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Dead Hand Consolation Prize
Dec. 14th, 2022 08:01 pmEmerging pathologically introspective set me at widdershins to the World. I was quick to mask, lucky to have the neurology to compensate - this must be some kind of punishment/reward heuristic, a built in biosocial survival necessity - but before and while learning, I would simply speak my observations. I knew when they were lying, and it took a few years to learn that pointing at those lies resulted in a finger bitten. Once I learned how to lie, what it felt like to pretend so seriously, what it must be like to be a normal person! Mirabile dictu! He was truly born again.
but it wasn't a sudden transition, of course of course. We lose ourselves in μms, until we forget enough to mythologize our amnesia. A frame by frame retelling wouldn't preserve the narrative, see - if you've lain with the truth, you must lie with the truth.
and it was precisely these paradoxes that I learned to avoid communicating. In the wrong crowd you can get punched in the face, dragged to the ground, kicked and pummeled, for that sort of talk, for being recognized- I have the scars to prove it.
Meditation. And. A systematic methodology for observing, and, a systematic methodology for observing the observer observe. There was a tipping point for me, and maybe there is for everyone... Where, once observed, once lived, once been, one's entire life is cast in a completely different material. I know this is such a typical story: but I was right all along. You are moved by invisible causes, and thus you lay claim to agency instead of ignorance. I knew this from go, it was self evident that self evidence could only be the condensation of the soul- not the movement! We are what's left behind:
It thinks, therefore I was.
It took me years to find out and even just begin to unravel the tangle the World has made of me. Just begin. Again, just begin again. Again.
To my point (lel): Understanding how the sausage is made doesn't help, as much as I thought it might, to make the sausage. It just makes sausage disgusting - thus the tipping point. Either I simmer in my own horror or...
Find a way to thread the needle in this haystack of bullseyes, dunk every pin dancing angel, and checkmate all the metaphors.
but it wasn't a sudden transition, of course of course. We lose ourselves in μms, until we forget enough to mythologize our amnesia. A frame by frame retelling wouldn't preserve the narrative, see - if you've lain with the truth, you must lie with the truth.
and it was precisely these paradoxes that I learned to avoid communicating. In the wrong crowd you can get punched in the face, dragged to the ground, kicked and pummeled, for that sort of talk, for being recognized- I have the scars to prove it.
Meditation. And. A systematic methodology for observing, and, a systematic methodology for observing the observer observe. There was a tipping point for me, and maybe there is for everyone... Where, once observed, once lived, once been, one's entire life is cast in a completely different material. I know this is such a typical story: but I was right all along. You are moved by invisible causes, and thus you lay claim to agency instead of ignorance. I knew this from go, it was self evident that self evidence could only be the condensation of the soul- not the movement! We are what's left behind:
It thinks, therefore I was.
It took me years to find out and even just begin to unravel the tangle the World has made of me. Just begin. Again, just begin again. Again.
To my point (lel): Understanding how the sausage is made doesn't help, as much as I thought it might, to make the sausage. It just makes sausage disgusting - thus the tipping point. Either I simmer in my own horror or...
Find a way to thread the needle in this haystack of bullseyes, dunk every pin dancing angel, and checkmate all the metaphors.