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air-industrys · 1 month ago

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Insanity chapter 1

That salt water smell… it’s all too familiar I let out a deep sigh with feelings of relief and disappointment, I thought this war would make me a hero like my father but when it’s all said and done I’m just another nobody that served. in a rush of a moment the door slams open as a familiar figure pops out, Jacob! Hey man I’ve been looking all over for you, you totally gotta see this news article we’re basically hero’s man! This was my close friend Chavez, we went through hell together, we always had each other’s backs even if we were in the wrong…most of the time, he walked over to me and took a seat next to me putting his hand on my shoulder, listen man I know technically we just escorted the carrier around and did small odds and ins but come on man we get to go home in a few weeks and when we get there it’s blackout specials every night! My friend was a bit of a alcoholic well honestly a big one but he had heart, hey man he said in a concerned tone you ok you’ve been real quiet lately and you know that’s no way to act with our new status. I looked at him with a confused face, status? Well obviously, chicks are gonna love the whole war hero act in fact I might just lead a second baby boom all by myself

He said this in a joking tone laughing, I joined him in in this laugh and smiled in response I was happy to see him in such high spirits I have heard stories of war changing people making them shells of themselves but Chavez carried himself throughout the bloody eight years the war lasted the sight of land on the horizon was so ungraspable it had felt like years only if it was a few months I stood up with excitement looking at Chavez, what’s up dude he responded, you know, maybe a couple drinks isn’t such a bad idea. Chavez looked a little surprised at my response but his smile grew from ear to ear, haha yea that’s the spirit man! A few hours passed after that but we began to pull into port the cheering from the crew roared like a storm, happiness was a drug in that moment and we were all addicts before we were allowed to go and enjoy ourselves the commanding officer broke down the current situation of the war we had agreed to a armistice to work out the long term but the USC and TRI showed zero desire to continue the war and the peace terms were nearing the final stages cheers could be heard from the crew something that was rare in years past, lastly the commanding officer had a big announcement for the first time the HRM was going to be in port alongside its other allies they had usually gone back to their own home ports before or any land they acquired throughout the war to restock so the idea of them doing this was cause for celebration with all that said the duty section was assigned and luckily Chavez and I were free to roam, we got into our civilian attire after a much needed shower and left the ship it was already getting pretty dark as it was past six thirty in the evening Chavez wanted to visit this one bar he liked before we left called Valhalla I agreed and we went on our way the streets were crowded with sailors from other ships lights hung all around from lamppost to lamppost it honestly felt like a festival loud yelling could be heard from street to street old friends meeting up even the locals were seen celebrating, we made our way up the stairs and walked inside with a set goal on drinking the night away. Away from the busy streets a dark black ship sailed closer and closer to the port a woman stood tall on one of the bridge wings looking out at the busy city the glint of the city shined over against the ship, a wide sinister smile could be seen on her face she stood there with her hands behind her back in anticipation and then she spoke in a cold but commanding voice, are the others here yet? A tall reddish man stood at her side, of course ma’am by your order we may begin. reports show that the sister ships around the world have also begun their assault with lady Mina taking the lead with the highest kill count at four hundred and sixty three thousand. The woman scoffed, well then I guess we have some catching up to do than, order all ships to engage on all possible targets land and sea equally, in a swift motion the red man held up a flare gun and shot it into the air the red flare lit up the now night sky revealing the large fleet amassed outside the port.

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trini-trin-trin · 4 years ago

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Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains��the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

#andre aciman #CMBYK Book #call me by your name #cmbyn #elio x oliver

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theriverpersonshadow · 4 years ago

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Lamia Drama Part 9

Not my favorite, maaaaybe should’ve done this from Liam’s POV, but TROUSLE DESERVES THE LOVE TOO.

I’ll tag later, I’ve got things to do, but nothing new here anyways really

Previous Beginning Next

Trousle wrapped loosely along Alex’s neck, making sure to keep just tight enough to stay on but no more – he didn’t want to hurt her after all! Her skin was warm and she smelled, well… Like she maybe needed a shower, something not helped by a generous sprinkling of literal dirt, as in from the ground, but so long as he kept his tongue in his mouth, it wasn’t too bad. It was hardly her fault, it was hot out there, she was a mammal, and she was wearing as little as was decent: a tank top and shorts. Still, he was trying to think of nice ways to offer the use of their shower system or the Krait pool to her. He didn’t want to be rude, but surely she’d appreciate the chance to get clean as well! Then again, Oozy wallowed in his own slime all the time and seemed content, so maybe some people are just like that (why and how was beyond him). That said, she had a bit of a sweet smell to her too, like fruit and maybe flowers.

Nikolai was taking the lead, followed closely by Hux. A little too closely – Liam seemed to be the only person Hux ever hurried for without threat. Then again, perhaps Liam getting snappy about being late was enough of a threat to get him to move his tail. Keith was hanging back a little, glancing every now and then at Trousle and Alex, and Oozy was likely only keeping pace because Alex was gifting him head pats. Trousle was tempted to slither down to her hand for some head-pats of his own, but that seemed a little too forward – he didn’t want to come across as desperate! Besides, he was already getting cuddles, no need to be greedy!

Trousle flicked his tongue out – trying to ignore the twang of dried up sweat – as they grew closer, holding himself up to see as they got close to Liam’s room.

… he’d gotten into the sour candies again, hadn’t he? The area had that smell to it. Really! How dare he, such a relentless thief! There’s no way he got enough to make that much of a smell legitimately!

“Liam,” Nikolai said, stopping. “This is Alex, she’s come to play DnD with us.” He moved aside to let Alex step to the front.

Alex moved forward and Trousle craned to catch her expression. She was looking at Liam’s scales, watching as Liam coiled down from his tree, sliding down to spread out over his hoard of pillows and blankets. He held himself tall, sitting partly back from the glass, and kept his good side forward – though he was wearing the cap meant to cover his skull for once, though the paste used to keep it in place was clearly visible.

“Her? Well then, do you think you have what it takes, human? We don’t take just anyone you know. I’m not sure you’re up to it.”

“I mean, we’re playing 5e, right? Is there something I should know?”

Trousle huffed and quickly typed out, “Liam’s a liar.” Anyone was welcome! Liam couldn’t threaten her, Trousle wouldn’t allow it!

Liam hissed, narrowing his good eye, “I am not-!”

Keith chuckled, raising his hands up, “Hey hey… Easy y’all. I mean, we do have session 0’s for a reason, not everyone’s a good fit, but Liam, don’t be a dick.”

“Hmph,” Liam said, rising up and crossing his arms. “Well then, I suppose we’ll see for oursssselvessss, won’t we?” He was absolutely doing that hiss on purpose, narrowing his eyes dramatically. Trousle had to admit it looked kind of cool.

Hux nodded along, “Hell yeah. If you’re going to play with the big boys, you better be up to it toots. You think you’ve got game?”

“Y’know what, maybe I do!” Alex said. “What kinds of characters do you guys play anyways? Need anything in particular, I’m game!”

“No,” Hux said.

Trousle searched his mind for what they might need, but… Well, the party was pretty balanced, and story-wise this would be an awkward time… “I’m thinking of doing a side-campaign,” Keith said. “It’ll be easier than trying to fit ya in, and we can work around it that way. I mean, we don’t meet every night, but most of us, y’know, live here, so we’re kinda together all the time, and I know you can’t do that. That alright?”

Alex nodded, “Totally! And I get that, my friend group I play with on Sundays all used to live in the same dorm and we’d play baaaasically every night. It was wild man. The basement was really fucking hot though. But that pretty much meant we had it all to ourselves. Man, those were the days…”

Trousle typed away, “So we’re all making new characters?”

Keith nodded, “Yeah, why not? We can figure out a theme or gimmick if you guys want too.”

“Rogue campaign,” Liam said almost immediately.

“You’re basically a rogue already dude,” Hux said. “You don’t need DnD to be a rogue.”

“Bard campaign!” Trousle typed, grinning up at Keith hopefully.

“No,” Hux hissed.

“Do you have anything you do want to do?” Nikolai said to Hux, rolling his eyes.

Hux threw his hands in the air, “Well excuse me for thinking a party of only one class is boring!”

“New friend! What about you?” Trousle asked, precariously situating himself to look at her. Maybe he should move down to her arm, it’s hard to talk to her from her own neck.

Alex froze, hands grasping and ungrasping in the air, “Um… I mean… I’ve got a lot of characters, but I don’t wanna take the whole thing over… I really like Fae though! I’ve got a little bit of practice in political campaigns, but I’m usually more Roleplay heavy than anything.”

Keith smiled, coming closer to her. “Sounds fun to me, what about the rest of you?”

Trousle nodded enthusiastically. Fairies could be so fun! And enchanting~

“Sounds kinda sissy…” Hux mumbled.

