dont own rights, but pay homage.
Not the usual version that gets play time
What an effing slick front man.
Author: writtencasey
I am fascinated by the scientific endeavor and I read about or engage with those processes as much as possible. I am a compulsive reader and writer.
With a background in anthropology and as an arm-chair/backyard scientist, I hope to improve my writing skills and learn about any areas of weakness or misunderstanding in my analytic skills.
I am excited to share. Thank you for spending time here.
Please reach out if you are so inclined. I'd be excited to hear from you.
Watch “A Day In The Life” on YouTube
Don’t own rights, but pay homage
A dreamy song in multiple movements for a dreamy grey Seattle Sunday
By a bit of water
After her meander, she soon spotted him sitting in the tall grass with an unlit smoke hanging off his lip, facing the bottleneck where the narrow little creek began to come together on itself and collect into a pond. A dam edged the flow at the far side of the water and a fishladder sat right alongside this spillway.
Salmon spawned and climbed there. But not yet, as fall was only now making the scene.
She wonders what he is seeing. What made him sit down in the first place?
His back faced her and yet she knew he was gone. Mentally absconding down some path, having been beckoned by guazy spirits within his imagination. She liked to watch his corporeal form when the immaterial consumed his attention.
It was the way his neck worked. Parallel thrusts of unnoticed nuchral rigidity held his head fast and at its present attention. The slope delineated by neck becoming shoulders.
She considered breaking his reverie, but chose to keep still in the moment with him and bask in the felicific tension.
In the suspension of outcome;
the bit before the finale;
the desire for denouement.
Casey Adams shared an answer on Quora with you
What is the difference between “ontology” and “epistemology”? by Joshua Engel https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-difference-between-ontology-and-epistemology/answer/Joshua-Engel?ch=99&share=eac1d427&srid=CWTwk
Dream of Troubadours
I dream troubadours whisper Provencal words against my neck.
An apothegm: my legs will not stop shaking.
An aphorism: about that which one does not know, one might do best by remaining silent.
Breathe, hold it in and hold in stillness, then release.
Prudence and patience,
my prowess has power adapted to the need.
I work in mystery-the intersection of suspense and anticipation in a heavily muted silence.
Decorously discreet both in dire straits and in heedlessness.
My obliging pruriency sure hopes he pries.
On being mothlike
There’s a light,
There’s a light
I’m a moth,
And there’s a goddamn light.
DIZZY—
HOT——
…….———
I’m a moth,
There’s a light, there’s a light,
There’s a goddamn light
Quote from Tao te Ching
Thirty spokes will converge
in the hub of a wheel;
But the use of the cart
will depend on the part
of the hub that is void.
So advantage is had
from whatever is there;
But usefulness rises
from whatever is not.
Passing Innocence
Any efficacy produced by the endemic radiance of innocence will appear only to those who have already mourned its abolishment within themselves.
After being treated by the civilized doctor for the affects and effects of time, one can only experience natural naivety as she does the sun on her face; and, it is only after winter that such warmth will be rejoiced.
When the Sky Shattered
At that moment, the sky fell.
Like the vibrations from her hand clap overcame the sky’s structure. Cracking like a punched mirror, but silently. Little fissures and crevices branched like spiderwebs and radiated outward, allowing bits of an ultra-violet, purple color to seep through from behind.
As pieces of the blue sky separated, they slid down the sides of the earth, like a reverse snow globe, following the earth’s curvature, down and around until all that was left was a new purple sky.
How math talks? In statements.
Euclid was the dude who gave us (Euclidean) geometry.
He included the postulate below.
Given any straight line and a point not on it, there “exists one and only one straight line which passes” through that point and never never intersects the first line, no matter how far they are extended.
Well, this was later replaced with the assumption that more than one parallel can be drawn to a given line through a given point. One could also make the assumption no parallels can be drawn thusly. This led to a new type of geometry.
It was after this shift in thought that mathematics was recognized to be much more abstract than traditionally supposed:
- Because math statements can be construed in principle to be about anything, rather than some inherently circumscribed set of objects or traits of objects.
- Because the validity of math statements is grounded in the structure of statements rather than in the nature of a particular subject matter.
- Because any special meaning that may be associated with the terms in the postulates plays no essential role in deriving the theorems.
*Clumsily articulated from readings by Douglas Hofstadter as well as Roger Penrose
Exceptional rule
All rules have exceptions.
All rules are exceptional;
The rule without exception is thus exceptional.
You will die a voodoo death because everyone expects you to.
The tragedy of the commons is that there is nothing anyone cares to do.
Contagions of group expectations afflict your field of view.
A cursed question put on you: would you still die if no one thought you would?
Authority instructs you to confront mortality.
You and yours fantasize your finality.
You will die and Jesus loves you and this you know because a great big ole’ book told your parents so. But where is your existential subjective experience of this?
You are part of the totality, but, individually, you are also a triviality.
What you are is a value of a binary threshold function.
Steppenwolf. Hermann Hesse. Notes from reread. Updates ongoing
A wolf of the Steppes that had lost it’s way and strayed into the towns and the life of the herd. p17
[Regarding Haller’s left behind manuscript] They are rather the deeply loved spiritual events which he has attempted to express by giving them the form of tangible experiences….I see them as a document of the times, for Haller’s sickness of the soul, as I now know, is not the eccentricity of a single individual, but the sickness of the times themselves, the neurosis of that generation to which Haller belongs……They are an attempt to present the sickness itself in its actual manifestation. p20-21
Human life is reduced to real suffering, to hell, only when two ages, two cultures and religions overlap…Now there are times when a whole generation is caught in this way between two ages, two modes of life and has no standard, no security, no simple acquiescence p22
I feel our contemporary world is existing between two ages and modes of life.
