Thursday 27 May 2010
Sunday 23 May 2010
if you've got a boyfriend
well kiss him
if you have a girlfriend
well kiss her
she needs it she wants
he needs it gotta have it
just like i need it
i want to gotta have it
summer's just beginning baby
i might learn to hate you lady
one week and you're acting crazy
i might have to hate you baby
this ain't what i thought it would be;
the saddest summer ever
well if you've got some children
well just love 'em
if you've got a baby
just hold him
because they need it, they want
they need it, gotta have it
how important punctuation is.
full stop, and the summer is sad (semi-colon and you thought the summer was sad, but it isn't)
well kiss him
if you have a girlfriend
well kiss her
she needs it she wants
he needs it gotta have it
just like i need it
i want to gotta have it
summer's just beginning baby
i might learn to hate you lady
one week and you're acting crazy
i might have to hate you baby
this ain't what i thought it would be;
the saddest summer ever
well if you've got some children
well just love 'em
if you've got a baby
just hold him
because they need it, they want
they need it, gotta have it
how important punctuation is.
full stop, and the summer is sad (semi-colon and you thought the summer was sad, but it isn't)
Thursday 20 May 2010
This marks the place where:
There used to be a post that made Chess think I had 'done it' with mr. franklin... as if I could hve kept that to myself for this long?!
AND; a really horrible poem that I wrote at the tender age of 15... I blame you, Chris Stone.
Studland Golf Course - April 2008
Car grinds… no, purrs, to a halt
And I am dreaming of a place more than this
More than here.
But you take my hand and we amble down
To where the dying red-orange sunlight
- Like God’s last fiery breath on this marked day -
Swamps the fields and coastlines
That are our temporary kingdom.
You, and this, and all of it -
It maybe stops me in time, for a second or two,
Holds my heat beat hostage, for a instant.
So in this moment we leave our legacy,
“Here is enough”
In the sharp edged blades of grass and the whisper of the wind,
The relentless silhouette of grimy concrete industry
Far in the distance.
Yes.
Here i embedded a piece of my heart.
AND; a really horrible poem that I wrote at the tender age of 15... I blame you, Chris Stone.
Studland Golf Course - April 2008
Car grinds… no, purrs, to a halt
And I am dreaming of a place more than this
More than here.
But you take my hand and we amble down
To where the dying red-orange sunlight
- Like God’s last fiery breath on this marked day -
Swamps the fields and coastlines
That are our temporary kingdom.
You, and this, and all of it -
It maybe stops me in time, for a second or two,
Holds my heat beat hostage, for a instant.
So in this moment we leave our legacy,
“Here is enough”
In the sharp edged blades of grass and the whisper of the wind,
The relentless silhouette of grimy concrete industry
Far in the distance.
Yes.
Here i embedded a piece of my heart.
Thursday 13 May 2010
what did you put on the end of your last text to him?! this matter more than i can say.
it matter monstrously much and it is a FEELING. reason? what is that?
this i need to know. this i will pursue to the death, to the end, because if you don't even have that driving then what is it all for?
in the dazzling presence of the this striking sick feeling spreading across my chest, none of it matters... determinism? free will?
I NEED MY FAITH BACK.
"i want to believe that this is an illusion".... but my faith in nihlism as a form of life has vanished.
this is so painfully true.
truer than i ever wanted to admit but always probably true, I LIKE NAUSEA. I want this inertia, this freedom from responsibly, because the alternative bites.
hypocrite.
banging on like John Kennedy about responsibilities, not rights, banging on like Mr.Cameron...
Max Stirner was right, wasn't he? WASN'T HE?
I am the center of my god damned universe. Isolation. With freedom comes loneliness.
And so to return to the beginning....
Do we truly have the capacity to see through it? does anyone? or do we just develop our own perception more and more accurately, more and more in depth until we have twisted the 'facts' to fit it so beautifully that it seems we know everything.
We know nothing. Truly, this is all that i can be sure of.
When i think about language, i can only thing of how devoid of meaning it all is....
"However, the empiricist standpoint is not without it's failings, as even Wittgenstein himself recognised in his transition from Picture Theory to Game Theory. In fact, it can be said that the empiricist tradition utterly neglects the vital element of human subjectivity and diversity when considering the meaning of language; the very medium through which the human nature that he ignores manifests and expresses itself. In his later work, 'Philosophical Investigations', Wittgenstein recognised his earlier mistake; that the issue with logical analysis is that it demands too great a level of precision in the definition of words. In colloquial speech, and indeed ordinary language, an expression cannot be fixed referentially to one singular item in the world; it is subject to context, culture, and -crucially - vaugeness....."