Liam looked at Alex with a hard to read expression, but slowly it turned into a grin, “I think I like this one, but let’s see if you can put your money where your mouth is.”

Hux’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?”

“You like Fae too?” Alex said, stepping closer to the glass around Liam.

Liam nodded, “Are you kidding me? Magic, politics, contracts, and some interesting morality too. I can work with this.”

“Can I be a fairy?” Trousle asked, looking at Keith.

Keith hummed, “Maybe, let’s try to work out a general idea first. C’mon, let’s go get things set up. Nikolai, let ‘im out, will ya?”

Nikolai nodded, taking some keys from his belt-loop (a belt that he apparently wore solely to attach keys to) and Liam out. Liam made a show of stretching himself out as he joined the group, “About time. Now then, shall we?”

“Let’s go,” Keith said.

They all started heading towards the gaming room… also known as the break room, but the humans were going to have to live with it for today, apparently.

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missaureus · 5 years ago

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CRASH LANDING ON YOU

Number of Episodes: 16

Genre: Romance, Drama

Rating: 10/10

I actually finished this series prior to the quarantine season but let me just include it to the list because I invested so much emotions to it, to the point it left me handicapped.

Crash Landing on You has so much on its plate! Not to mention the controversy it faced, being criticized by the liberal party for romanticizing not their own kind. I truly appreciate how this production served something new to the audience! The disclaimer being rolled before each episode is a reminder how a vast mind can offer so much - a window to let us visually access how the life is in the world's most secretive country, North Korea. Sure, there are already dramas with North Korea as a setting but the overall portrayal of CLoY makes it loved by the general public.

Apart from the reason of casting big actors as leads, how the supporting roles in CLoY are being painted give a big impact to the whole canvas, even the hostiles and the helpless. The side stories are definitely not something to be skipped. Surprisingly, my favorite character is Seo Dan's mom. She exudes peak mom level! Actually, all mother figures radiate strong personalities! Among all, I appreciate Seo Dan's character development the most! She is definitely a revolution herself. Thank you for empowering women on screen! Lastly, the backbone of the story are the best squads in the history of kdrama, the soldier squad and the mom squad ㅋㅋThey are just pure and fun to watch, even their chemistry with Seri is good~

I honestly ran out of expectations from this drama. I was afraid how it is going to end but the greatest takeaway is that, each character reached their own resolution. Probably some might disagree re: Seo Dan and Seung Jun's tragedy. But the second male lead saying: I was wrong. When I die, there’s someone who will cry for me. The fact that it’s you makes me sad and happy. I guess that resolved his own conflict. *criii*

I have so much to say, to be honest because this drama is generous enough with insights. Highly recommended~ People saying this is too overrated need to sit down and repent lol!

ITAEWON CLASS

Number of Episodes: 16

Genre: Drama, Revenge

Rating: 9/10

First episode and it was already dark and bold. The plot caters a pool of societal issues such as class differences, abuse of power/injustices, transgender discrimination, and racism. This drama has a different aura compared to previous works of Park Seo Joon. Even the love story of the leads is not the typical lovey dovey~

The main character's determination to avenge his father's death is scalding hot throughout the episodes. It was as consistent as his hairstyle for years istg. Hard work does not betray, indeed. What struck me the most is when one character, Seung Kwon, who used to be Saeroyi jailmate, crossed paths again after years in the outer world. He narrated how everyone is given the same amount of time but the depth of time one spends is completely different compared to someone who does not set goals and persevere through time to get it.

No wonder how the rating of the show did good since the characters are effectively pulled off despite how tacky each personality is.

HI BYE, MAMA!

Number of Episodes: 16

Genre: Drama, Fantasy

Rating: 10/10

This series stirred the general public for a fact that the one portraying Seo Woo is actually a boy. The enormous attention it absorbed was also due to its heartbreaking storyline. It is not even an exaggeration that there is no episode that would not let you cry. It will give your tear ducts so much work.

It reflects a pool of family values and love. It will make you realize even more no matter what age you have, you will still need your mom. It will make you ponder how death can rob you in an instant. Midong, a shaman in the drama, once said: A woman who lost her husband is called a widow. A man who lost his wife is called a widower. And a kid who lost his parents is called an orphan. But there’s no word for a parent who lost their kid. Know why? It’s because no word can describe it. There’s no word in this world that can describe the excruciating pain. That is too devastating, I can't digest it.

I want to commend the three main characters so much! They deserve a round of applause each. Both Seowoo's moms deserve her. Yuri and Minjung are both selfless and strong, as mothers should be. It's true that being aggressive with their respective decision against the other without feeling sorry could have been done if one is mean towards the other. This drama has no antagonist and it is frustrating that no one can take the blame. Sadly, one mom must be hurt deeply in order to save the other mom. Shoutout to all stepmoms! Not all are evil, stop labeling them as one. Seowoo's dad, Kanghwa, for me, has the hardest character. He has been walking on eggshells. All his life, his shoulders are heavy. He endured so much and embraced unnecessary guilt. His walls are too high that made his relationship with others shaky. He is afraid for people to get hurt to the point being too considerate does not help him at all, making himself his own punching bag.

Hitting the resolution of the story is a painful process but it is the kind of hurt that liberated all characters involved. To be able to point out what went wrong and ungrasping it--- Yuri boldy telling his used-to-be husband "I am not yours anymore. You can let me go now." opened the door to silence the conflicts. Acceptance.

Literally, I cried how the epilogue gave a glimpse of the couple's life if Yuri was able to escape his death note. It only takes a second to change a life-changing event. But reaching the final episode was the real deal for my tear ducts ㅠ I seriously cried 90 minutes straight! I am so satisfied how it is wrapped up. No better ending no matter heartbreaking it is!

HE IS PSYCHOMETRIC

Number of Episodes: 16

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Fantasy, Thriller

Rating: 9/10

Why did I just watch it noW? ㅠ Wow, this is a masterpiece! The plot twist is insane! I love how the truth was unfold throughout the story. It was helluva stressful hahaha. Dark enough. Since I was hungry for an answer, I finished this one almost straight 16 hours!!! If you have watched While You Were Sleeping, which was about someone who can dream about the future, this series is a counterpart. The main lead can see the past by touching a person or object. This unique ability helped him solve cases, especially the event the greatly involved him in the past.

I commend Jinyoung for crying that much! Crazy he has lots of frame that in need of crying ㅋㅋㅋ Rise the flag of actor-idol! He is a natural, to be honest. His character, Ahn's funny antics always got me~ The female lead, Ye Eun has an uncanning resemblance of Yerim, hahaha it awed me while watching~

I am satisfied how it ended. Although I would to see more of their love story but in totality it is a must-watch definitely!

WHEN THE CAMELLIA BLOOMS

Number of Episodes: 40

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Thriller

Rating: 9/10

I love how this is filtered ♡ Very aesthetic that I want to live in Ongsan too! Life for the female lead is too complex. The plot revolves around straightening the strands of conflicts of her life. Dealing with her son who does not want her to have a boyfriend, who is short-tempered and acts maturely to protect her mom; dealing with her boyfriend who loves her unconditionally, who always believes in her and brings out the best of her; dealing with her ex husband, who wants to stand as a father to his child and fill in those years he missed to take care of him; dealing with her neighbors, who speak ill and put her in a bad light at first; dealing with her mother who made her an orphan and came back to her sick; dealing with her secret killer...

This runs for 20 hours and I could not remember the last drama I've watched this long but I savored it without any hint boredom. It ended but I still want mooore. I love how every character is given ample amount of screen time in the last episode. Everyone ended up happily. The went through so much, a happy ending is deserved by all. I was moved. I learned so much about life which is too complex to be completely understood.

Props to Haneul! His loud and vibrant acting is commendable!!! And the post-credit is so heartwarming ㅠㅠ I had a fair share of tears for this drama ㅠㅠ

BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIRST LIFE

Number of Episodes: 16

Genre: Drama, Romance

Rating: 9/10

I had two attempts to successfully finish this series and what a shame it took me this long? This series also moved me so much. It talks about views and opinion about living independently and marriage. Throughout, I was also questioning my decisions in life and effectively made me reflect.

Ji Ho who is 30, who is jobless, who is homeless. and Se Hee holds the answer to her problems. Se Hee who only loves his cat, who only values his house. Apart from having the same interest in beer and soccer, they mutually signed a contract that both benefitted them. Weird. How can you marry someone without involving emotions?

I also love the opposite personalities of the female lead's friends. Soo Ji who does not believe in marriage and described it as a tomb of a relationship. She is strong and independent. She does not take any guy seriously until Sang Goo happened. Ho Rang who dreams of being a housewife and a mother. She desperately wanted to marry his long-term partner because she is already hitting three decades. Sadly, his partner, Wonseok, expressed how he is not that ready yet and still starting to get a stable job.

