It’s cold. I went downtown; saw some friends. I went to Chicago; saw some good people. I went to Madison last night; great camp faces. Saw the Packers game at Lambeau last weekend. Did the Aunt’s wedding. Saw the Nutcracker Ballet. Passed up tickets to the Buck’s game. Right now, I’m headed to Dana’s corner bar for that Wednesday night taco special. More to come…
Winter break is something more than a social swirling of sorts…
I may have just stumbled on my new favorite philosophical journal!
Journal of Concsiousness Studies: controversies in science & the humanities
An article titled, “Evolving the Mind: On the Nature of Matter and the Origin of Consciousness,” brought me to it. Needless to say, I’m stoked. … now if only my library had the book….
[by the way, this guy is tooo far-out….]
The question I am raising of late is whether or not all forms of meaning are constructions of consciousness, aka. ‘the Maker of Meaning’. I will suggest that forcing consciousness to make meaning of itself is the most intriguing activity possible within the human predicament, but that’s a topic for another time. For now, I’d like to make reference to a passage I randomly found. I have many thoughts about it. Despite his choppy english, I hope the leap this author makes in regards to language and meaning is obvious, and further, I hope it raises your eyebrows as high as mine:
“John Locke (1632-1707), an English 17th Century philosopher stated that humans are social animals, and that language is a tool which humans use to make their respective intentions known. With the advancement of science and technology, this view of language came to be seen as self-evident, and widespread acceptance came to be given to the view that language is nothing more than a means for the transfer of information by human beings. This way of thinking lies at the base of the consciousness of people in the contemporary world. Yet, as long as language is nothing more than a tool for people to use in their social lives, then religion, in which people are saved through the Word, cannot become established. This would cause the collapse of very foundation of Shin Buddhism, which holds that the Buddha is the Name and that people who entrust in the be saved. The problem, however, lies in the question of whether language is nothing than a human tool as Locke had posited.
“I believe that Locke’s view of language applies only to the language of everyday life, the purpose of which is practicality or utility. Certainly, words in our ordinary lives are always used as means to obtain some end. For example, if I go to a flower shop and say, ‘Please give me that rose,” I use those words in order to obtain a rose. Upon receiving the rose, those words are no longer of any use and I discard them. The realm of our everyday lives is such that, in the instant that words are born, they immediately die. There, the possibility that words could be born, become perfected, and continue forever does not arise. Words are never anything other than simple means and never become identical with the end itself. Thus, in our ordinary lives, we may seem to put our faith in language, but, in reality, we do not. We are not able to encounter true language in the sense that, upon saying or hearing that language, our salvation could be immediately realized. Shinran stated the world of ordinary beings, filled with blind passions, is entirely “empty and false” (soragoto tawagoto). I believe that he was describing the state of our everyday life, in which we cannot get beyond the sign-like words that we use within it.”
Thanks to Ted, I have come across a quote that suits my fancy:
“He who has thought most deeply loves that which is most alive.”
~Friedrich Hölderlin
I threw in a dozen hours of researching last night. I just starting another round. A brother gets worn down, you know what I’m sayin’? But it’s chill. And on top of it all, I picked up this new CD that is everything I need right now.
The group is Heiruspecs, and they just came out with this new disc called, A Tiger Dancing — way chill! Way. These kids put out that fresh hip hop vibe with the live instrumental band in the back, gettin’ the job done. Times are heavy, but times are good.
The only reason we can begin to despise the system is because it exists. We can only begin to imagine living outside the system because the system is in place. There seems (conceivably) to have always been a system. It has changed over the years, and in part, probably, by those choosing to live outside of it (i.e., those that live outside, pave the foundation of the next system to come). But what if there really was no system? What alternative would this be? How would our thought manifest itself if there really were no superficial concepts of meaning floating around out there, or should I say, if the current system wasn’t spoon-feeding meaning down our throats? —
The ways in which we begin to reflect on our consciousness are in direct contrast/comparison to the system. It is a testament to the minds before us that a system is even in place. But it would seem that the very idea of a system is what makes it possible for one to even constitute his/her consciousness in the first place - even if s/he exists (or is trying to exist) outside of the system. What is it about the system that makes it seem so necessary? Is it necessary?