Enough. And i go on describe Game Theory, and how it is far better suited to understanding the nature of human expression, which, funnily enough, rather reflects their nature.
What I don't do is take such statements to their logical conclusion; namely, that human beings in their utter inability to comprhend, or often even seek, truth, use their language merely to communicate their own perecptions, already filtered through personal bias, untill there is no such thing as a 'true sentence', and hence, even a catalouge of every sentence ever spoken would not ever constitute an accurate or substantial representation of the world as a whole.
Where am i going with this?
To the apophatic tradition, whose implications I must bravely explore, and attempt to examine with a naked eye.
'God' at least in my understanding, must equate to truth, to the absolute. Pure knowledge, in some form.
I have decided, somewhat unwillingly, that the only viable way to speak of such a character is to NOT speak of him/it/ /God at all. And why is that? Because nothing in human reason, and therefore human language (?) is capable of speaking of transcendence, or the universal. So that all there is left for us to say is....
"God is not evil. Nor he is good (for to describe him as 'good' limits his behavior to human boundaries.... even to speak of 'behaviour'... you get the picture!)"
So here is my question:
If we cannot speak of God, because of all these limitations, how can we ever hope to speak of truth?
it matter monstrously much and it is a FEELING. reason? what is that?
this i need to know. this i will pursue to the death, to the end, because if you don't even have that driving then what is it all for?
in the dazzling presence of the this striking sick feeling spreading across my chest, none of it matters... determinism? free will?
I NEED MY FAITH BACK.
"i want to believe that this is an illusion".... but my faith in nihlism as a form of life has vanished.
this is so painfully true.
truer than i ever wanted to admit but always probably true, I LIKE NAUSEA. I want this inertia, this freedom from responsibly, because the alternative bites.
hypocrite.
banging on like John Kennedy about responsibilities, not rights, banging on like Mr.Cameron...
"And I want to help try and build a more responsible society here in Britain. One where we don't just ask what are my entitlements, but what are my responsibilities.
"One where we don't ask what am I just owed, but more what can I give.
(be honest won't you? isn't that why you hate him? you know that he lies too. none of us WANT that.)
"ask not what you might do for this world (for it doesn't exist), but what this world might offer to you"Max Stirner was right, wasn't he? WASN'T HE?
I am the center of my god damned universe. Isolation. With freedom comes loneliness.
And so to return to the beginning....
Do we truly have the capacity to see through it? does anyone? or do we just develop our own perception more and more accurately, more and more in depth until we have twisted the 'facts' to fit it so beautifully that it seems we know everything.
We know nothing. Truly, this is all that i can be sure of.
When i think about language, i can only thing of how devoid of meaning it all is....
"However, the empiricist standpoint is not without it's failings, as even Wittgenstein himself recognised in his transition from Picture Theory to Game Theory. In fact, it can be said that the empiricist tradition utterly neglects the vital element of human subjectivity and diversity when considering the meaning of language; the very medium through which the human nature that he ignores manifests and expresses itself. In his later work, 'Philosophical Investigations', Wittgenstein recognised his earlier mistake; that the issue with logical analysis is that it demands too great a level of precision in the definition of words. In colloquial speech, and indeed ordinary language, an expression cannot be fixed referentially to one singular item in the world; it is subject to context, culture, and -crucially - vaugeness....."
Enough. And i go on describe Game Theory, and how it is far better suited to understanding the nature of human expression, which, funnily enough, rather reflects their nature.
What I don't do is take such statements to their logical conclusion; namely, that human beings in their utter inability to comprhend, or often even seek, truth, use their language merely to communicate their own perecptions, already filtered through personal bias, untill there is no such thing as a 'true sentence', and hence, even a catalouge of every sentence ever spoken would not ever constitute an accurate or substantial representation of the world as a whole.
Where am i going with this?
To the apophatic tradition, whose implications I must bravely explore, and attempt to examine with a naked eye.
'God' at least in my understanding, must equate to truth, to the absolute. Pure knowledge, in some form.
I have decided, somewhat unwillingly, that the only viable way to speak of such a character is to NOT speak of him/it/ /God at all. And why is that? Because nothing in human reason, and therefore human language (?) is capable of speaking of transcendence, or the universal. So that all there is left for us to say is....