I love how this drama ended! Heartwarming~

Part 1 | https://daisy-illusive.tumblr.com/post/162383689643

Part 2 | https://daisy-illusive.tumblr.com/post/169033240193

#personal #kdrama #kdrama recommendations #kdrama review #crash landing on you #hi bye mama #itaewon class #korean drama #korean series #review #he is psychometric #when the camellia blooms #because this is my first life

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joellepowe · 4 years ago

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Post-Structuralist Reading of Natural Mystic

In light of structuralism’s tendency to erase meaning by paying close attention to the context in which the idea is introduced, I’d like to show how meaning is produced through the example of a song, by paying the least attention to trying to understand it according to one meaning. Being a post-structuralist becomes meaningful for an anthropologist, which tries to intuit cultures ascribing layers of meaning to one concept, and understanding the inability to understand as a form of understanding. Take for example deconstructing the lyrics for Bob Marley’s song, “Natural Mystic”.

There's a natural mystic

Blowing through the air

If you listen carefully now you will hear

This could be the first trumpet

Might as well be the last

Many more will have to suffer

Many more will have to die

Don't ask me why

Things are not the way they used to be

I won't tell no lie

One and all got to face reality now

Though I try to find the answer

To all the questions they ask

Though I know it's impossible

To go living through the past

Don't tell no lie

There's a natural mystic

Blowing through the air

Can't keep them down

If you listen carefully now you will hear

Such a natural mystic

Blowing through the air

Marley warns humanity to yield to a “Natural Mystic”, the soothsayer of doom. The “Natural Mystic” contains a heavy message, that many people “will have to die”. The construction of “have” and “to” with die imply that death is a consequence of actions humanity has taken in the past. He comforts his listeners with his acknowledgement that it is impossible to go and reflect on the totality of past actions. However, at the same time he says everyone has got to face reality, the present. So which one is it? Does humanity find their mistake by digging up the past or facing the present? He says that things are not the way they used to be, suggesting the reasons for the grave consequences of death lie in the present, but then he suggests that the consequences are because of the past. The answers are intentionally timeless and occupying infinite space of time. Yet, when Marley predicts that his listeners will want to ask him why they will have to die, he rejects their curiosity, and simply states that things have changed, they are “not the way they used to be”. The words “natural mystic” do not mean anything specific. Natural carries connotations of being from nature, not made by man. In this case, the natural mystic is an inevitable message, not made by mankind, not inspired by mankind, which was there before mankind. How can that be when Marley implies that the reason for the natural mystic’s message of doom is because of the actions of man? Is the natural mystic natural or summoned? We may also interpret natural as something positive and innocent, but this “mystic” which is natural, is an omen of doom, so that interpretation of nature as uncorrupt has no place in this analysis, but at the same time it does. If it is natural in the sense of innocent, then it means that mankind deserves the suffering or that we cannot escape it at the very least. The word “mystic” is also an empty and loaded word. It points to no meaning in infinite ways. The first way is that it means something which is mysterious, not easily understood, and not easily visible, or defined, it is possibly the cause of fascination and speculation, something one could get lost in. The second clear way is that by having a meaning which means not understandable, the word also becomes meaningless, and the expansion of the interpretation of this meaninglessness derived from the fact that mystery points to nothing, expands endlessly. So the words which Marley chooses to describe the soothsayer have no meaning. It is a shadow, fog, whisper without words, and mist that is hard to grasp. If the natural mystic is blowing through the air, then it is everywhere, just like air, but it is hard to hear, one has to listen carefully. Yet, the message Marley brings from the “natural mystic” is clear: mass death and suffering are inevitable. So, the natural mystic is defined by its message, but undefined by it’s characteristic, or form, but at the same time it is a message, and the message is its form, and the message is clear, but the origins of the message are unclear and the contradictions repeat themselves as the understanding of what Marley is saying repeatedly builds and deconstructs. The other contradiction is that the natural mystic is a haptic sound, with conceptual meanings attached to a group of words, natural phenomena, and sound, that do not have to mean what Marley interprets them to mean. The natural mystic is blowing through the air. If it is blowing, it is tangible and forceful. If it is blowing, it is always blowing. If it is blowing, one can hear the blow. And Marley says so, that if one listens carefully, they can hear it. But a blow does not speak any language, so why is the message of the blow one of doom? The message of the blow is noticeably clear to Marley, it has a specific prediction and warning of death. But where is the source of the blow and when did it start? Marley says that “this”, this natural mystic, could be the first trumpet, but it might as well be the last. In other words, it is unknowable whether the warning bell is sounding for the first time, or for the last time, such is the timelessness of the warning, and the extension, and such is the nature of its essence. Why is the message of death contained within an ungraspable thing such as the natural mystic so clear to Marley? As Marley describes this natural mystic blowing, it has no source, beginning, or end in comprehendible sight, but as a thing which is blowing, it must start, it must end, and it must come from somewhere. As a message, nobody can ask Marley why the natural mystic contains this specific message of doom, because he tries to find the answers to the questions, but he cannot. The Natural Mystic is a sign without a signifier and a signified. According to Saussure, all language operates on the principle that there is a sign, signifier, and a signified. The signifier is the word that refers to the object, and the signified is the object, the sign is the signified and the signifier put together, the semiotic concept.

The Natural Mystic is a sign with infinite interpretations of the signified and the signifier. Marley acknowledges the difficulty of the going back to the past but suggests that human history contains the answers for why many will have to suffer. If history is the evidence of the Natural Mystic, then it is the signified, but it is also the signifier that brings on the consequences of death which is the signified in this alternative reading. So, every word Marley says about the Natural Mystic, the warning of destruction of humanity, destructs itself. One cannot understand the reason why it is here, what caused it, because it is impossible. But it is possible to hear it and understand its message. The song itself contains more meaning than the words, this is created through the repetition or chanting of the same warning, that there is a natural mystic that needs attention.

Given that structuralism operates on the idea that language creates existence, and that concepts are defined based on their differences between other things in a system, I push forward an example of communication that does not follow this route. Bob Marley’s song “Natural Mystic” is an example of communication that challenges structuralism by demonstrating Derrida’s language imagination as a system of sliding meanings that refer to one another and contradict each other, and create meaning through their freeplay. The Natural Mystic is defined through its contradictions and likeness to two opposing things that cannot be like one another. If post-structuralism is a build on some ideas of structuralism and a critique of others, then here I showcase how using a structuralist approach to draw out clear singular interpretations of a word and a post-structuralist approach to combine these meanings of the same word becomes useful.

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adocentyn · 4 years ago

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The Ogdoad

In the beginning there where eight – yes, eight. Well that's what 2nd Century Gnostics like Valentinus and Ptolemy tell us. Before anything else was cluttering up existence, supernal beings called Aeons dwelt within the transcendent realm called the Pleroma. Collectively, the first eight of these Aeons, which are the subject of this post, are known as the Primal Ogdoad (Greek "ογδοάς", the eight-fold), and they serve, so it seems, as the basic blueprint of everything else that arises in the Valentinian strand of Gnostic cosmology.

The Gnostics appeared to have derived this concept directly or indirectly from the original Egyptian Ogdoad worshipped in Hermopolis. These eight deities, who existed before anything else, were arranged into four female-male pairs – the females being snakes and the males frogs. Each pair embodied an aspect of eternity:

1. Naunet and Nu (primordial waters)

2. Amaunet and Amun (air or invisibility)

3. Kauket and Kuk (darkness)

4. Hauhet and Huh (eternity or infinite space)

Through the mysterious interactions between these snakes and frogs the sun god Ra comes into being and our familiar temporal reality begins. Depending on the version of the story, Ra either emerges from an egg or from a lotus.

Following the Egyptians of Hermopolis, the Valentinian Gnostics arranged their own Primal Ogdoad into male/female pairs of Aeons, the first embodying Depth and Silence. From this first pair, or syzygy, emanates the next pair of Aeons. This process carries on, so producing all four pairs constituting the Primal Ogdoad:

1. Depth and Silence (Bythos and Sige)

2. Mind and Truth (Nous and Aletheia)

3. Word and Life (Logos and Zoë)

4. Man and Church (Anthropos and Ecclesia)

The male member of each syzygy has the quality of limit. The female member has the quality of unlimited. This can be seen in the first pair where Depth is only a single dimension in the great void of infinite dimensions called Silence. More generally, the relationship of limit to unlimited can be likened to that of the point and circumference of a circle. In the gendered language of ancient Gnosticism, the male Aeon of the syzygy, planted like a seed within the female Aeon, grows into the next syzygy. This can also be thought of as the Pleroma dividing itself up into ever more complicated structures.