What would it be like with absolutely no system? Could we even begin to work on our consciousness otherwise? We would be plagued by need and appetite. At the very least, the system provides us the leisure to contemplate, doesn’t it? Isn’t that why contemplation is so fervent now? I guarantee if I was sick, starving and dying, I wouldn’t be producing much …
“Children are like carrots, once you peel them, you have to dip them in ranch right away.” -Emerson
Yesterday, I was caught saying outloud the things I only think about; over dinner, I had a ragingly nihilistic conversation. I take that back, it wasn’t even a conversation. It was me. Arguing for the very things that distract me and thwart my conception of progress. There wasn’t room in this monologue for other opinions. Counter arguments could be raised, but they were quickly absorbed into the nothingness I was proposing.
What did Nietzsche let out of pandora’s box? (And why are Sartre and I applauding?)
We are a plagued people. Step back for a moment. Look at this world. Watch the ingnorance of the playful child building castles in the sand. Gaze at the nonchalance of an elder on a bench with a newspaper. The mother taking her kids out to dinner. The study group meeting over drinks. The routines. The despicable nature of habit. Our onerous unoriginality. It’s pathetic. And what’s more, it’s empty. Void of any real significance. Of any real meaning.
And let’s say you realize this. What do you do? Where do you go? No where. Everwhere is the same. At best, you’ll tell me to to take some time off, “go hiking around the world,” you’ll say. Is that the best you can offer, the best I can do? To give in to the distraction and marvel at things bigger than me? Nonsense. It’s Life itself that’s the culprit. You can’t take off time from Life. Well, you can, but once. And it’s a permanent choice. Tempting, I’ll admit, but death will happen anyway, so let us advance our predicament before the eternal unconsciousness claims us. Now, then, the actual moment of Now, is the only time we have; tomorrow can’t be trusted to involve you. And don’t for a second deny that.
I asked you a question. Is that the best you can offer? Or will you persuade me to subscribe to science, or to destiny, or worse, to religion? These are not Real. These are constructions of meaning, provided by bewildered and feeble ramblers. We cannot know of these things. Their truths lie in our hopes. They provide the distraction. They keep us from considering the nothingness. These delusions dillute our sovereign thought. Our capacity to be consciously situated in our own lonely being.
Go ahead. Sign-up. Join the masses. Graduate high school. If you can get there, your next highest ambition is college. Then grad school. Eventually, you scramble to get a job. Perpetuate the cycle. Acquire assets. Marry. Raise a family. At 65, when you and your empty-nest partner finally retire you can invent things to do - travel, write or read, watch grandchildren. Let’s call this wasting time. It’s all the same. At any moment of any day at any age, you have the same options. Freedom is fantasy. It is choice. Not of what, but of when. There is a system in place, and for most, success therein is embraced as the goal. For me it is the game.
You can’t not engage the system (the game). The system is too strong. The system is so deliberate in its persuasion, in its distraction, in its production that, if you defy it, it will find you. It will condmen you. Chastise you. Ostracize you. Once dismissed by the system, you will no doubt feel the burden of phsyical and mental torture and torment. Our culture isn’t just good at keeping your head up - it’s good at keeping down those that want you to look around. The poor. The meak. The crippled. The fanatic. The ingenius. The exceptions.
Our fear, manifested by the system, locks these people up and hides the keys. Sentenced to isolation in prisons, or institutions, or the streets, these people, some plagued with their realness and their position in the nothingness, dwindle to their demise - wholly unnoticed. These people die with the truth; with the truth that their is nothing. The masses cannot handle this. They don’t want to. It would stop the wheel from turning. It would stop the feeling of progress. Each member is a cog. An unrealized, unwilling cog, confined to the motions of our nation, set in place by many god-fearing puritan men long ago.
The members are weak, spineless specimens by nature. Unable to bare the empty truth of existence. But, they are not to be discounted. Not only is each capable of seeing the Realness of the world, but together they form a force. Even if fighting for unreal ideals, they are a mass. They provide a force and this ‘collective will’ will stamp out any uprising, crush any voice that puts their reality in question. It’s the collective will that killed Scarface. The collective will that stopped Hitler (and empowered him!). The collective will that defends America’s regime, both within and beyond its national border. It must be recognized and respected, especially if you plan to maneuver in, around and despite it.
If we agree to dismiss what we can’t know, we are left with nothing. A world void of inherent meaning. Don’t you see, we construct the meaning. We are machines for meaning. We create it. That’s our purpose… our biological purpose. Our biological plight. How infallibly superficial. And most, when faced with this superficiality or before they even get a chance to!, choose to secede from our natural predicament and accede to the safety and meaning of the system.
