting to deconstruct my “set” – as the former radicals of USA put it – and replace it with a neoteric line of flight. I take a step in the direction I want to fly, look down from the height I stand over, then lean back to plant both feet firmly where they were. My familial life doesn’t allow such a chance to be taken and I’m in no position to afford lofty convocations on those who currently support my lackadaisis.

I want to destroy in the name of earth. I want to save nonhuman animals more than my kin. I want to live as the cattlemen do in the Pari village of Burgilo County in southern Sudan. It seems like paradise, yet only after a genocide on a scale our fragile hearts can’t comprehend. Our endgame of civilization will produce two types of people – those looking to restore logos, knowledge, order and what once was, and those who can thrive in anarchy and chaos following an aftermath of death, destruction, disorder and uncertainty.

Anarchaos never sounded as good as just now.

The Orgone Cloudbuster of Purple

Are the chairs floating…

…or the fish flying?

Husserlian MonoHue

The Grandeur of the Positive, The Relativity of the Negative

Anticipating the Break Between

I was taking a walk through a beach forest with my partner when I came up with a set of phrases aimed at defending two cognitive strategies I use for philosophizing and communication. “The grandeur of the positive, the relativity of the negative.” What led to these statements was an argument and a view of branches occluding the sky.

I’m often told I’m negative and it’s usually attributed to my analytical personality and the complexity of my worldview. I don’t analyze everything I come across out loud, but do so in my mind and then share the results of the process. I can look at my partner or a tree and momentarily break down the context or levels related to me. When doing so, the levels traversed are many, dependent on the multitude of perceptions used. In this case, I appear more complex, but only to those who refrain from many perceptions and are often staidly stratified. This is at the heart of the human misunderstanding, hence the relativity of the negative.

I whispered the two phrases repeatedly while walking so I would remember to type them out when in a domestication. As I repeated them, my mind unraveled as a stream of consciousness does, winding through many expressions of grandeur, relativity, positive and negative. I compared antonyms for each word – grandeur with mundane, relative with absolute, and of course positive with negative and the reverse. I refrained from using mundane because the relativity of the negative is meant to represent the personal accountability we have and owe to one another, and that no individual is of positive grandeur no matter at what perceptible level others hold them. Conversely, the grandeur of the positive is how I idealize extra-human faculties. Nonhuman life is relative, yet the integration of systems is grand, and experiencing it, even if at first it’s from an analytical, additive perspective can only be a positive in its ends – a unification, a mass congregation of life.

To give further examples of the + Grandeur and – Relativity, take war. If I were to exchange energy and level, say to create a viewpoint of – Grandeur, then we’re talking about omitting responsibility for a nation like USA destroying Middle Eastern lands and people. For me, it doesn’t actualize like that. I have no say in the choices made by the troops killing, the leadership ordering death, and the policymakers supporting personal interests. Having a negative worldview of the idealized is evil. I know term is cliche in the “age of terrorism”, but I freely apply it to my country’s perpetrators as equally as to radical, foreign zealots.

+ Relativity is more of a given. This is life and how the daily movements made by individuals should be. It’s expected. If I were to focus my attention on retaining a positive, relative frame and action, I’d be limiting my ability to perceive grandly and observe the levels of interconnectedness within the human cultural sphere, as well as interspecifically across earth or cosmically throughout space. There’s more necessity for a personal attribution to negation as a method of taking responsibility and sensing beyond the illusion created for and by the self-affirmed simple and casual. One doesn’t necessarily have to be generalized “negative” but can instead hold an opposite or different perception than that of the populace, which is usual for the anarchaoist.

Will the correction continue until I produce a line of context outside their grammatical parameters? Does a new term to describe the cognitive expression of worldview I love and live daily provide the exception? I consider it has been done before, the creation and description of all the possible parallaxes with which human existence can be viewed from. But if there’s anything we know, the dynamics are of magnitude 2, henceforth if one parallax has been identified, another as primary or secondary can also be observed. So, you see, I see it, feel it, do it, and might even know it, but have yet to seek a companion line of sight or flight. In fact, there might just be numerous lines of flight within my secondary parallax, which makes an honest assessment of the – Relativity. But I embrace the + Grandeur of the possibility.

Before I restrained creative use to binary tekne as my medium of composition, I used to outline schematics and imagery so simplistically complex I could go back and never fit them into their proper chronological or conceptual frameworks of the moment. It made sense as I crafted the emotions spewing through my unintelligible ability at human language, but their dimensional auras were soon turned into flat affects, straining reaches to hold onto to the present. I could never explain it, instead resorting to the sordid contempt in a continuous search to ease my complication – the Grandeur of the Positive, the Relativity of the Negative. I assume I’ll enter pre-sleep with the derivations on my mind, and enter death much the same. I anticipate the break between.