Each emanated pair seems more concrete than its parents. Like the Egyptian Ogdoad, the first syzygy, Depth and Silence, clearly embodies mythopoetic concepts that can be ascribed to a state of pregnant void from which all entities arise. (The nature of this ground of being is ungraspable and can only be spoken of in suggestive terms like silence, depth and void.) The second syzygy, Mind and Truth, is an inward expression of potential structure. The third, Word and Life, is an outward expression of structure. The fourth, Man and Church, is an expression of two particular archetypal forms – the individual and that individual's defining context.

The first four pairs of Aeons – called the Root Of The Pleroma – can be seen as archetypes of a four-fold division of the universe. Hence, in Neo-Platonic terms, the first pair, Depth and Silence, corresponds to The One (Monas). Depth and Silence are actually a single entity and only appears as two when seen from lower down the chain of being. The second pair, Mind and Truth, corresponds to the Neo-Platonic Intellect (Nous), which is the archetypal realm of ideas. The totality of the Pleroma exists in this realm. The third corresponds, Word and Life, to the Soul (Psyche). The fourth, Man and Church, corresponds to the appearance of the world within the Soul.

The dual/non-dual relationship of the Aeon pairs is expressed by the first century Gnostic Simon Magus:

"Thus it comes to pass that that which is manifested from them, though one, is found to be two, male-female, having the female in itself. Equally so is Mind in Thought; they really are one, but when separated from each other they appear as two." Simon Magus, The Great Announcement.

The four syzygies of the Primal Ogdoad can be also thought of as the archetypes of the four stages in which consciousness enfolds. The first stage is emerging consciousness undifferentiated into object and subject. The second is the enfolding of the deep structures of consciousness, including the differentiation of object and subject. The third involves an awareness of the power of one's own subjectivity, and a further structuring through language, value judgements and memories. The fourth is awareness of an external world, including both one's dependence on it and one's apparent separation from it. With each of these four stages, as object and subject becomes more defined, consciousness becomes more individualised as a discrete soul.

The final stage gives rise to awareness of being an individual within the world, which is our normal everyday awake state of mind. If we withdraw from this final stage and let the third stage come to the fore, then we withdraw into the subjective world of our thoughts and emotions. A common example of this is dreaming sleep. In deep contemplation or mindfulness we withdraw from the third stage and let the second stage to come to the fore, and we no longer identify with our thoughts and emotions. If we then let the second stage of consciousness fall away leaving only the first stage, we then experience the particular form of one-pointedness-of-mind called gnosis where consciousness is its own object. In summary, the Gnostic Primal Ogdoad, amongst other things, can be seen as the blueprint upon which our consciousness has been structured:

1. Depth and Silence – one-pointedness-of-mind, gnosis, or in another context, deep dreamless sleep.

2. Mind and Truth – deep contemplation.

3. Word and Life – the inner life, or dreaming sleep.

4. Man and Church – outer, socially oriented, life.

I intend to start using this blog to post my own writings on esoteric thought and practice — and a meditation on the Primal Ogdoad seems a natural place to start. I believe Western Esotericism, specially Hermeticism and Gnosticism, demonstrates an idealistic understanding of the universe — consciousness and its contents are essentially all that exists. The various cosmogonies found in Hermetic and Gnostic texts show how processes within a single primordial mind gives rise to both a world and to countless individual subjectivities. Though in this post I have focused mainly on the Gnostic Ogdoad as an archetype of mind, this doesn't by any means exhaust it's role within the ancient Gnostic world view or ritual practice, nor does go a long way to cover my personal understanding and interest in it in regard to esoteric practice. Though I intend to cover a diverse range of subjects within the remit of esotericism, I hope to return soon to the Primal Ogdoad and meditate upon it from some other angles.

#conciousness #esotericism #gnosticism #ogdoad

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planestrainsnpages · 5 years ago

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This Is IT by Alan Watts (and Other Essays on Zen and Spiritual Experiences)

I give it: 7/10

Length: 153 pages

My Spiritual Awakening took place in Los Angeles, summer of 2014. At the same time, I read this text—and now, nearly six years later, want to synthesize the take-aways as I practice minimalism in reducing my extensive books collection to just 125 books.

In this text, Alan Watts defines this as, “Spiritual awakening is the difficult process whereby the increasing realization that everything is as wrong as it can be flips suddenly into the realization that everything is as right as it can be. Or better, everything is as It can be” (13).

Essays include:

This Is IT

Instinct, Intelligence, and Anxiety

Zen and the Problem of Control

Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen

Spirituality and Sensuality

The New Alchemy

The title essay, This Is IT focuses on current consciousness—the continually moving moment of NOW and on the necessity to let go of control in order to be open to all emotions and the “cosmic experience.”

“I believe that if this state of consciousness could become more universal, the pretentious nonsense which passes for the serious business of the world would dissolve in laughter” (12).

This essay slightly contradicts Abraham Hicks’ (Law of Attraction) assertion that your emotions matter most of all, as the indicator of your vibrational alignment (or disharmony) with all that is. Many Hicks’ listeners confuse this to me POSITIVE VIBES ONLY, when instead, Hicks affirms that negative emotions are not “wrong” or in need or control but instead act to move you towards what you do want and what feels good.

Watts echos Hicks by affirming that negative emotions are not wrong, but co-exist on the spectrum of emotions, and we should not try to control these feelings away/separate from us. In fact, Watts points out, enlightenment often arises in moments of despair. Contrasting emotions guide us towards what we want. However, Watts contradicts the idea that joy matters most, as he distinctly states that feelings of ecstasy are often confused for enlightenment.

“...[T]he immediate now is complete even when it is not ecstatic. For ecstasy is a necessarily impermanent contrast in the constant fluctuation of our feelings. But insight, when clear enough, persists; having once understood a particular skill, the facility tends to remain” (18-19).

Instead, Nirvana includes any/all emotions present and changing. Watts and Hicks alike encourage selfishness, while Hicks considers this a path to joy and Watts sees this humanness as a path to transcend the self to the “cosmic” whole or oneness, which he claims is purposeless and instead playful.

He points out that people mistakenly look for spiritual leaders to exhibit perfection over humanity:

“...[W]hether he shows anxiety or not, whether he depends upon ‘material crutches’ such as wine or tobacco, whether he loses his temper, or gets depressed, or falls in love when he shouldn’t, or sometimes looks a bit tired or frayed at the edges. All these criteria might be valid if the philosopher were preaching freedom from being human, or if he were trying to make himself or others radically better.... But the limits within which such improvements may be made are small in comparison with the vast aspects of our nature and our circumstances which remain the same.... I am saying...that while there is a place for bettering oneself and others, solving problems...this is by no means the only or even the chief principal of life....” (31-32).

Instead of prioritizing joy as an end-goal, Watts encourages purposelessness (as opposed to goal-setting and focus on improvement) and letting go of control as key to enlightenment:

“Nature is much more playful than purposeful, and the probability that it has no specific goals for the future need not strike one as a defect.... much more like art than business, politics, or religion. They are especially like the arts of music and dancing.... No one imagines that a symphony is supposed to improve in quality as it goes along, or that the whole object of playing is to reach the finale. The point of music is discovered in every moment of playing and listening to it” (32-33).

“...[I]f we are unduly absorbed in improving...we may forget altogether to live....” (33).

He goes onto say that if we believe that everything in the world is right just as it is, then we may perceive “our normal anxieties” as “ludicrous,” or a wrong response. Really, though, each emotion exists along a spectrum of all emotions, connected and contrasting one another in relation.

“...[T]he superior truth of the ‘cosmic’ experience... [C]ontrol must always be subordinate to motion if there is to be motion at all. In human terms, total restraint of movement is the equivalent of total doubt, of refusal to trust one’s senses or feelings.... On the other hand, movement and the release of restraint are the equivalent of faith, of committing oneself to the uncontrolled and the unknown..... An essential part of the ‘cosmic’ experience is, however that the normal restriction of consciousness to the ego-feeling is also right, but only and always because it is subordinate to absence of restriction, to movement and faith.... [T]here must be total affirmation and acceptance.... [F]or man to make himself mad by trying to bring everything under his control. We become insane, unsound, and without foundation when we lose consciousness of and faith in the uncontrolled and ungraspable...world which is ultimately what we ourselves are. And there is a very slight distinction, if any, between complete, conscious faith and love” (38-39).

One critique that I have with this essay is Watt’s meager attempt to assure that such acceptance of all as-is need not perpetuate injustice:

With little supporting evidence, he state that, “[E]ven though it may be exploited for this purpose, the experience itself is in no sense a philosophy designed to justify or desensitize oneself to the inequalities of life,” (26). He goes onto say, “...the holocaust of the biological world, where every living creatures lives by feeding off others.... is reversed so that every victim is seen as offering itself in sacrifice” (37), going onto argue that all is relative.

For me, this stretch contradicts experiences of the oppressed who fight against such an “offering” of themselves to a system that goes against their free will.

Overall, I think the message —to let go of control and constant striving for perfection, to accept all of our emotions as part of all that is— ironically offers an anecdote for an unbalanced culture to improve, through acceptance over action.

