I don't want the trinkets of living.
I don't want tokens of anything, give me the thing, abstract as it may be I WILL FEEL IT.
I need no strangers to know my face.
No. I need strangers to be curious about my anonymity, and I theirs.
I don't want any glib, mercurial adoration.
I need my soul to weave strands into others, to know that my short hard time here is shared in love and loathing and laughter and loss and lonesome late nights walking in the sunrise.
I buy postcards and write "in me are the secrets to make you happier. AP" on them. I leave those in the town halls and the newsagents of the cities I frequent. I want to hope a stranger will find it and understand all the things I don't mean it to be and some of the things I mean it to be. I want one stranger to discard it, I want another to look around, worried as though they have been caught with something saucy before stowing it, and the glee it brings them, away, until they are home to take both out and know the postcard's message's meaninglessness is a meaning. and there, in time and distance and sentiment we, that saucy stranger and I will touch.
I'm with you in these wantings. You and I. Over time we will fade but in these wantings, like a den from childhood we are together, complicit, giddy.
Buy your car,house,bratnurseryhygieneholidayshoppingtv. Have your trinkets, despisable-all of them, Grotesque to me.
I want the living behind them.
Friday, 1 June 2012
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
Panglossian nonsense
One thing that strikes me as alarming is how scared others become when faced with earnestness and sincerity. You may think this the beginning to an homage to oscar wilde. it is not. he needs no homage from me, and fond as I am of Mr. Wilde, his skewed and obtuse cynicism is exactly the thing that shocks me.
I recall as a child the bewilderment i felt when i understood that people said things they didn't mean. Not lying, I understood that innately, lying is a story telling or hypnosis in which the liar and the lie-ee both consent to bend reality. But that's another thought for another time. No, the thing that shocked me was how people who cared about a thing would forsake it when challenged by their peers, or how people would flash the hallmarks of sincerity or fondness for things and people they were indifferent to. I say i was bewildered, in truth I never stopped being. Only I learned to recognise the disingenuousness. It's still alien to me and, as far as I can see, a waste of a perfectly good opportunity to declare the things you love or even better yet to get more things in your life to love.
All for now.
I.Q.L.
I recall as a child the bewilderment i felt when i understood that people said things they didn't mean. Not lying, I understood that innately, lying is a story telling or hypnosis in which the liar and the lie-ee both consent to bend reality. But that's another thought for another time. No, the thing that shocked me was how people who cared about a thing would forsake it when challenged by their peers, or how people would flash the hallmarks of sincerity or fondness for things and people they were indifferent to. I say i was bewildered, in truth I never stopped being. Only I learned to recognise the disingenuousness. It's still alien to me and, as far as I can see, a waste of a perfectly good opportunity to declare the things you love or even better yet to get more things in your life to love.
All for now.
I.Q.L.
A cruel but clever friend once invited me to think about how often the subject of my sentence is me, or more specifically "I". It was a friend who knew me well enough to sting me with that cutting little jibe and that jibe came in the midst of one of my anecdotes about my silly, meaningful accidental-adventures.
On the subject of those anecdotes: I recentley abandoned my life and responsibilities to fulfil a promise to a friend. So much of my experience is tied up with fulfilling promises, or so it seems to me. Not a complaint, in fact a point of pride in my life. That is a world of half-hearted attempts from people to fulfil the characters they promised me, and vicariously the selves they promised they would be.
ANYWAY I left. and in leaving i stumbled over the rock of an idea so enormous it promises to sink or crush me. The only thing I live for is the time with the people I love. With nothing else in my life to strive for I should be free. But somehow, this childish epiphany is pressing down on me. I've tried to make the people that this realisation relate to realise they are in fact my reasons for being but more particularly my reasons for being here. They mostly dismissed me as a niave romantic chump. But still I'm haunted. But for my selected family, the people I bear my dreary little soul to I am nothing but a charged particle in the battery of the vibrator of life.
On the subject of those anecdotes: I recentley abandoned my life and responsibilities to fulfil a promise to a friend. So much of my experience is tied up with fulfilling promises, or so it seems to me. Not a complaint, in fact a point of pride in my life. That is a world of half-hearted attempts from people to fulfil the characters they promised me, and vicariously the selves they promised they would be.