"God is not evil. Nor he is good (for to describe him as 'good' limits his behavior to human boundaries.... even to speak of 'behaviour'... you get the picture!)"
So here is my question:
If we cannot speak of God, because of all these limitations, how can we ever hope to speak of truth?
Tuesday 11 May 2010
Sartre, i love you, but you're bringing me down
I arrived back on shore. Safe and sound, just as i knew i would (i have been told be a wise woman that my predictions about my life are unusually accurate)
....and it was beautiful and breath-taking and shocking and exhilarating and my GOD i could SEE the huge and dominating arch of blue sky, magenta bursts of petals beginning to drift onto paths, sunlight which flushes their faces peachy-orange and birds wittering in the trees and the sea. Most of all the sea, which can makes you think all of your thoughts and then swallows them up in it's great mass of relentlessly moving salty self. Jack thought my thoughts, and we observed how faced with such majesty and power, you would not be compelled to write a single thing.
(No wonder the south coast has produced so relatively few artists or philosophers of note.)
I am very much in love with the planet, and it's inhabitants who are, it seems increasingly to me, inextricably bound up with one another in some unstoppable cycle or chain whereby all the icons that we throw up are necessarily a product of us all. I EMpathise more than ever before just now, and hence feel my profound responsibilities as a citizen of the world more acutely than ever before.
to be, to feel, to love, to learn, to KNOW, to discover.
look outward. peel your eyes away from your navel, engaging though it may be, take a deep breath and breathe in the world.
perception, illusion, transient, ephemeral, determined, indifferent.... or otherwise!... these characteristics of existence have no bearing upon our actual experience of it and hence, we can embrace it, or live permanently in a cocoon of claustrophobic inertia.
....and it was beautiful and breath-taking and shocking and exhilarating and my GOD i could SEE the huge and dominating arch of blue sky, magenta bursts of petals beginning to drift onto paths, sunlight which flushes their faces peachy-orange and birds wittering in the trees and the sea. Most of all the sea, which can makes you think all of your thoughts and then swallows them up in it's great mass of relentlessly moving salty self. Jack thought my thoughts, and we observed how faced with such majesty and power, you would not be compelled to write a single thing.
(No wonder the south coast has produced so relatively few artists or philosophers of note.)
I am very much in love with the planet, and it's inhabitants who are, it seems increasingly to me, inextricably bound up with one another in some unstoppable cycle or chain whereby all the icons that we throw up are necessarily a product of us all. I EMpathise more than ever before just now, and hence feel my profound responsibilities as a citizen of the world more acutely than ever before.
to be, to feel, to love, to learn, to KNOW, to discover.
look outward. peel your eyes away from your navel, engaging though it may be, take a deep breath and breathe in the world.
perception, illusion, transient, ephemeral, determined, indifferent.... or otherwise!... these characteristics of existence have no bearing upon our actual experience of it and hence, we can embrace it, or live permanently in a cocoon of claustrophobic inertia.
Sunday 9 May 2010
nausea
i wonder if anybody else in the world perpetually feels as though they want to go home, to a place that they have yet to discover?
earlier this week, i returned to the world as i perceive it, and embraced everything with open arms...
...and shortly afterward remembered why i prefer to exist in the theoretical world of mind: being in this world leaves me lost at sea, and sea-sick.
i have replaced the feeling of paralysed inertia with one of fear and loathing (in las vegas...aha. how original. get me.)
problem. i either struggle with feeling that i am so uncertain of reality that i might as well revert to nihilism, or accept reality and so acutely feel it's pain that i want to die. not MY pain, note. IT'S pain.
£230 of waste each and every day from one small shop out of hundreds of millions. elderly BNP candidates who are driven by fear to hate and ignorance. greed. consumerism. materialism. fiery fucking lakes of burning sulphur and families who are scared and people who are lonely and a hostile world which makes half of us crazy.
yes there is beauty and goodness. and in a few days i will have re-discovered it and will cherish it again. this i can promise. but for now... if you look for me, i'll be trying to navigate my way back to shore, across the waves of bubbling lava.
earlier this week, i returned to the world as i perceive it, and embraced everything with open arms...