The other essays in this collection:

Instinct, Intelligence, and Anxiety looks at how humans differ from animals in our ability to analyze, predict, and decide—and at what cost.

Zen and the Problem of Control asks if, “man is a self-conscious and therefore self-controlling organism, how is he to control the aspect of himself which does the controlling?” Watts using judo as an example, of working with the blows delivered versus resisting. As it turns out—cooperation is key.

Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen opens pandora’s box of true Zen, traditional Zen, and cultural interpretations—including Jack Kerouac’s. Watts argues that in order to don a true Zen lifestyle, one must overcome any fear or rebellion of their own culture. “Lacking this, his Zen will either be ‘beat’ or ‘square,’ either a revolt...or a form of stuffiness.... Zen is above all the liberation of the mind from conventional though...utterly different from rebellion against convention, on one hand, or adapting foreign conventions on the other” (90).

Spirituality and Sensuality begins with how, “It has often been said that the human being is a combination of animal and angel....” and further explores the illusion of duality as a true unity that cannot exist without an opposite.

The New Alchemy is an acid test that starts off with talking about immortality. Watts discusses the high points and recurrent themes of his experiences on LSD, including facing the ultimate illusion: fear of death.

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thomas-hobbes-hater · 2 years ago

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All pleasure is a form of excess, it has no point, it has no further effect. Everything in the world goes towards it, offers an opportunity for the indulgence, for the moment where something ungraspable, unable to be inserted into a system, might take place.

Our modern world is constantly working to take our pleasures and turn them into things to measure, things that have a purpose, a place, that can be understood as something with certain properties that each say something determinate about the thing. It turns everything into property, into something that can be picked up and distributed, in fact, something whose chief purpose is to be distributed. The definition of GDP is not a matter of productive or consumptive capacity, but of transactional capacity. The economy itself operates simply by the moving of money, which then transforms into food, housing, clothing, etc. in a way that is of no interest to The Economy as such.

To like a post is to reject economics as the basis of political life. It is to disconnect pleasure from distribution, from commodification. A good (a post) has been produced, and its purpose is defined by the system it takes place in and the people who interact with it. On sites where metrics are fully visible and can be monetised, its purpose becomes to propagate itself. Tumblr does not have these systematic incentives. The only reason to reblog is because a post provided you with an experience you would like to share or add to.

Reblogs are in service of pleasure. Are in service of likes, not of propagating posts for monetisation. Even in the promotion of small online stores, the endpoint is still the acquisition of a desired good - the one the store makes - not the direct promotion of the account as such.

The entire tumblr 'economy' is directed towards the pleasure of its users, the spread not of clout, but of joy. The reblog is a form of the like, simply an opportunity to multiply the excess of joy. This joy may not be straightforward happiness, but could also be curiosity or the need to add an extra detail. In all cases, though, it is totally unnecessary and acknowledges itself as such. No one is earning a living directly on Tumblr the way people do on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube. No one is thinking that the most important political moments of our time are happening here as folks on Twitter have been wont to do. There is no room for moralising, only liking, only creating. This is true joy, true politics, true knowledge.

I really hate the idea that likes are useless or don't tell you anything. they tell you somebody liked your post! you did good and somebody like it so they gave it a like! the constant cries of "only reblogs actually Do something" feels very… hmm, how do I phrase this?

it's rooted in a sort of warning that tumblr functions differently than other sites in that the number of likes on a post doesn't necessarily contribute to an algorithm that pushes forward certain content (algorithms which, tbh, create a weird sort of feedback loop in which content that is already popular becomes even more popular by getting boosted on the merits of already being popular, but I digress), and so reblogging is the only way to actually spread a post. likes don't make a post "breach containment."

but if likes are equivalent to "positive emotional response" and reblogs are equivalent to "exposure," then discouraging likes in favor of reblogs is discouraging enjoyment of your post in favor of promotion of your post. okay... why? to what end? if the only "correct" mode of engagement is an expanding fractal web of reblogs, and the point of a reblog is only to beget further reblogs... what's the goal?

you've deemed the like as an expression of pleasure useless, so it's kind of difficult to argue that "reblogging a post means they enjoyed it more than if they'd just simply liked it." the quantity of pleasure expressed doesn't matter if you've already devalued the concept of "expressing pleasure and doing nothing else." you can't earnestly say "expressing pleasure is important to me but only if it's accompanied by exposure." so your goal isn't for more people to delight in your content; it's for more people to see your content, and for each of them then to make even more people see your content in turn. and so on. infinitely. just sharing. just exposure.

is that how we got to this point wherein people are genuinely writing essays about how liking a post is actually a backhanded passive-aggressive insult? you think I click the little red heart because I hate you? the logic is so contorted. it relies on the assumption that everyone around you is operating in bad faith, that everyone's intentions are bad until proven good.

what a bitter, paranoid way to live.

#philosophy #tumblr culture #jouissance #psychoanalysis #mysticism #capitalism #critique #i am currently at a Nietzsche conference if that explains anything

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reckonslepoisson · 2 years ago

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Ugly Season, Perfume Genius (2022)

This landscape – for it seems most appropriate to describe Ugly Season in topographic terms – is a mental and sonic map of contours, of towering peaks, bewildering drama and penetrating intimacy. Combining Mike Hadreas’ typical lyrical panache with a new plane of gorgeousness and experimentalism, here he balances pop groove and the closeness of a songwriter with ungraspable electronica and modern classical propulsion. Ugly Season both exceeds what I expected of the next Perfume Genius project and yet, in full knowledge of Hadreas’ boundless talents, is also totally unsurprising in its magnificence.

Pick: ‘Hellbent’

#perfume genius #ugly season #experimental #pop #experimental pop #art pop #ambient pop #chamber music #2022 #music #review #music review

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oddats · 3 years ago

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şkl

published in Glossary of Common Knowledge, June 2021

In times in which continuity doesn’t allow for a constant within the velocity of the epoch, even the deconstructed post versions of notions such as identity, history, and truth disappear in the flow of information, things manifest themselves with retrospective references; let’s take a look at an old word. The origin of the word “şekil” [ʃekil] is rooted in the Arabic version “şakl” شكل z [şkl]. Şekil which means shape, form, feature, appearance is “şaklīl/şiklīl” שכלל z [kll] in Aramaic which implies completion, shaping, adornment; is “şuklulu” [kll] in Akkadian which amounts to complete, whole or completion, fulfilment.

“Şekil” in Turkish refers to an image or a shape visualizing certain mathematical entities or used for demeanour, attitude, path, manner, style or else a particular way through which a concept, an idea, an event is differentiated or a whole that is configured. The sound ensemble ş k l and all its relevant contexts have given shapes to various concepts and words such as eşkâl [eʃkal] (depiction, description), teşekkül [teʃekkyl] (figuration, configuration), teşkil [teʃkil] (organization, formation), müşkül [myʃkyl](ambiguous), şâkul [ʃakyl] (plumb). Thus, it is worth examining the ensemble ş k l and the related words as mediums or singularities. As literally the word şekil is attuned with morphology, both in biology and linguistics.

“Şekil” with its simplicity and impartiality precedes emojis, signs and symbols. Geometric şekil is the name given to 2-d polygons (with a determined space and circumference). However, şekil doesn’t necessarily require a space or a volume, a letter of an alphabet is şekil as well. Şekil as an intermediary unit organizing a notion or as an incomplete notion embodies a certain dynamism (transference or morphology), yet it is a feature which is apparent in its relation to here and now (time-space)—in a way that is akin to taking a photograph. A definition assigned to a part of a whole, shape: a drawn contour. One might say that it is a form that often indicates the content without intervening or embodying it. It is flat and very much on the surface; a signifier that is not interested in the inherent or doesn’t investigate it, but rather observes the situated. It exists with connotations that are as collective (looks, trends) as personal, as abstract as archaic—a pyramid can tell us as much about Egypt as well as it is an abstraction and a geometric shape. A word to meld singularity and multiplicities… It can be used in myriad ways in a lot of contexts and always with its reference to the contemporary—such possible translations: image, figure, shape, form, mould, feature, manner, configuration, style, fashion, model, way, format, mode. With its poetic articulations and its affinity to arousals derived by word of mouth, to slang and metaphors; with it being completely ungraspable, its openness to interpretation, we can say that it is a seductive, gleaming word. For example: “You’ve pulled a şekil” or “What is şekil?” [more like what’s up here, asking the mode, with the insight of the appointed subject’s environing what’s around, as a container.] What is the colour, atmosphere, texture, dynamic of the environment? While the effects are affecting one another, it’s a state that appears in an unbiased, incomplete fashion that nevertheless suggests completion. If we were to remember the famous line of Bruce Lee, “Be water, my friend”; the carrier of the water can be interpreted as şekil and it suggests total flexibility and fluidity regardless of fixation.