ANYWAY I left. and in leaving i stumbled over the rock of an idea so enormous it promises to sink or crush me. The only thing I live for is the time with the people I love. With nothing else in my life to strive for I should be free. But somehow, this childish epiphany is pressing down on me. I've tried to make the people that this realisation relate to realise they are in fact my reasons for being but more particularly my reasons for being here. They mostly dismissed me as a niave romantic chump. But still I'm haunted. But for my selected family, the people I bear my dreary little soul to I am nothing but a charged particle in the battery of the vibrator of life.
Reasons to stay solvent
Regarding the title of this blog: in short, there are none.
Rules, by their definition, are to be followed when the system they are part of is valued by the participants. That is, the people who make up that system. Let's go from the general to the specific. When I play a hypothetical game the hypothetical rules define the hypothetical parameters of the hypothetical game. Therefore, the only way to hypothetically win is to actually play by the rules. If the game is unwinable then the rules are meaningless.
One of the problems with agreeing with my assertion about the value of rule, is that you have to recognise everything, I mean, everything, is a construct. If you like, it's a card game, one which people have created, and imposed rules on in order to make winners and losers. "AHHHH HA!" I hear you say "What about life itself?" I hear you go on to retort loudly. Well, my clever, if not slightly rude observer. I say Life is the biggest rigged deck of them all. No one wins. All of those blissful moments fleet. All of your loved ones die. And just as bad, you get kicked out at the end, with no reward-and no, there isn't a heaven, so don't let's pretend. The closest to heaven we will get, that is you, and I, is the silent, unconscious bliss and the mossy kiss of the hard, damp, ground. So enough of that, back to rules. Rules, be they the tacit handcuff-like rules of society or the express slippery, interpretable rules of the laws of each land (and sometimes oceans and skies), are there to be followed only when they serve you, and by extension everyone they govern.
Now with that in mind, if you are not protected from knife-wielding young men and women who are not bound by the rules of the land then there are only two rational things to do, in my view. The first and easiest is to eschew the knife-wielding-prohibiting rules and start wielding and knifing to your health's and sanity's content. The second option, is to attempt to enforce and enable the enforcement of the rules until such time as they once again serve you (there is a third Easter-egg-like option, which is to take power to become a rule enforcer [or better yet, a rule-maker] to ensure that the rules in place suit and adhere to your high interpretation and standard. But and until the day everyone is a reasonable and humane rule enforcer {or maker} I do not wish to uncover, crack open and gobble up that chocolate nightmare).
Now, those are two trains of thought which collide and birth out one screaming, faecal, doomed-to-death realisation. I cannot win this game of vying for 'success'. Especially when the 'success-awarders', centuries before my birth, dealt me a pair of threes.
That is, I was born poor, to a loving family who, to a woman each, have worked very hard for the entirety of their short grim lives. In exchange for their hard work they each were awarded the meagrest of happinesses and the worst of cancers, hungers, diabetes, and cruelly fearful lives. And, subject to a very surprising twist of fate that loving family will die the way they were forced to live. I understand that. I despise it, this fate-like construct, but I know its truth and the earnest it breeds it people. However, knowing it and accepting it are no relations. I tried to clever my way out of that life, with dreams of pulling my innocent earnest family with me like brothers tied to bicycles.
I made a watered-down Faustian pact.
"I will", I promised, "pay you, in four years' time, over double the monies you will give me". I, in earnest, took silver and gold from the poisoned coin-purse of a smiling money-lender-gone-legit .
With those free-monies I gorged myself. I fatted myself at a trough. A trough which did nothing to sate my hunger. These are all flowers of the truth. I paid to study and gambled a risk. The risk being that my two threes might, just and only just, trump a hand of no pairs. In my view the threes weren't the only thing in my hand but the Ace I held, and the queen I possessed, on the rules of the game I had chosen to play, had no value.
Now cruel-kind Lucifer had remembered our deal.
Says Lucifer: "How now fair 6, oh oh, silly me, deuce threes. How have you made hay of my gold?"
Says Isabell: "I, Dark prince? I've made sunny fare and eaten your gold but shat no hay"
Says Lucifer: "Well, cards are not fun for all. But now, having eaten my gold I've come to cut it out of your flesh."
