over and over and over again there's the dropping of the reins of teleology. versus, a lifetime of knee jerks, seeking the better, slumming in ISness. the music of communicating from UNcertainty from this ocean of confusion in which I have long since drowned. but this is realness, however patronized by logic and labels. I'm on my own and death will remember me in due course. however, where I am now is the breath of things, the heartbeat of time and space. why fantasize about what's out there in the big, wide world, when I'm stumbling over things in my own house? memory is always goosing me to attack its cardboard devils and chase its cartoon gods, and the music of transcendence is ignored. we don't hear it by paying attention to it. realizing there isn't any way to hear it, is releasing.
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the good news and bad news is that risk isn't procrastinatable.
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vulnerability is the guardian of truth. vulnerability and confusion but this isn't despair. I don't know what it is, but it's not despair. it's disembarking from our trains of thought and hoping for the best. diving into currents without knowing how to swim. it's telling the truth, not pontificating it. and the truth thus told is never pretentious or strident. it's speaking from humanness to humanness. the alchemy of sincerity.
talking is surrendering to form, to chains and lines and trains of thought. this is process city and we robot around in it like rats in a maze. Jung used to talk about archetypes as the river beds of millennia. big deal. who needs them? let's mutate into butterflies and fly out of time. the bottom line is that form hurts us far more than it helps us. but it's so seductive. it seems so appropriate. and what's the alternative?
now you're talking, says the cat. those woo! woo! those big brains of yours are masturbating your lives away, says the cat. hey, fur ball, how much do you know about quantum mechanics, says us. look Jack, says the cat, the best you can say about theory is that it gets you to where the rest of us have never left. I'm so goddamn buried in ISness, I don't need to think about it, like you pitiful, bipedal abstraction junkies, says the cat. hmmm, says us. you don't know it, but to other life forms, you Homo sapiens tick tock around like zombies, says the cat. yeah, well we've worked out how to minimize the surface for a fixed amount of volume in those disgusting cans of cat food of yours, says us. what do you have to say about that, says us. thus, says the cat, and eats a bug. ugh, says us. you never like my answers, says the cat.
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