Yet it’s also an interesting word that can’t be single-handedly covered by an interpenetrating “look”; one that is not essentialist however still contains a reference to physical or conceptual volumes along with conscious or unconscious, known or unknown protocols—a modulation of effects. How can şekil, namely ş k l be thought of within the proposed framework of the conference: “subjectivisation”?

Obviously, there is a particular perspective in question here. Movement: displacement, shapeshifting; estimates of time, space and moment are integral to this perspective. What are the (sub)(ob)jects that are all along shapeshifting through potential articulations, attitudes, positions, and situations that can only be thought of in relationship to systems + conditions? How can we think of these (sub)(ob)jects especially via multiple historicities via multiple configurations— what are our resistance or/and support points considering our modalities, ways, manners, forms, of voicing, of being actant? “Events are interconnected and they are cyclical processes; we are in a web. And our singularity is also in the web; thousands of chemical reactions live through simultaneous processes within our cells.”[1] So, how to monitor the involvement and effects of such a sound ensemble? Thinking that language is very much like a biological or a mathematical abstract zone that is always being constructed and reconstructed, I take the act of uttering a word here as we are in an irregular playing field where shapes shift, bend, meld etc. and boundaries are negotiated.

In order to portray a perspective perhaps it’s important to say that my practice is very much shaped by object-oriented ontology, and I deal with objects, space and time and so language. How does the body remove itself from a given frame, a construct, a repertoire? By displacing? By breaking the continuity it is in?… Take movement; the movement only ever corresponds to its temporality. The inconsistency and uncertainty of the body cannot be separated from its movement. To portray an example, and this is from Timothy Morton, one morning you wake up in another city, in another house. The objects that surround you are unknown/unrecognizable to the eye. The door handle, refrigerator, the location of the window, the sunlight’s slant into the house… Morton says, "Then you realize how much your world was just a sensual object. Then it strikes you that your regular world was itself a kind of displacement of a certain real object(s). The sense of place is already a displacement.”[2]

Let’s not take the word literally and discuss it further. We must elaborate the ways a concept provides us, dropping the frame of dominance, power and hierarchy. Mohammed El-Kurd, interviewing CNN in the midst of Israeli’s soaring violence, illegitimate occupation and ethnic displacement of Palestinians (May 2021), “displaces” the interviewer’s biased, inaccurate framing via the subject he is. The way he embodies himself as a subject, and the subjectivity of the Palestinian people along with it, is through the way of language. He articulates and changes the narrative when in fact he and his people are the ones that are displaced, or/and dispossessed in the most brutal ways. He corrects the interviewer, <<this is not eviction, this is a war crime>>. When the CNN interviewer asks El-Kurd: “Do you support the violent protests that have erupted the solidarity with you? And other families that are in your position right now?”, El-Kurd answers: “Do you support the violent dispossession of me and my family?” There comes a lapse, three seconds silence after. The CNN interviewer rephrases her question: “I’m just asking if you support the protests that are taking in support of your family?” El-Kurd repeats the lapse, a second of silence, and answers: “I support. I support popular protests taking place against ethnic cleansing, yes.” The actual brutality of displacement displaces once and for all with this speech act.

Objects/subjects/words are not in time and space; objects are predicates, they ‘place’ and ‘time’: In other words, they fabricate time and space. Objects/subjects/words are adjustments of associations in language. They are not complete occurrences, but ongoing events and interactions.

We’ve discussed the word şekil in the section above. Let’s take a closer look at the word şakul: A thread with a weight attached to it that shows the direction of gravity when it’s suspended. A reference point… Another word; “şekala” [ʃekala] that is “weight”. This Arabic word is derived from the Aramaic / Assyrian word şāḳūl שָׁקוּל "heavy". It has the same root as the Hebrew verb şāḳal שקל "weighing". What’s interesting here is to see how the object, termed as şakul, and the attribute to that object, heavy and the act that comes along with it, weighing is attuned in such ontology. We are roving around a noun, an adjective, and a verb and in a roundabout with ş k l.

Predicates and nouns do not switch just like that. Who is What and What is Who? “Arabic is a highly flexional language, in that, the same root can lead to various forms according to its context.”[3] Arabic script usually does not encode short vowel. Diacritics (short vowels), placed either above or below the root indicate “the phonetic information associated with each letter, which helps in clarifying the sense and meaning of the word. A simple Arabic word could mean flag, knowledge, teach etc.”[4] The meaning of the word is derived from the context of the sentence. It is as if the word is a unit that is a composition, a matter or an object—the complex morphology is the analyses of possible morpho-syntactic features (i.e, part of speech, gender, number, time, person, etc.) This introduction to Arabic is my departure point as I would like to arrive ş k l’s Turkish variants. Latin alphabet was introduced to our language at the beginning of the 20th century. I will indicate some words having this Arabic root ş k l (we do not have root system our alphabet) in Turkish as follows:

Such events that could be made by switching the letters' position in a root here convert to fixed words (bodies). We might as well take ş k l as our sub/ob/ject and I’m proposing a concept to follow with no regards to any linguistic rule. It is a visual abstraction per se. Sounding the words with indicated vowels, the meaning is not that slippery nor ambiguous. Müşkül is the state in question doesn’t reveal its şekil, it is yet an undefined realm with challenges and obstacles. How about işkil [iʃkil]? Suspicion, even delusion… We proceed without fixating on the narrative nor the description. And so, eşkâl, is a figuration that covers all the details that might reveal the perpetrator in a crime scene. And so, teşkil or teşekkül are investigations of structuring, organization, and systems. Şükela is more like a buzzword suggesting that everything came together in the greatest possible way—don’t assume it is in the official Turkish glossary.

However, still, it is possible to pierce through them and see a pattern. Now take ş k l as guidance, as pattern, as trace, as feedback loops, as resistance, as support and so on. The truth is: We never see the object. We see the light altered by the object. “In object-oriented ontology (ooo), things are almost encrypted. Footprints are patterns where absence, loss, emptiness glows in a realistic magic that contains an archaeological past. The mystery of things is ontological.”[5] It’s as if the words are somewhat permeable and if we drop the pattern which we recognize as ş k l we would strangely find ourselves in the layered/over-imposed realm of what José Esteban Muñoz would call queer utopia or queer futurism, where we might have a look at the ephemera as evidence; traces, glimmers, residues, and specks of things.

>I have mentioned earlier the notion of how, rather than what—this encompassing of both how and what, taking the word as an intermediary unit organizing a notion or an incomplete notion, embodying a dynamism yet also as a feature which is apparent in its relation to here and now and also then and there —in a way that is akin to taking a photograph. While discussing our subjectivities we can imagine humans to experience affect from a certain position, as in the photographic imagery of things. Of course, the photograph is everywhere. There is never just one photograph. Like the atoms that weave the universe, the images are subject to motion at all times, in all directions. As subjects with our undefined, indeterminate zones, we become screens of this translucent photograph of the whole.

Suggesting to simplify the word to its root body in this example, in order to sense what’s really happening, takes out us from the trapped subjectivities within the limiting normative time and present. The theme “Subjectivisation” can thus be discussed in ways through the words that are sampled above, within the axes of modality, affect and perspective. I’m proposing ş k l as a totality with unfixed, slippery boundaries and models that don’t subjectify the individual, but take the individual within assemblages and anomalies that can be traced along with dynamisms of <here and now>s and <then and there>s, so to speak.

*Some parts of this text is written by the author in English and some in Turkish, which got translated to English by Gülşah Mursaloğlu.

