The muses’ decision to sing or not to sing is never based on the elevation of your moral purpose—they will sing or not regardless.

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Monday, August 16, 2010

A Glad Day for Surfing



Here, (right here) the senate transcends the capacities of the human body to locate itself. In the byzantine corridors of these blog posts we are lost in a big hotel, filled with glass elevators and numbered rooms off into infinitum. Where do we go? What do we write? Shall the irksome sound of silence descend upon the intarwebs blog stain we have smeared? What values do we hold here, if any? Power?

"As God as my judge I am not guilty"
"God is not your judge, I am. You get six months."

WTF has happened to senate? Terry Shivo anyone? Do the eyes of our blog follow the doctor's balloon? e-euthanasia? I think we are (here) on this page to learn how to be immortal, or better, learning not to be mortal, to refuse finitude and disavow death's poisonous breath. To desire this immortality is not the mastery of death, but the very limit of philosophical thinking. Or as Plato put it so many years ago, 'To philosophize is to learn how to die.' Together we surf, in postmodernist hyperspace, make a post and a glad day for surfing.

4 comments:

  1. Nero,

    I urge thee with all of the love in my soul to calm thy nuts. The Senate is a precious thing and enthusiasm to keep it pleased like a Mayan God after a virgin sacrifice is appreciate. But its death is far from upon us. Good Senator has most recently blessed us with another piece of profundity, while you knowest better then any that Post Modern Posts come at long intervals, saved for the true inspiration and grandeur. Yes it is true, sadly, that these words may not ring true for our beloved Daddy, but he is there, watching us always with a loving, protective, fatherly gaze. But! Rememberest that Post Modern Post of old forewarning of the over zealousness of the embedment of Dogs, Dicks, and Disney? It is the quality of the souls in Hell that make it sinister not the quantity.

    With Love and Respect for your adoration of the Senate. A truer Senator is hard to find.

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  2. Drunk on the unblinking gaze of the internet again. My nuts are now as calm as a Buddhist monk. It's way past my bedtime here on the senate floor, and I shall get some much needed sleep. I bid you all adieu.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Good friends again, soon again we must converse.

    Nero, what a good question you have placed before us. What good words you have chosen--

    Your word choice reminded me of a phrase I'd forgotten, one that all senators should bear within them to keep warm on these cold personal nights:

    Q: Why are we here? Why do we Senate?

    A: To become immortal, and then to die.

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  4. Or:

    Today I ran into a pipe end, I have a circular red bruise four inches in diameter creeping around my left widow's peak.

    I met a dog named lucy that lives in a van, she got hit by a car last week and tore a segment of her heart. She lives still, though timidly.

    I met a vietnamese day laborer named Bo who wears a grass woven conical hat-- he speaks english. He has a short friend people refer to only as vietnamese morgan freeman, because that is how he looks-- he speaks no english.

    ReplyDelete

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