Now seest thou, son!
The souls of those, whom anger overcame.
This too for certain know, that underneath
The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs
Into these bubbles make the surface heave,
As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn.
Fix'd in the slime they say: Sad once were we
In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun,
Carrying a foul and lazy mist within:
Now in these murky settlings are we sad.
Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats.
But word distinct can utter none.
They told us not to say anything at all if we didn't have anything nice to say. What they should've told us is to never say anything nice at all that wasn't also a little mean, and never to say anything mean that wasn't also a little nice. I prefer best of all those perfect mixed compliments, for at least their duplicity is open and unveiled. It is far more honest that way, rather than the typical forked-tongue approach of the common man in his everyday expression.
The souls of those, whom anger overcame.
This too for certain know, that underneath
The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs
Into these bubbles make the surface heave,
As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn.
Fix'd in the slime they say: Sad once were we
In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun,
Carrying a foul and lazy mist within:
Now in these murky settlings are we sad.
Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats.
But word distinct can utter none.
Canto XVII
"The rules insisted upon in polite society, such, for example, as the avoidance of everything ridiculous, fantastic, presumptuous; the suppression of one's virtues just as much as of one's most violent desires, the instant bringing of one's self down to the general level, submitting one's self to etiquette and self-deprecation: all this, generally speaking, is to be found, as a social morality, even in the lowest scale of the animal world..."
Nietzsche, The Dawn of Day
Nietzsche, The Dawn of Day
They told us not to say anything at all if we didn't have anything nice to say. What they should've told us is to never say anything nice at all that wasn't also a little mean, and never to say anything mean that wasn't also a little nice. I prefer best of all those perfect mixed compliments, for at least their duplicity is open and unveiled. It is far more honest that way, rather than the typical forked-tongue approach of the common man in his everyday expression.
As the deeply solitary person I am and always have been, I sought a complimentary partner, who would balance out my extreme misanthropy with a generous helping of humanistic optimism. But I could not predict the kinds of ideological clashes that would arise as a result of such a gap in social habits. The overwhelmingly affable, people-pleasing persona she had, to which myself and many others were drawn, was situated on a bedrock of essential premises and faiths about humanity very different from my own.
She believed that people are basically good, and genuinely mean for the best even when they falter and err. Though this idea has long fascinated me, and though I have toyed with integrating this intensely affirmative premise within my beliefs, it has never really taken hold.
Peppered throughout all my argumentation is the use of and reliance upon a principle of duality. It has been clear to people for all of recorded history that appearance is often quite at odds with reality. Sometimes things seem to be one way when they are in fact quite another. Encountered with this true and pervasive phenomenon, we ask ourselves, what is the nature of this seeming? Why do appearances crop up to divide us from the truth? Is it possible to develop a reliable method to circumvent these illusive appearances, so we may arrive at reliable and certain knowledge of the truth?
Canto XVIII
"Will there be many people honest enough to admit that it is a pleasure to inflict pain?"
Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human
O ye destroyers who yearn to love
O ye passionate souls who wish to guide and aide
Thy well-meaning words become naught
Once thy lips are loosed
And thy true heart revealed.
I had a friend upon whom I relied heavily for guidance. We met at a strange passing in our lives. Her father had recently perished. She was free with herself, and open in the expression of her thoughts and feelings, without regard to her audience. The audacity of her persona set my mind aflame, and with time I built up a genuine admiration.
She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, or also clinical depression, and was undergoing both talk and drug therapy. She would have moments of explosive energy, where her essence would leap out into the world with transformative force. But one time, her unconstrained spirit lept too far, beyond the confines of her empathy and her reason, and I felt the lash of her callous tongue.
For the first months after her father's passing, we spoke regularly. She felt that only I really understood what she needed. Many others wished to sweep what had happened under the rug, to provide the requisite words and to make the requisite social gestures, but to otherwise go along unchanged in their own lives. Only I would simply listen, proffering no simple solutions, but merely giving affirmation to the truth of her experience.
In our conversations we acquainted each other with our psyches and the unique struggles of each our lives. Having both suffered psychologically, she was able to give me guidance in a way that showed she had been where I was before. In short, I trusted her deeply, and considered her a friend.
Does she not know the offense she has delivered to me in so loosing her lips? Ultimately I think less of her for all of it. But what she has lost, perhaps I have gained. I am confirmed over and again of how all too human humanity is, and repeatedly find myself disgusted by the limitations of their vision.
But there is only so much we can do to expand our perspective and minimize how self-focused we are in our thoughts. Sometimes we rise above the I, but remain stuck in the They. Rarely do we ever rise above the They to peer at the grand vision of the course of all humanity.
There are a few things I conclude frequently: that everyone is full of shit, that nobody knows what they're talking about, that no one is fundamentally different from anyone else, that we are all all-too-human, that we should learn to expect humans to fall well short of their ability, that pessimistic outlooks are far closer to reality than any optimism, that friends don't really exist, and that caring for others ultimately only gets you hurt.
In the future, no one will exist like me. We will have been selectively eliminated, not by extermination, but rather by more adequate and effectual social integration. People like me shouldn't exist. At least, not for people like these. These people have no use for us.
Canto XIX
"Audentis Fortuna iuvat."
Virgil, The Aeneid
Virgil, The Aeneid
Our being-in-the-world necessarily entails a dispositional being-toward-the-world. The position we take with reference to our world is determined by our involvement within it. Since our own being is bound up with the being of the world, that is to say, since we are always already in the thick of it, our being involved in our doings necessarily takes on the mode of concern or care.
Care is always about taking a stand on one's being. So too, taking a stand entails taking on a stance. Not merely standing, but so too positioning oneself within a relation. So we must ask ourselves: what is the stance proper to the stand we are making? How may we appropriately harmonize our willing-to-be with the stance we are taking in relation to the world? And how are we to determine the right stand to take when confronted with the enormity of existence?
The stands I take are many. Here are a few: My life is my own. As such, I shall spend my time and energy as I see fit. When attacked, I defend with the aim of deflecting. When a more subtle foe slips past my defenses, I shall expell him from my city walls with extreme prejudice. Expect not from others what they cannot give. Ask not for that which is already rightly yours. And remember always: fortune favors the bold.
My thoughts
Seal themselves away from presence.
For a time, a thought is present:
It does not merely linger still
Like a stagnant thing-at-hand,
Rather it presences itself
As it grows and thrives.
Organically
A seed is planted
Cast into the soil
Abandoned and forgotten
But it may draw attention
As it springs
If we tend to this emergence
Sheltering the thought
Gifting it with the light of attention
It shall thrive and grow
And grow
Until looming large,
Its many fruits dangle low
Within the reach of many
To grasp and realize
The potentiality of every seed
To obtain whole new outgrowths
Of the same vigor and vitality.
Life:
The ultimate gatherer of attentions.
The plant is neglected,
It withers, it perishes.
All that remains are remains,
Hazy hopeless mistaken memories
Though still remnants,
Indicative of some unknown past,
Once present.
Each fruit that once hung heavy,
Shining with ripeness
Bursting with sweet juices,
Has returned its seed
To the fallow earth
Promising by its death
To birth life again
In new thought.
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