So where does this leave us? We see that the world is nothingness. That meaning is made, not given. Now what? Let us not forget, we are conscious. We possess consciousness and everything from our mouth and from our pen is of our creation. Our world, the story we tell, is our choice. We choose the words we use. Every syllable is of our creation. To be heard and understood by others is to necessarily be affecting the world. We are conveying a message that has never been said before, in the way it was said. It is our consciousness, and it alone, that is of value.
On consciousness, one can abandon its peculiarities and non-consciously feed it the distraction of the external system and the meaning that comes with it. Or, one can concede the nothingness of our predicament and investigate, on a meta- level, the ways in which we begin to ascribe meaning to it, the complexities of our consciousness. We must seperate ourselves from the madness. Isolate our consciousness so as to understand it, to know it. Consciousness is our only unique feature. Our only potential to transcend the system put in place to distract us.
Every step you take should be embodied in an air of awareness. Every move you make should be strictly analyzed. Every emotion you show, every breath you take should be recognized. You are responsible for yourself. You must distinguish you conscious contribution.
This fortuitous reality is not for the weak at heart. It is for those that are willing to die; willing to die making progress within the self. It is a road less traveled. A road with no maps, no signs, and dead philosophers littered in the gutters. Without meaning, life is utterly and disasterously worthless. Without meaning, it is better to die. So if a quest for actualized consciousness is too Real for you, than I suggest you quickly sign-up to support the Wheel, unless you already have…
I step back. This isn’t an essay. The arguments aren’t formal. It’s all flow. I have two final papers due in 5 days. And I need to maintain the facade.
I recently acquired a new Immortal Technique CD. Immortal Technique is Real. That’s all I can say. He’s probably too much and too hard for most, but he puts it down, and I listen.
In this CD, he uses a sound-bite of a radio broadcast of an essay called, “Hip Hop or Homeland Security”, by Mumia Abu-Jamal. This opened up a whole can of worms for me. I had to check out more of Mumia.
If you have a night to face real issues, I’d suggest starting here:
— Mumia’s Essays
— What’s happening in his case
— His webpage
— All of his Radio Broadcasts
and
— A Story you should definitely consider…
There’s a truth in everyone’s voice. This is all worth listening to.
I’ll make one quick note: I’ve been bombarded, lately, by thoughts of how Real other people’s lives are, in ways I can’t even begin to imagine. From my friends that I see everyday, to guerrila soldiers in jungles, to starving children in desolate lands, … each person lives in a reality that is as real (for them) as my own reality is for me. Artists like Immortal Technique, movies like City of God, and many of my daily considerations make me feel their consciousness, their Realness… and it’s almost frightening. Almost.
This is December, celebrated for many reasons. But, at this moment, I can’t help but realize that this December marks the 1 year anniversary of my cellphone. What a celebrated prize that is. I mean, not really. I’m not writing about my cellphone in order to celebrate it, but rather, to condemn it.
I was never a cell-phone guy. Always against them, in fact. I prided myself on my ability to remember numbers. I fashioned the calling card in my wallet (or satchel), and even, eventually, had my pin number memorized. Life was good. But slowly my social life expanded. I moved west. Other kids moved east and south. Time zones became an obstacle. I was working hard, and getting home late - too late for a call 3 hours ahead. I became disconnected.
So, Santa gave me a cellphone last christmas… to take advantage of the down time that pops up periodically throughout the day. Santa only gave me 250 day-time minutes, but that’s another story. It took a while to make the full transition, but after many months, and many over-charged phone bills, I became that guy with a cellphone. I admit that now. One of the first symptoms of being that guy is not knowing your own friends’ phone numbers. Without my phone, I wasn’t going to call anyone. I couldn’t. I didn’t know their numbers. Luckily, I never lost it… and a year has passed and I feel rather responsibile. However….
And there’s always a ‘however.’
My phone just quit yesterday. It threw in the towel. Heaven knows why, but it decided to stop displaying it’s screen. Great. It wasn’t fancy in the first place. No cool camera gadget. No hip-hop download tune action. No fancy rings. No fancy colors. Just a simple, single-colored screen for a simple guy, single-colored guy (…yeah, i don’t know what that means either, but parallel structure made me do it).
So, now I can’t get any calls. Can’t make any calls. Everything sucks. I will hunt down the kids at Cingular on Monday. Here I am trapped in a 2 year contract, and they can’t even give me a phone that will last that long… what a joke.