Actio Potentialis Compos Mentis

Are you able to do and have full control of your mind?

Compos Mentis Scientization

A Deeper, Semantic, Perpetual Paragraph

I try to travel deeply. Let’s say I’m watching an anarchist film. A film with a creatively clever plot, an enduring philosophy and a dark, dank, desirable design. As I get deeper and deeper into the story, ingesting and absorbing the emotional statuses of characters and events, a pivotal action potential is reached. I can no longer hold myself still, no longer restrain my thoughts of destruction and no longer rest comfortably in psychological tissue. I grasp at what I can’t be, yearn for the true nature of me, but only here paint the expression. I can’t do it. I can’t be it. I can’t feel it. I can’t verbalize it. I can’t do, be, feel or think. I only express it in vague terms, only conceptualize it in forms, substances, expressions and contents. My life is in need of only eight words and their corresponding human actions, but half are beyond reach.

At this distance, I’m encouraged to name-drop or reference, to go further as to be accepted by institutional brains. But I won’t. I never do and have defended why I don’t many times. What a waste of pure ingenuity and intuition to recruit the words and thoughts of another human being! It’s enough I was inspired to compose because of extraneous interventions, but to persist in such a state demands mental acuity I can’t devote to the trained process. I’m not a lab monkey or caged rat on the verge of scientization. I’ve already committed domestication, and at this functioning level of epistemology, there are other choices.

When I creep into scholasticism and media-marketed academic frames, I gain a sense of betrayal. Not from those against the good of human propagation, but those against the true continuance of progressive human value. Nonhumans have values they’ve established to proliferate, yet the ultimate influence of humans invades their behavioral vagaries. Nonhumans are betrayed by human force. Humans are betrayed by human force. We assume we’re betraying ourselves by choice but are no different than those never like us. We have no will. There’s a level betrayers haven’t reached and can’t, so the blame is on them. If you can’t kill, don’t. No one pretends they can kill if they’ve not done it before. The same goes for thinkers who really can’t think, who instead inject themselves into a ‘market of ideas’ as patrons of deception. They have no ideas but cling to the originators of theirs.

I’m resentment. I’m angry with the state of mental innovation. The arts have a correct affect, and luckily are seen as portrayers and not betrayers. The betrayers, the ones we think influence daily life such as teachers, professors, scientists, researchers and chairs are staid and circumspect. They don’t chance destruction of the millennia-old patterns destroying action potentials and lines of light, and I’ve gone too far to lay blame, resounding sterility in my own pretension. Denial is harder to confront when the truth magically shoves itself cavernously into my head. My hands hardly allow me be forthright. It’s ethereal.

I come from a general revolutionary intrigue and sprinkle it with the shortsightedness of career instead of cosmic intervention. I mention the static, am the same, and can’t get beyond  dislike. I truly have no inspiration for more than a long afternoon of brainstorming in my bedroom-converted art lab. That’s all I do. That’s how I’m bringing down civilization. One sentence leading to a period without anything really dreamed in between. It can be sad and it can tax a compos mentis existence. The apprehension of achievement dwells within the durable collection of discrete academia. As readily as it deters me, I defer to opposition. I-do-be-feel-think unlike them.

There isn’t a description for my status. It’s wrought from the passions of those without fear. It’s childish in its sense of inculpation. It functions without my logic and outside of personal control. It’s the momentum those with the tools and ability for uncivilized destruction need. I only fear death but wait for their attempt to draw me in. The others have yet to incite action potential. They’re yet to emotionally accrue a revolutionary recruit. They’ve yet to ask me to kill a system, a machine, or a betrayer. The hollow echoes of an educated dismissal intrigues laughter at such a sorry attempt to indoctrinate. If you can’t retain one of your own, how can we retain those who venture even deeper? The ones who act without thought, without an expression beyond reach. I don’t have an answer because as I reach into the distance, my frame of resentment vacates role and reaches a state of revolution. I am the paragraphical tissue of a psychological potentate!

Inner Liberation Through Anarchy III

Coherent Epistemological Archetypes

Episteme is knowledge or science.

Archetype is an original model.

Truth, belief, justification, internality and externality are synecdoche.

The most convoluted, complex and condescending weapon toward liberated consciousness is the very topic at hand. Not only is there a loaded and continual cycle of re-generative semiotics, there is a dilution of human experience and egotistical indulgence in the terminology of knowledge, origin, interpretation and observation, much of which is metonymously counter-intuitive. I feel Bey is addressing telos on predicate, an intellectual expectation forced upon anyone achieving a higher sense of human mentalism. There is an inert rationale of complication, teeming with endless inquiries into “truth”, “belief”, “justification”, “internalization” and “externalization” which can never and have never been appropriated with clarity. We’re asking for too much indoctrination and post-less thought if we enter the realm of meta-rational antimony.