[1] Gül, Deniz. there is life between us (+transparency) TR: notonlypublications, 2020

[2] Morton, Timothy. Realist Magic, Objects, Ontology, Causality. USA: Open Humanities Press, M Publishing, 2013

[3] Ines Turki Khemakhem, Salma Jamoussi, Abdelmajid Ben Hamadou. “Arabic morpho-syntactic feature disambiguation in a translation context.” MIRACL Laboratory, ISIM Sfax, Pôle Technologique. https://www.aclweb.org/anthology/W10-3808.pdf

[4] Rehab Alnefaie, Aqil M. Azmi. “Automatic minimal diacritization of Arabic texts.” 3rd International Arabic Computational Linguistics. https://www.sciencedirect.com/

[5] Gül, Deniz. there is life between us (+transparency) TR: notonlypublications, 2020

#lectures #teachings

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journeytothecenterofmyminduk · 3 years ago

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POST-HISTORY @szydlowskigallery With works by @nina_haab and Wiktor Dyndo Through November 19th Revolving about the concept of wait and its role in public and private narratives, the two artists of the exhibition Post-History investigate dimensions of time and storytelling. Swiss artist Nina Haab explores the mechanisms of temporal suspension, the construction of memories and the act of remembering. The installation Peppy Wrecks (2021) celebrates embracing the unknown and the ability of existing in contradictions as acts of resilience while overcoming adversities. Two parts of one unique piece of furniture appear to us standing on sand, carrying on their surfaces mysterious drawings and the sentence: “You wouldn’t have guessed”. Along with Peppy Wrecks, Haab’s new series Locus Amoenus (2020) deals with the topos of an idyllic place capable to heal the body and the mind, while her drawings from Vue sur Jersey (2018-2020), remind us of the impossibility to have the totality of the picture where private and global narratives intertwine. Questions connected to notions of reality and their representations are also related to Wiktor Dyndo’s practice. The Warsaw-based painter works with a realist style to increase the un-easiness of a world that, through an overwhelming and ubiquitous media-apparatus, has become “too real, too frightening”: too close and too ungraspable. His series Breaking News (2019-2020) presents the homonymous’ caption superposed on still lives, seashores, or baroque interiors. This heightens the effect of waiting for an event, for something to “happen”, to manifest, while using for these estheticized images the typical square format of the Instagram feed. Questioning the role of information and meaning in contemporary societies, Dyndo produces visual breaks that are both static and frantic, reflecting on notions of anxiety and wait. #szydlowskigallery #galeriaszydłowski #wiktordyndo #ninahaab #contemporaryart #warsawgalleryweekend #poland (en Galeria Szydłowski) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVD_7zjIrng/?utm_medium=tumblr

#szydlowskigallery #galeriaszydłowski #wiktordyndo #ninahaab #contemporaryart #warsawgalleryweekend #poland

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ecedede8 · 5 years ago

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The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

A movie From Wes Anderson that is flattering my symmetry obsessions. Most of the scenes are in India. India's colorful views with the movie's visual atmosphere create amazing visuals. I really love cinematographies of Wes Anderson movies. The usage of colors is amazing. Every scene can be used as a background image. Besides its visual components, I am also very enjoying their content. Like most of the Wes Anderson movies, The Darjeeling Limited involves problematic family relationship. The movie is a story of three brothers are going on a trip with a train to India to see their mother who is left them ofter their father's funeral. the dynamics between brothers are very odd. But also make me think about the relationship between brothers and sisters. I believe this relationship is very unique for every family and ungraspable for someone outside of the family. Because the movie is mainly focusing on family problematic dynamics, I couldn't stop with comparing The Royal Tenenbaums. Despite they are completely two different movies, they have lots of common features like many of the Wes Anderson Movies in terms of both content and visual style. Because of that, if someone likes one of his movies, it is very possible to he will like others. on the contrary, if someone doesn't like one of his movies, it is very possible to he will don't like others. Even though its visual style is very pleasing and the story is very interesting for me, there are lots of people who don't like the story and also don't able to appreciate its visual art, Therefore, I accept its style is not appealing to every taste. I can totally understand if an ordinary audience can not like the movie. Although my all-time favorite movie from Wes Anderson is the Moonrise Kingdom, The Darjeeling Limited became one of my favorite.

img: The Darjeeling Limited (2007) official poster

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queernuck · 8 years ago

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Infinitude Of The Self: Levinas And Transcendence In Ethics

The means by which one may approach a reading of Totality and Infinity is as a basis for how one can in turn reach a Derridean critique of Heidegger through Levinas’ reading of Heidegger, and furthermore can use that to transition to a wider means of reading in critique, in a deconstructive fashion, in order to deal with a structuralism of capitalist ontology, of the recoiling from metaphysics (not an anti-metaphysics) that is captured within the Western Real, the constructivism that is foundational to understanding the transcendent and the material as distinctions from the physical, and as a means of discussing the transcendent and metaphysical even when contending with the specific means in which a certain Western Atheism is structurally endemic to the conceptual spread of Christianity, the sort of means by which the postmodern Church refuses to face the Death of God entirely, refuses to acknowledge its role in imperialism and the creation of a Western self, that the very West it owes itself to is based in a creation of the self through violence.

Levinas discusses, at a basic level, the means of encountering the Other through the ethical, an arbitration on freedom and moreover a means of creating the relationship between bodies in the social. Fundamentally, one must first engage with Levinas’ critique of the Other as a concept offered in Heidegger, in phenomenology at large, and link it into a larger means of reading the phenomenological. For Heideggerian thought, it is in encounter with a largely unnamed other that one is able to structure the Dasein: this encounter specifically requires a recognition of the Other and moreover a prioritization of one’s own thought, one’s own self, in formation. This is not to entirely dispose of the usefulness of Heideggerian thought in regards to phenomenology: to reject Heideggerian thought entirely would, in part, lead to a rejection of Derridean thought as well. Rather, in the manner that Derrida uses a reading of Heideggerian concepts to draw out the tensions that language forms within a text, so does Levinas draw out the question of that which is used to form the Dasein, that which forms the self according to Heidegger. One quickly realizes that, as Levinas describes, it is in fact a rabattement, a repetition, of the self that is realized in the Heideggerian Other, that it requires a sort of collapsing and closeness of being-in-the-world that lends itself specifically to the necessity of bringing another into a sort of proscribed range of encounter before realizing them as the other, that the other is a reflection of the self and not, in the sense Levinas raises it, a genuine realization of the Other.

What, then, is the Other? If not the Heideggerian Other, perhaps that which the Heideggerian other is claimed to be, is implied to be by other readings of Heidegger that Derrida and Levinas engage in (toward different ends) through an exteriority, such that one meets the freedom of self with the limitation of meeting the Other: it is reflection, not repetition, that one realizes the Other, that the Other in fact is not sublimated into internality, but profoundly exterior. For Levinas, there is an importance to this structure that rests within a larger importance of realizing the means in which one finds the freedom of the self limited by a meaningful commitment, a meaningful engagement, a meaningful obligation to the other in the form of ethics. The ethical is thus the limit upon the supposed absoluteness of freedom: Levinas is willing to accept an account of freedom as indeed infinite, an absolute freedom, but approaches it in a way that makes this irrelevant: what then is to be actually done with this freedom: How must one proceed from the lack of limitation presented by it? Is it an absolute command? When given this relationship with the Other, one finds that there must be a means of describing the acceptability of relating to that Other, and for Levinas this is the predication of ethics, of limitation on freedom, on the specific metaphysical (and perhaps structural) creation of the limited, ethical relation. The limitation, the totality of the ethical as a structure is not a limitation upon its applicability, nor is it a prescriptivism of the ethical that relies upon a sort of materialist, positivist basis for creating the possibility of ethics. Furthermore, it is not a utilitarianism, calculated upon a positivist basis and moreover based in a concept of the Other as having the same good as oneself, as being based within the same frame of being, as experiencing the same transcendence. There is a hatred necessary to the imperial, a hatred of the supposed precultural existence, or of the colonized themselves: these structures are what one derives antiblackness, antisemitism, colonialism, homophobia, transmisogyny from; in a sense, all hatreds are colonial and moreover are predicated upon this structure. That is not to say that there was no hatred, was no violence before the structures of postmodern imperial and neocolonial dominance, nor that the new aesthetics emblematized in neocolonialism are in fact a meaningful divestment from these hatreds. Rather, it is an affirmation as to the character of totalization necessary for these structures as-such, that there is not an emptiness to them but in fact a fullness, a cowardice, that the violence in question is not undefined and senseless, but rather is in fact based in a strong sense of the self, that coloniality must be imbued, must be structured by intentionality, that one is not colonial merely through inheritance. Levinas is, importantly, structuring the relationship of the imperial in ethical terms, in terms of violence.

When defining violence, Levinas discusses it as cowardice: this must be understood as an indictment not of resistance, but of the totalizing violence, the fascist violence that the structuring of the self through freedom and the ethical impetus deals with. To turn Levinas’ critique against itself and to claim it as a justification for hegemony would be to entirely misunderstand the relations of violence at hand, to effectively perform an act of violence toward the concepts that Levinas’ work lays out and justify the violence that he describes: one can argue as to the reactionary character of opposition to American Imperialism, such as that shown in support of anticommunist regimes in order to superficially posit against a singular action of American imperialism, but it does not encompass, say, the process by which one critiques the structures of the colonial. That these structures are by their nature part of preventing encounter, are unethical, necessitates their destruction as a part of instituting a state of ethical relations, a state of the situation wherein one can realize the violence of flows of capital and one may open up the ethical to a genuine questioning rather than the confinement found in the violence of the colonial. To take a message of nonviolence from Levinas is to effectively read his critique of violence as part of determination of the Other as a specific command to allow the Other to be visited with violence, a sort of solipsistic understanding of how Levinas wishes to expand this thought to structures of the society, that one must understand the Other in order to come towards a “we” that is not merely a repetition of the self. Just as being is a measure from the transcendent, one finds a similarity to Badiou’s thought on politics as a measure from the state, and how one can critique the totalizing, reactionary violence that was justified under “Cultural Revolution” while also affirming that the relations which created a peasant class, the relationships of dispossession that allow for such violence. Levinas is not condoning the violence that collapses the Other into the self, and rather is offering an ethics that affirms this as violence, as a structure of violence moreover, as an important influence upon the questions of structuralism as well as the predominant poststructuralist character of realization that is involved in postcolonialism and critique of globalization as the predominant economic force of neoliberalism.