Says Isabell: "Oh folly king. You may cut from dawn till dusk but eating gold grows no flesh, nor grows it crops or creates it land and eaten gold makes for no horses to ride."
Says Lucifer: "WHAT!? You've made nothing of the riches I gav-I mean lent(!) to you?. Well then, I shall feed you more gold until you pass out that within, and cruel sore I'll make your belly."
Says Isabell: "Oh no. I'm afraid, for your sake, that won't eat another bite. I'm full up and you have no power to open my mouth. It seems that all this gold, has made me rich of mind but in other ways is of no benefit to me and in feeding me, it has been nothing but loss to you. Will you feed me more?-I don't think so. And from frail bones you cut no flesh. Off you go to try and fool shallower pools than me with your dirt-poor gold."
Having studied I learned, and grew immeasurably within, I was already fairly tall without and in any event no monies, devil or otherwise would alter that. The garden of my soul is now better furnished for the journey into oblivion and on the way of the furnishing I've met so many soul-mates and co-conspirators.
But as I say, the money-lender-gone-legit is about to come knocking. Fool that it is didn't realise that my two threes doomed both he and I. I ain't getting out of poverty and accordingly he ain't getting no cash out of Povo unincorporated (a.k.a. yours truly).
Flowery rambling aside if I should struggle for the next thirteen or so years living the most humbling existence I will break my back (hopefully metaphorically), not unlike my mother (sadly, literally) trying to keep the cash-wolves from the rented door. Alternatively, I can throw up my arms, play the weak and indebted pauper that I half am and declare myself fiscally unstable. The consequences are that I will lose the hypothetical car and the hypothetical home I never bought. I will be forced for a year to give my meager earnings over to a trustee who will administer my affairs (hopefully only financial, as I would hate to have romantic affairs administered...) and thereafter I will be free of two albatrosses (both the debt and the game of poker). There are of course the six subsequent years of being in ...BAM BAM BAAAAD credit. But since I have no credit card, want know house and am far from fit to run a business I will be free.
I see a glimmering meadow. It's dappled with sunshine and filled with all of the opportunities afforded to a human mind. The meadow won't set out my hayfever and someone is playing Bach there, they're a little off but still better at it than me. I can go to the meadow, there's no fence, only a stream. The shortest of streams but instead of water it's filled with scorn and plenty of human poo. How will that meadow feel with residue of shit drying on my trousers?
Hmm better that sitting still for a life waiting for the cards to be shuffled and dealt again.
I.Q.L.
Rules, by their definition, are to be followed when the system they are part of is valued by the participants. That is, the people who make up that system. Let's go from the general to the specific. When I play a hypothetical game the hypothetical rules define the hypothetical parameters of the hypothetical game. Therefore, the only way to hypothetically win is to actually play by the rules. If the game is unwinable then the rules are meaningless.
One of the problems with agreeing with my assertion about the value of rule, is that you have to recognise everything, I mean, everything, is a construct. If you like, it's a card game, one which people have created, and imposed rules on in order to make winners and losers. "AHHHH HA!" I hear you say "What about life itself?" I hear you go on to retort loudly. Well, my clever, if not slightly rude observer. I say Life is the biggest rigged deck of them all. No one wins. All of those blissful moments fleet. All of your loved ones die. And just as bad, you get kicked out at the end, with no reward-and no, there isn't a heaven, so don't let's pretend. The closest to heaven we will get, that is you, and I, is the silent, unconscious bliss and the mossy kiss of the hard, damp, ground. So enough of that, back to rules. Rules, be they the tacit handcuff-like rules of society or the express slippery, interpretable rules of the laws of each land (and sometimes oceans and skies), are there to be followed only when they serve you, and by extension everyone they govern.
Now with that in mind, if you are not protected from knife-wielding young men and women who are not bound by the rules of the land then there are only two rational things to do, in my view. The first and easiest is to eschew the knife-wielding-prohibiting rules and start wielding and knifing to your health's and sanity's content. The second option, is to attempt to enforce and enable the enforcement of the rules until such time as they once again serve you (there is a third Easter-egg-like option, which is to take power to become a rule enforcer [or better yet, a rule-maker] to ensure that the rules in place suit and adhere to your high interpretation and standard. But and until the day everyone is a reasonable and humane rule enforcer {or maker} I do not wish to uncover, crack open and gobble up that chocolate nightmare).