...and shortly afterward remembered why i prefer to exist in the theoretical world of mind: being in this world leaves me lost at sea, and sea-sick.
i have replaced the feeling of paralysed inertia with one of fear and loathing (in las vegas...aha. how original. get me.)
problem. i either struggle with feeling that i am so uncertain of reality that i might as well revert to nihilism, or accept reality and so acutely feel it's pain that i want to die. not MY pain, note. IT'S pain.
£230 of waste each and every day from one small shop out of hundreds of millions. elderly BNP candidates who are driven by fear to hate and ignorance. greed. consumerism. materialism. fiery fucking lakes of burning sulphur and families who are scared and people who are lonely and a hostile world which makes half of us crazy.
yes there is beauty and goodness. and in a few days i will have re-discovered it and will cherish it again. this i can promise. but for now... if you look for me, i'll be trying to navigate my way back to shore, across the waves of bubbling lava.
Tuesday 4 May 2010
fragmented shadows
aren't PEOPLE just so frustrating??
it comes back to this epistemology thing (god, am i obsessed with it? according to Jack it is my area of expertise! amusing considering how little i... gah... danger of repeating self! see previous post!!)
anyway.
to presume to know, and subsequently judge on the basis of this supposed 'knowledge', any single other human being is quite simply preposterous. at the VERY BEST one can hope to form judgments of their own flimsy, meager perception of another person... but it is a flimsy perception indeed, some fragmented shadow of the true individual, coloured by one's own bias and rendered sickly and thin by miscommunication, secrets, and the monumental hinderence of language.
how funny that we suppose language is a tool... language is nothing but our frankly lousy attempt to give pure thought some outward expression. why shouldn't we communicate through art? or something. so many people find it more effective.... that is, if we must communicate at all!
..................i really think that to know somebody else is a massive undertaking. if we call 'knowledge' a 'true, justified belief', then all that we understand to 'be' a particular person must be absolutely correct, as though we could witness all of their traits, responses and the general path of their thoughts in one instance.
'my name is writ in water'...
...on the wide stone steps of Rome, said John Keats. writ in water, lasting only a few moments before it disappears forever. i have heard this quoted with irony, but perhaps it holds more truth than we know (even despite the fact that he found posterity through his poetry...)
the person attached to the name is most likely lost to the world upon the instance of death, regardless of that which they might leave behind. for although we impose upon them, and their work, our interpretation, our recollections of their existence, this is just that; OUR OWN device. just as in life they cannot be truly known to us, nor can they after death. what is more, by this time they have left the world, and with it taken their essence, leaving nothing but the lies and falsehoods we wistfully tell about them.
written in water, are all of our names.
it comes back to this epistemology thing (god, am i obsessed with it? according to Jack it is my area of expertise! amusing considering how little i... gah... danger of repeating self! see previous post!!)
anyway.
to presume to know, and subsequently judge on the basis of this supposed 'knowledge', any single other human being is quite simply preposterous. at the VERY BEST one can hope to form judgments of their own flimsy, meager perception of another person... but it is a flimsy perception indeed, some fragmented shadow of the true individual, coloured by one's own bias and rendered sickly and thin by miscommunication, secrets, and the monumental hinderence of language.
how funny that we suppose language is a tool... language is nothing but our frankly lousy attempt to give pure thought some outward expression. why shouldn't we communicate through art? or something. so many people find it more effective.... that is, if we must communicate at all!
..................i really think that to know somebody else is a massive undertaking. if we call 'knowledge' a 'true, justified belief', then all that we understand to 'be' a particular person must be absolutely correct, as though we could witness all of their traits, responses and the general path of their thoughts in one instance.
'my name is writ in water'...
...on the wide stone steps of Rome, said John Keats. writ in water, lasting only a few moments before it disappears forever. i have heard this quoted with irony, but perhaps it holds more truth than we know (even despite the fact that he found posterity through his poetry...)
the person attached to the name is most likely lost to the world upon the instance of death, regardless of that which they might leave behind. for although we impose upon them, and their work, our interpretation, our recollections of their existence, this is just that; OUR OWN device. just as in life they cannot be truly known to us, nor can they after death. what is more, by this time they have left the world, and with it taken their essence, leaving nothing but the lies and falsehoods we wistfully tell about them.
written in water, are all of our names.
feral children into the wild
i wish i weren't so tragic.
i wish i actually BELIEVED what i believe... i wish i could make compatible emotions with rational thought...
what are these emotions? what are they for? why do i despise the idea of having them artificially controlled, or worse still, eradicated altogether?