Rather than dissect origins of Indo-European or Afro-Asiatic linguistics in the conceptualization of symbolic learning, it is important to ask why. Though why is also endless, we can ask what for?. What is epistemology for? What are archetypes for? What is hermeneutics for? What is phenomenology for? Many have made a career out of answering such questions, delicately and rambunctiously fitting and slamming divergent explanans into the tedious and eloquent activities of every day. For our epistemological ratiocination, we’ll simply and briefly state the who and what.

Epistemology is the word of knowledge, or the original attempt at developing a mentality of scientific thoroughness. While the term was amalgamated in the 18th century, the need or innate drive and potentiality for communicable truth, belief and justification overwhelmed conversations in ancient Greece. To assume this age as the origin for such discourse neglects the internality-externality inherent in experiencing and reintroducing through transference, of which must have developed in Egyptian, Near Eastern, and Far Eastern cultures and traditional mythical structures hundreds and thousands of years prior. Once a challenge to purely external mind-before-matter functionality occurred – due to both empirically-deduced and rationally-induced causation in human micro-evolution – all subsequent cultural regeneration induced the act of knowing, taking a purely mental endeavor into the realm of praxis.

From such a point emerged a raison d’etre within the thinker’s existenz. Knowing became telos itself, as demonstrated by a personal interpretation of Bey’s ordination, and diverged across many noospheric landscapes. Taking on Babylonian and Roman conquests, Indian and Persian spiritual Empire, disease and seafaring revenge in middle European voyage, and rooted industrial production during the dominance of Western technical allegiance, each ancient and relative epoch clearly influenced the social and individual expectation of fact and fiction via episteme, offering scaffolding and proximation within singular spacetime. Much of the conserved knowledge isn’t useful or vital to a continued conjectural status, but the information intended survival over declarative suppositions. Yet, we’ve taken the inertially-framed verbal spats further than necessary, with their manipulative outcomes usurping clever and witty natural and mental principles. The archetypes are time-tested beyond personal actualities and our minds have been made up for us.

Meaning in Hermeneutic Phenomenology

Phenomena is that which appears, is observable, or is conscious.

Hermeneutics is the messenger, translator or interpreter.

Noema is associated intentionally as the ideal act.

Noesis is associated purposefully as the real act.

During this spatiotemporal process of uncontrollable mental configuration, representational confluence – or conceptual convergence if preferred – of a continual collective thought process was actually wrought with inter-subjective retrieval. Once entered into the person’s sensory-perceptive systems – albeit those with multitudinally-magnified and conserved morphology – experiences of personal and social pliability contextually altered inert symbolism conceptually and neuroanatomically. In this instance, the course of archetypal knowledge developing through phenomena and epi-phenomena became subject to a knowledge underdetermined unless hermeneutically-dissected. Hence we develop such new ideas as those filtered throughout above (existenz, telos…), Husserl’s noema and noesis, and strains of intentionality, Bentham, ontology and a varied argument on the nature of being, of which is the easiest to encounter throughout traditional Western, scholastic philosophy and education. The micro-evolution of human thought crescendoed during the Enlightenment and Victorian eras, only to become materialistically rehearsed in the industrial, technological, information and beta movements we use to interpretatively alienate Now.

It no longer takes a discussion of philosophy to uncover a meaningful epistemological citation for how anarchy can awaken a dreamer’s caustic mirage of utopia. To know, believe, trust or justify in a newly formed conscious-less space takes understanding how much of each comes from thoughtless, feel-fueled self-exposition. One cannot trust another’s symbolism, much less believe archaic, archetypal congruency as a methodology for getting through a day, when the hierarchical nature of personal interactions – much less the strenuous path from birth to cognitive awareness and on to vision-logic – is distantly discordant. We’re so unattached to this level of communicative lexicon as common talk, it’s become irrelevant to minute renderings of anarchic magic and the meta-rationality of achieving rebellion, revolution or reintegrative teleological consideration. One can talk the talk, but walking tends to develop first.

Why there is no anarchy in practice beyond the retro-fitted synonyms of a neoteric industrial and sustainable economy is simply because the comfort level of lifestyle and learning is tangential. There is no talk of hierarchical denigration cast with exploitative memetic for fear of self-deluded grandeur. We cannot delineate between noema and noesis because we simply don’t understand the difference between purpose and intention. Both seek the future rather than letting the experience come to us. Our dilemma in developing a cultural awareness of the need for anarchy and liberated consciousness still lies in the simple pleasures of avoiding pain and loss physically and mentally. We will interpret and observe, standing at a distance while reading a book before we include a potential for being subjective and phenomenal selves. ‘Look from one side to the other but never submit yourself to slur’, as the koan and kudos go.