Now, those are two trains of thought which collide and birth out one screaming, faecal, doomed-to-death realisation. I cannot win this game of vying for 'success'. Especially when the 'success-awarders', centuries before my birth, dealt me a pair of threes.
That is, I was born poor, to a loving family who, to a woman each, have worked very hard for the entirety of their short grim lives. In exchange for their hard work they each were awarded the meagrest of happinesses and the worst of cancers, hungers, diabetes, and cruelly fearful lives. And, subject to a very surprising twist of fate that loving family will die the way they were forced to live. I understand that. I despise it, this fate-like construct, but I know its truth and the earnest it breeds it people. However, knowing it and accepting it are no relations. I tried to clever my way out of that life, with dreams of pulling my innocent earnest family with me like brothers tied to bicycles.
I made a watered-down Faustian pact.
"I will", I promised, "pay you, in four years' time, over double the monies you will give me". I, in earnest, took silver and gold from the poisoned coin-purse of a smiling money-lender-gone-legit .
With those free-monies I gorged myself. I fatted myself at a trough. A trough which did nothing to sate my hunger. These are all flowers of the truth. I paid to study and gambled a risk. The risk being that my two threes might, just and only just, trump a hand of no pairs. In my view the threes weren't the only thing in my hand but the Ace I held, and the queen I possessed, on the rules of the game I had chosen to play, had no value.
Now cruel-kind Lucifer had remembered our deal.
Says Lucifer: "How now fair 6, oh oh, silly me, deuce threes. How have you made hay of my gold?"
Says Isabell: "I, Dark prince? I've made sunny fare and eaten your gold but shat no hay"
Says Lucifer: "Well, cards are not fun for all. But now, having eaten my gold I've come to cut it out of your flesh."
Says Isabell: "Oh folly king. You may cut from dawn till dusk but eating gold grows no flesh, nor grows it crops or creates it land and eaten gold makes for no horses to ride."
Says Lucifer: "WHAT!? You've made nothing of the riches I gav-I mean lent(!) to you?. Well then, I shall feed you more gold until you pass out that within, and cruel sore I'll make your belly."
Says Isabell: "Oh no. I'm afraid, for your sake, that won't eat another bite. I'm full up and you have no power to open my mouth. It seems that all this gold, has made me rich of mind but in other ways is of no benefit to me and in feeding me, it has been nothing but loss to you. Will you feed me more?-I don't think so. And from frail bones you cut no flesh. Off you go to try and fool shallower pools than me with your dirt-poor gold."
Having studied I learned, and grew immeasurably within, I was already fairly tall without and in any event no monies, devil or otherwise would alter that. The garden of my soul is now better furnished for the journey into oblivion and on the way of the furnishing I've met so many soul-mates and co-conspirators.
But as I say, the money-lender-gone-legit is about to come knocking. Fool that it is didn't realise that my two threes doomed both he and I. I ain't getting out of poverty and accordingly he ain't getting no cash out of Povo unincorporated (a.k.a. yours truly).
Flowery rambling aside if I should struggle for the next thirteen or so years living the most humbling existence I will break my back (hopefully metaphorically), not unlike my mother (sadly, literally) trying to keep the cash-wolves from the rented door. Alternatively, I can throw up my arms, play the weak and indebted pauper that I half am and declare myself fiscally unstable. The consequences are that I will lose the hypothetical car and the hypothetical home I never bought. I will be forced for a year to give my meager earnings over to a trustee who will administer my affairs (hopefully only financial, as I would hate to have romantic affairs administered...) and thereafter I will be free of two albatrosses (both the debt and the game of poker). There are of course the six subsequent years of being in ...BAM BAM BAAAAD credit. But since I have no credit card, want know house and am far from fit to run a business I will be free.
I see a glimmering meadow. It's dappled with sunshine and filled with all of the opportunities afforded to a human mind. The meadow won't set out my hayfever and someone is playing Bach there, they're a little off but still better at it than me. I can go to the meadow, there's no fence, only a stream. The shortest of streams but instead of water it's filled with scorn and plenty of human poo. How will that meadow feel with residue of shit drying on my trousers?
Hmm better that sitting still for a life waiting for the cards to be shuffled and dealt again.
I.Q.L.
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