In order to apprehend the structures of violence described by Levinas, one must additionally enter into a critique and reading of Levinas’ construction of the body. The neoliberal operation of biopower, the specific manner in which one finds a delineation of and structural violence upon the body as a result of the neoliberal reclamation of both psychoanalytic impetus and a sort of positivist concept of the psychiatric results in a positivism of the body as an object but moreover a sort of totality of the infinite: the spirit may be contained within, there is a limit upon infinitude, and that transcendence is a very specific process that can only be attained through specific acts. This structures not only the overwhelmingly Christian character of imperialism, but the means by which the absence of naming this character is used to redouble upon it in the structuring of the colonial Self. Even if not explicitly stated, the ideology of creating a Western self that may encounter another is imbued with either an explicit Christianity, or a concept of what it constitutes that is based within that.

That all of this is part of a larger discussion of infinitude and the means by which it is engaged with should not be lost: the manner in which Levinas ascribes Being to the gap between the self and the transcendent, the manner in which Levinas specifically creates a sense of “atheist” transcendence when critiquing notions of that which is left through the specific materialism (rather than physicalism) of Western thought and Western Christianity, a specific refusal of the postmodern expanse as linked to a transcendent infinity, by nature ungraspable, resistant to totality, and instead at a gesturing towards totality that has defined the postmodern structure of Christianity. It requires a concept of the Christian against the world, against an Other that is moreover influenced by decadence and decay, that must be engaged with in a careful spiritualism, a specifically colonial relation seen in the ideology of missionaries and how their presence within colonial structures has been used in order to create a spirit of the colonial, a culturality of colonization that not only gives a sort of account of preculturality, of an quasi-animal state before a discovery of the self, but creates a charitability of bestowing the self, of coming-to-know that thus may allow being, that is the prerequisite for being and access to this infinitude. Merleau-Ponty’s discussion of the encounter, of encountering another, is influenced by an idea of encountering the Other such that one recognizes within the other a commonality, different than the Heideggerian concept of the Other: whereas it is a sort of removed affinity and distancing that is necessary for coming to know oneself through Heidegger, instead through Merleau-Ponty one finds the means in which a sense of the internal is found in externality, in encountering the Other and moreover in a recognition of commonality rather than needing the recognition of the self. Merleau-Ponty is perhaps one of the most important writers on the concepts of internality as related to phenomenology due to the manner in which he describes the structure of the body: he allows for one to come to a concept of the body as a specific sort of object, but moreover proscribes extension of that object, the relations that object requires for sensibility and how that is related to assemblages of the body, assemblages that are structured by race, by gender, by sex, by any number of delineations upon the potentiality of the body. Merleau-Ponty’s work describes in great length the means by which possibility, thinkability, is in fact part of the possibilities of the body: one can only do that which one believes one can do, one can only proceed with the body in a manner that one is able to conceive of, one cannot be limited by limits that are not in some sense understood. The totality of the body may be defined in the terms of the body but moreover of a metaphysics of the body such that the external “body” is not the limit itself, but in fact merely part of the delineation of that limit, that there is far more “potential” in a body than can even be meaningfully realized, that there is an infinitude of potential that escapes totality.

All of this culminates in the theme I find to be most important within the work at hand: the face, the means by which one is Being-in-the-world-for-others, the profundity of embodiment as transcendent, as theological and moreover ontological in regard to this question of being, and how this relates to the structure of the imperial. Levinas’ thought is continually warning against the hegemonic articulation of an “I” or a falsity that is taken from this process of articulation, the way in which a false consciousness is created from the “I” of imperial control in order to create a sort of surrogacy, a replication of the face as a mask of the self rather than the face of the other. Understanding this relationship is vital to understanding Levinas’ writing in that it requires one to describe a relationship to the infinite that is described through language, through encounter with the Other but moreover upon a specific means of construction with the Other, that is by necessity against solipsism, against the totalizing structure of liberal individualism, against the means by which one finds the individual repeated in a concept of the West.

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someonesharingyourwarmth · 8 years ago

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If I don’t write about now now, it will be gone forever.

Gone forever of course, regardless, but I can do something so memory is not its sole keeper. The magic of now, of Ojai, cannot be written of course, only lived, but maybe I can express some of it, a sense of what it is like. What happened. An objective account, or really, totally subjective- my account. The magic of now, of the past two months, was evident on the first day, even on the way here. Oxnard and Ventura were typical city sprawl, often indifferent. The abode of the masses, the numb, perhaps. But anyway, the bike trail to Ojai started to reveal what was in store. Like the stick of a lolipop, or an ice cream cone, sweet cream dripping down. The path’s users near the city were indifferent- as if the atmosphere induced a negation of positivity. One cannot be unhappy on a bicycle. But anyway, there was no expressiveness, no joy.

As i neared the Ojai valley, the scene changed. Mountains appeared. Orange blossom scent brought back the best memories of novelty and purity in Cyprus. And the passers-by were suddenly friendly. The first week was full of magic. I will reflect on the past later, the present later will be past and some may even be clearer, but that, now I see, is a joke, a trick. It will be easier but not clearer, not accurate or on-target. That I can only do now, still within it, not yet a foot out the door. I must write of Pablo, Vicki, Krotona, Greater Goods now. Not tomorrow even, though little will have changed. When I write I am a writer.

I remember praying a few times, or talking to an unknowable whole. To God. What I ask for is only that which I need and deserve. In looking I know not what I’m looking for- for that is part of what I seek. In seeking I need not do anything but be open and pure, and the seeking will be a success.

What am I looking for? How can I convey what I have been doing? If i try a few ways, some might work. I am trying to become self-aware, to truly know what I mean when I say I. What does it mean to be fully human, to actualize or manifest or realize our true-selves? What is a true self? This is one question I am continually asking. How does a true self act? What role does one’s environment play in this? When does it help us, when does it hinder us? What do we do that’s self-sabotaging, and what is righteous? My life is an experiment to arrive at an answer to these questions and possibly even help others with their questions. I am getting closer. Some days I am stagnant but many days or weeks there is growth. It is my life’s work. Many others have similar goals. All of us have obstacles.

So again, what am I looking for if not happiness? Is it truth? I suppose that’s the word for it, but this word doesn’t say much on its own. What is truth? it is also balance. It is the Tao, the eternal, ungraspable. The God-in-all matter, the God beyond matter and energy, certainly beyond the known and accepted universe. It is seeing God in all. Seeing truth in all. Seeing beauty in all. Seeing paradox in all. Seeing that we are part of nature but also beyond it, destroying it. Seeing God’s plan in nature, and seeing we are little Gods too. Truth is beyond the brain, beyond the physical, the mental, the emotions. Intuition knows about truth but we cannot rationalize intuition- we know little about how to develop this human ability. The past points to truth, some of it anyway; the Buddha points, frozen in time, as does Jesus. Happiness, composure, peace are a byproduct of this search for truth. It is the only road I can walk.

How can we be sure there is even a God? Why must we be sure? We can look to clairvoyants, to art, to silence, to nature. Some say “consciousness is the ground of all being”- which i to say there is an invisible framework that is outside the physical plane, but animating the world we know. And this is happening ceaselessly. This is how we can understand being present, that there is now time but the present, that all changes, all is becoming, nothing actually stable, and certainly nothing permanent. Some clairvoyants have seen how this happens, how an atom comes into being, how matter is created in its most elementary, or smallest, from elsewhere, positive and negative “anu,” or vortices from another plane. Positive and negative, creating and dissolving, when in balance create the illusion of stability and permanence. That same balance we can find in our lives. We are microcosms of God, of the universe, of the planet; macrocosms of the cell, the atom. We can create balance in our lives.

Expect nothing but strive nonetheless for balance. Do not expect to understand everything- but try. Do not expect to fix the world’s problems, but fix the ones you can- specifically the ones in your self- do this with your actions. You may find your influence extends further than you could’ve even imagined. Or you may never know the fruits of your actions. Give silence and stillness a chance. Give unconditional love a chance. Give awareness a chance. Give study and creativity a chance. Always remember nothing lasts, nothing but truth anyway. Truth is always there, in us, in everything, often trapped inside. It is up to us to let it out, let it permeate our lives, our understanding- this is self-awareness. Call it what you will, heaven or enlightenment too. You are on the path already. It may take some stumbles, some lessons learned the hard way, but this is necessary. It takes each of us a while, some more direct, but we’ll all get there, to the end. Just try.

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