WHAT PURPOSE DO YOU SERVE? and why does this matter?
Why did Socrates even feel the need to declare that he knew nothing at all? of course, isn't it blindly obvious that the more possibilities we discover, the less certain we will be...
and to come full circle.
all that i am certain of is these damned emotions that i feel. surely that's all we can ever be certain of, they're innate and are probably the essence of the 'self', the 'I', that we speak of when we speak at all about what can be known... for surely, the 'I' cannot refer to rational thoughts, observations or theories, which are so transient, inconsistent, often false. we sometimes call our emotions false, but to do so is chimerical. they might be falsely interpreted but are never just FALSE. false is the things we claim to 'know'.
so.
knowing nothing, being aware that most likely the entire world is entirely indifferent to my existence, to where can i venture from here? how to live? TO live?
have i examined my life, yet, enough that it is worth living? because, damn it, i just feel as though the more it's examined, the more it's utter futility emerges.
funnily enough, i feel alive only when i am really living i.e experiencing those things which i profess to doubt.................
(tentatively, i might go so far as to say i can be profoundly happy when 'living')
i saw some seagulls today, flying across a blossom tree... the two images seemed incommensurate, but it was really quite beautiful. frothy bursts of pink, slashed with bright white stark lines.
i love birds. don't we all? i think that's what Hitchcock was trying to say in his film... or at least, it's my interpretation of what he was trying to say. it's out of jealousy that we trap them in cages, because they are so free, so vivid, and serene and.... well traveled!!! their extraordinary perspective is something we might benefit from
(NIMBY would surely cease to be a problem? when it stares us right between the eyeballs, we are apparently far more willing to confront it. seeing is believing.)
i have never noticed this before, but all of my notebooks and things are covered with birds (and flowers).... something in me is fond of the wild. i HAVE noticed that i am happiest roaming through the thickets or ambling around in the sand and sea... i could have been a gypsy. i am madly jealous of the girl in 'Gone to Earth', and furious that she should be corrupted.
feral.
that is what my children will be. that is what we all should be.
('should'. ahahahha.)
i wish i actually BELIEVED what i believe... i wish i could make compatible emotions with rational thought...
what are these emotions? what are they for? why do i despise the idea of having them artificially controlled, or worse still, eradicated altogether?
WHAT PURPOSE DO YOU SERVE? and why does this matter?
Why did Socrates even feel the need to declare that he knew nothing at all? of course, isn't it blindly obvious that the more possibilities we discover, the less certain we will be...
and to come full circle.
all that i am certain of is these damned emotions that i feel. surely that's all we can ever be certain of, they're innate and are probably the essence of the 'self', the 'I', that we speak of when we speak at all about what can be known... for surely, the 'I' cannot refer to rational thoughts, observations or theories, which are so transient, inconsistent, often false. we sometimes call our emotions false, but to do so is chimerical. they might be falsely interpreted but are never just FALSE. false is the things we claim to 'know'.
so.
knowing nothing, being aware that most likely the entire world is entirely indifferent to my existence, to where can i venture from here? how to live? TO live?
have i examined my life, yet, enough that it is worth living? because, damn it, i just feel as though the more it's examined, the more it's utter futility emerges.
funnily enough, i feel alive only when i am really living i.e experiencing those things which i profess to doubt.................
(tentatively, i might go so far as to say i can be profoundly happy when 'living')
i saw some seagulls today, flying across a blossom tree... the two images seemed incommensurate, but it was really quite beautiful. frothy bursts of pink, slashed with bright white stark lines.
i love birds. don't we all? i think that's what Hitchcock was trying to say in his film... or at least, it's my interpretation of what he was trying to say. it's out of jealousy that we trap them in cages, because they are so free, so vivid, and serene and.... well traveled!!! their extraordinary perspective is something we might benefit from
(NIMBY would surely cease to be a problem? when it stares us right between the eyeballs, we are apparently far more willing to confront it. seeing is believing.)
i have never noticed this before, but all of my notebooks and things are covered with birds (and flowers).... something in me is fond of the wild. i HAVE noticed that i am happiest roaming through the thickets or ambling around in the sand and sea... i could have been a gypsy. i am madly jealous of the girl in 'Gone to Earth', and furious that she should be corrupted.
feral.
that is what my children will be. that is what we all should be.
('should'. ahahahha.)
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