Those who remember before the internet and those who never lived in a world without the internet. Those who remember not having a cell phone. Those who learned cursive and those who didn’t.
I was in high school when our family ‘got internet.’ It was dialup and played very specific noises when connecting. I can still ‘sing’ those noises from memory. We would lose the connection if someone called our family landline. After one and a half hours, our connection would kick us off and we’d have to re-connect.
I remember high school research involving physical libraries.
At 35, I never wrote an academic paper without a word processor on a personal computer. In fact, I’m still in awe at my parents who did scholarly work without this benefit.
Watch “Joni Mitchell – Blue Motel Room” on YouTube
One great love song.
Uncertainty & Doubt
Skech, Inc. [Sic]
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PRODUCED BY-A Meandering Club & Gad About Co.
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“No, Meg, don’t hope it was a dream. I don’t understand it anymore than you do. But one thing I have learned is that you don’t have to understand things for them to be…..”
The art of prose exists because the words are not objects but designations for objects.
Prose is an attitude of mind.
Beauty hides in a book; It acts by persuasion like the charm of a voice or a face. It does not coerce; it inclines a person without his suspecting it, and he thinks that he is yielding to arguments when he is really being solicited by a charm he does not see.
The dead are there [in the library]; The only thing they have done is write. They’ve long since been washed clean of the sin of living and their lives are known only through books which other dead men have written about them.
In one sense, it is a possession; The reader lends himself to the dead in order that they might come back to life.
In another sense, it is contact with the beyond.
Literature and Existentialism, Jean-Paul Sartre
…………gather round the children and elders, as I will tell a tale of Once, Back When We All Lived In The Forest…….
The tale is nothing, if not novel and authentic. I readily admit the probable likelihood of disputes issuing forth once I’ve told my unheard tale.
You’ll say that you have heard this one from somewhere before.
The sensation persuading you to disbelieve me is itself the evidence that I advance in support of the validity of the two assertions I aver of my tale-it is untold and authentic.
For, do you not know that all tales of, Once, When We All Lived In The Forest, are the same tale being told anew in novel forms. The stories endure existence because we never stop wanting to hear them. We never stop wanting to hear them because we’ve always heard them. But, it is not in the way we hear phones ring, cars alarm,or birds chirp.
The sound of a story is the sound of one’s own pulse. Can you really conceive of the sound that your pulse makes? I experience my pulse, more than I hear it-although it certainly is audible. After physical exertion, I hear it loudly, sometimes, even ringing in my ears until my heartbeat begins to still. Fear, complete quiet, and stillness make my own pulse sound the loudest.
The sound of my pulse goes unnoticed by my awareness most of the time. I presume this results from my awareness having been exposed to the constant, continuing sound of my pulse during every single moment of my existence.
Eventually, my brain said, “Enough! Let’s just tune that one out. We’ve got more stimuli in this very second than the sense facilities of this meat bag could ever experience, let just go ahead and not waste energy on perceiving the pulse. That sound will continue until the meat bag dies. I know avoiding death is sort of what my job here is all about, but we don’t need to monitor for the sound of the pulse. With pulse, I’m willing to go on the honor system. Besides, if I always listen for the pulse and the pulse is always audible until ceasing at death, I will never hear it cease because its cessation is the end of my ability to hear. “
So it is with story. The ‘me,”myself,’ and, ‘I’ (used when a self references its own self hood) exist because humans have story as a sense organ. The organ differentiates humans from other mammals.
The story organ creates a self out of the development of a homo sapien. What human can be said to not have self-hood?
What is a self and how is it by which some organisms and not others come to possess self hood? Is it possible to possess self hood but have no awareness of your own self?
“The irony and obsessions of Cioran’s philosophy” (Marius Nica)………a new name to me.
Cheers to the author for this work.
Such an interesting and thoughtful piece on a writer and thinker.
The author discusses Romanian contemplator Emil Cioran and his relationship to atheism, skepticism, and mysticism.
Favorite quote from the author of this paper:
…..then that person has not really read Cioran. Perhaps they have leafed through some pages, read some ideas which they mirrored their own experiences into, their own projections on an existence which is impossible to transcend.
Favorite Cioran quotes included in this work:
If the difference between man and animal is the fact that the animal cannot be but animal, whereas the man can be inhuman, which is something other than himself-in this case I am unhuman.
My experiences became books, as if they had written themselves.
The writing is only valuable when it objectifies a feeling, because beyond the expression there is life, and beyond the form there is content.
Between the passion for ecstacy and the horror of the void the entire mysticism revolves.
Quote from Indian Buddhist poet Aśvaghoşa
We use words to become free from words
Until we reach the pure wordless essence.
As quoted in The Heart Attack Sutra: Karl Brunnhölzl.
Distend to extend to disabuse
This is why I stretch.
To disabuse my body of the notion that it is this way or that.
This is why I do not break.
This is why I walk, to disabuse myself of the notion I am a sedentary stone.
This is why I breath, to disabuse myself of the notion that life is pain.
There’s this face
It’s a face in my minds eye, that of a man.
A particular man, whose face I knew not until gravaty presented it.
The cheeks of older, the eyes of “I’m sure I know you from before”.
Effing idiot, you do not end sentences with prepositions.
Silly boy in need of correcting.
Sir, should you prefer.
I am Miss and I will shatter your soul to pieces of glad bliss.
Speak, won’t you?`
Lipsome venom
Benevolent disrespect with intent of disrming.
Shamefully disarming with easy kindness that makes man howl.
Gracious pain unexpected spurns blissful.
So breath deep in anticipation.
WrittenCasey 