Into the concrete!
Enough time wasted in the noumenal.
Doubt casts souls to sea without a vessel to hide in.
Laundry must be washed, not merely "folded."
You can't learn to plow by reading a book.
My mind, distinct from an atom, enjoys a TV dinner.
Interconnected and separate, I am in this world.
I observe, apprehend, exist and sense.
I am free, while obeying laws of nature.
Calloused hands versus flighty fingertips of vapid over-analysis.
You can't blow up the world with a syllogism.
Dedication and suffering create.
Luxury and enjoyment destroy.
Latitude and longitude direct.
Flesh and bone decay.
Truth is timeless being.
Silence will not do!
ReplyDeleteWords we must. Rightfully, Nero, you break the ice that's clogged these streams.
What private words have passed must be made again in public. And more boldly!
Our audience has dwindled, but then let me speak then to an abyss of internet.
Here Nero, begins the step made anew. We enjoin ourselves to the task once more, A New Critique is the bell tower's ring-- I've said this before in private but: Quantum Epistemology reasoned oneself free of the mind's straightjacket, through using the very same reason and language that once formed the noose.
In approaching A New Critique, our private conversations have been most informative. I encourage all interested to contact you. And again, I say this work before us is the thought daughter of the preceding task completed. What next, with a mind freed? First, one reflects: on those lessons bought through the thought acts of liberation, only then carrying on again and forward.
But simultaneously, I remember and choose to adopt a more abstract reading of your wording. Hands must become calloused and true, but by labor of no physical plough. Please!
The work itself. It is not the mere and manic repetition of word crafting (on wings of solipsist dungeon weaving), but progress of the thoughts and ideas whom language has employed as servant.
May we steady ourselves by one certainty alone, that necessity to endeavor again.
I remember a quote by a dear fellow, I believe its case to be true for us both:
“I had kind of a midlife crisis in my early twenties which probably doesn’t augur well for my longevity” -DFW
One storm is passed, on to chase the next.
Firstly, Thank You! Your recognition of The New Critique as a pick in the ice that clogs the streams of philosophical investigation here on the senate floor is both greatly edifying and motivating. However, the ice pick demands coarse hands and hammering ;)
ReplyDeleteAll that aside. I wish to state;
The New Critique is the Mission Bell.
The Senate will not surrender; we refuse to leave the world of ideas. Whether lifted towards the heavens with words as servants, or confined in hell with words as masters.
The Senate will not surrender.
______________________________________
The (new) storm
of momentary interest
rains heavily overhead.
The day of my birth.
Born November 12, 1986. I am now a 26 year old man. I am familiar with the sour and inexplicable taste of quarter-life, as well as some hybrid-mixed-up-confused-premature midlife crisis. I have meditated endlessly on this fact: intentionally transforming oneself into a less selfish person can never be anything other than a selfish decision. I have realized that real-eyes realize real-lies. Sha-la-la-la--la-de-da. (My have you grown)
Caught in a land slide, no escape from reality. I'm just a poor boy; I need no sympathy.......... doesn't really matter to me =D
Having said that, I must ask.
Are we mere storm chasers of fleeting glimpses and breathes of thruthfulness?
Cheers Senators,
Long Live the Senate
"that necessity to endeavor again.'"
ReplyDeleteNo one guides us through the land and
No one knows the where's or why's.
And, yet, something stirs. Something tries.
Begins the climb towards the light