Next: Teaching Sexual Awareness and Using Pleasure Liberation

Seagull and the Sullen Will

I’ve lost my will. The world has crushed me. People have abandoned truth. I’m soon to abandon truth because it makes no difference to know it. How defeated I feel! To be silent is…but it wasn’t supposed to occur until older ages. I’m too young for this separation from the grandeur of life, of people’s actions, passions, events and desires. I see it in all walks of life, and those walks I don’t see are already where I’m headed.

The intensity I was born and raised with still lingers and surmounts so often, but in forms that hurt the closest to me. I haven’t yet found a channel to express such brutality and if the sight is lost, I may continue to denigrate the beauty of said closeness.

I can no longer join a group unless it is in the name of generativity. I was told I can’t relax and must always be doing something. Something becomes neurotic. It becomes addiction and repetition if there is not creation or upkeep involved in the action. It stresses me out to not have order in my life so that I may see the chaos around. If I am disordered personally I cannot accept chasmic significance in a transcendental foray.

I watched a seagull die today. I was walking on the beach with the dogs and in the distance were two seagulls standing in the sand. The more animalistic of the two ran over, missing the larger one which had taken to the air, but able to catch the smaller one, who never really got off the ground. I wasn’t sure if it was already damaged, but the animal took care of any final moments. I sprinted about 50 yards to get to the bird, as the dogs were a little uncertain about the situation, slowly going away from the avian. As I got there I saw the struggle to survive. A broken leg, wings which would not lift the body, and a nodding head that would occasionally signal death by ceasing movement. I can’t say if it was beautiful, but I hadn’t experienced a natural death in years. I made the dogs watch. It was so close to a sign of personal loss. I’m lost.

I realized why I take down these moments and feelings. There is little more spiritual than what I offer myself here. I am selfish to think what I compose can be sold or published for more eyes to see. I hinged a reality on this very internal process, hoping to use myself as a career. I refuse to let that happen and can’t really say when I can release all this dangerous gorgeousness. It won’t make life easier or affluent and will truly alienate the depth of my freedom. I want too badly for people to hear and feel this deep passionate emotion, just as they do a crafted piece of tonality from a talented musician.

I don’t tell a story as a writer should. I live moments and write down observations and feelings. I don’t have themes behind the words, don’t have images to drive imagination, and aren’t forcing anything through repetition. I’m pure of heart and effort but fight the loneliness and desperation of absent viewers. I know rI’m cared about but it’s never human. The sun shines for me when I’m most genuinely sad and warms internal organs, not a body without organs.

I want to wail with the ones who wail, but then it won’t be desertion. It will be revolution, marching toward the finish line of justice, love, liberty, revenge, or annihilation. The sound of heartache is convoluted by purpose and planning what must come next; boots and sandals walking side by side to mend the melting pot that is leaking alchemy’s gold falsity. There is pretense in epic proportion when the piece by piece is subtler than integrative factions of forever. And now I have begun to fight and leave my sullen grace behind. The shift is so quick and vital with unconsciousness. The beat drives from within and only increases so slightly to take my suffering away. I have to control it though doing so is against my longing for silence and my loss of free will.

Creeping into the verbiage is better than writing about a creepy character destined to exonerate blackness and contempt into the shadows of animate souls. I can see the decrepit farce of a mortal figure, gray skin, no facial hair, pointed teeth, and scars from encounters with every frightful observer. As immediately as the fearsome phantasm forms, a precarious monster sings with sweet voice. She only appears intimidating on surface, but underneath the layers of grotesqueness is a dear friend, one that will unconditionally love hatred and superficiality. She understands what is missing and when an amount of time won’t exist to prevent a comfortable life. The pattern is not starting over, it’s disappearing. And it’s ok.

Just be patient and calm. A twitch travels through my nerves, wanting to force my hand toward a different parable. I cannot hear what they have to say. I care less for the line they travel, as my flight died with the seagull. I can be situated in seat, hardened to the vision that vacuums itself into a tube of tangles. It is ok to be here, doing this, and not caring for anyone other than me. Me is better than I. Me is better than you. Me is what this is. Me is love.

And when no one is here to express a mutual love, self love is never enough. The absence it what causes the hysteria behind insecurity. Some have a grasp on what it means to live and die alone, while others look into your eyes and beg for forgiveness and salvation. Please save me! is what they want to scream into your eyes. I can’t hear you when I look over you. I listen to what she asks and not how I intervene on what she has done to you. It is a cosmic precedent that supersedes even her. And she is special.