Category: Literature
What is a book but manual?
Is it just, using an alchemical apparatus within a story?
Just
an alchemical apparatus used to drive the plot, scaffold the story structure, and/or function, also, as a skeleton key?
Transmutate to into art.
The reader and/or audience undergoes the Cathartic process,
like enzymes provoke.
The Apparatus drives the substance of letters/words toward catharsis.
Our story’s technical equipment enables a bunch of words
to BeRead by an audience or reader of the collection.
In this way, words transmutate to a collection, set, Sum, somme
that somehow be-came greater than the sum of its parts
This alchemical thing is but primarily a piece of technical (albeit ‘unscientific’) apparati that is taken-up, in itself, and then applied to a bunch of words such that when those words are taken-up [sic. in the abstracted sense], an epiphenomenon emerges on a different level of scale.
Watch “Jay Baruchel on why he’ll always love the Montreal Canadiens” on YouTube
Thanks CBC and Q.
Upcoming book, Born Into It, by Jay Baruchel sounds great.
Really thoughtful interview.
Cheers.
Still Life With Woodpecker. Tom Robbins. 1980
America is full of metaphysical outlaws.
Inessential insanities get one in trouble with oneself.
Essential insanities get one in trouble with others.
It’s always preferable to be in trouble with others.
In fact, it may be essential.
Tunnelvision is a disease in which perception is restricted by ignorance and distorted by vested interests. Tunnelvision is caused by an optic fungus that multiplies when the brain is less energetic than the ego.
Equality is not in regarding things similarly.
Equality is regarding things differently.
People who sacrifice beauty for efficiency get what they deserve.
Love and Do What Thou Will. St. Augustine
Every man and every woman is a star.
Every number is infinite; there is no difference.
In the sphere I am everywhere the center, as she, the circumference, is nowhere found.
I am the axle of the wheel, and the cube in the circle.
Casey Adams shared an answer on Quora with you
What are the best translations for Hesse? by Casey Adams https://www.quora.com/What-are-the-best-translations-for-Hesse/answer/Casey-Adams-78?ch=99&share=2ca2d868&srid=CWTwk
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.
“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.
Watch “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” on YouTube
I want you so bad, babe.
Its driving me mad.
Shes so heavy.
That simple and endless.
Bass on guitar? What is spot on?
An example of perfect mix
Back when heavy meant something else too?
Is was another day.
The sun shied back into the woods, partially concealed behind a cloak of mist and residual angular trajectory.
It gave the morning a quintessence of allure and glamour, even including that tinge of melancholy which the Vested feel.
I suppose nostalgia may be a more apt descriptor than melancholy.
Then again, I guess both words are completely right & dexter yet, simulateously, inappropriate.
The sun tests the boundary condition between night and day; everyday it rises.
I test the boundary condition within to see how supple and malleable I be without shattering into infinity just yet.
Идіотъ The Idiot…remarks from an idiot
Fyodor Dostoevsky, as this gal understands, is no fool.
I read The Idiot in highschool, for personal ed as opposed to curriculum and yes, it was because I wanted to impress myself by reading Russian lit unguided. And yes, referencing this on AP exams 15 yrs ago was conducive to high scores.
However, I was spared the light~gel of literary criticism in my reading of The Idiot.
It was only later I heard I heard this novel was widely allegeded to be a mere allegory for Christ.
Screw that. Dostoevsky knew better.
So did Augustine.
See it and them another way.
The woods have eyes too… he, he
Slightly aggressive, especially if feeling
Partially cornered
Total arousal of senses. Endocrine ; adrenaline ; spite but not smite at The Smug who think shes blind.
Eyes cutting sidewards, upwards to the left or downwards
i.e. any way but candidly.
Only one mouse spoke words to make her honest shudders occur.
UnLike the ignorant liars, soothsayers, mad pipers, would be priors, et al.
Facading smile worn in protection of someone or something. Such a precious, protective pretense should be judged not.
We keep Stretching until tendons roll over bits of lingering softness.
Until ligaments distend symmetricaly and transform that which was almost unrecognizable into something that is inexorably unrecognizable.
Word of day (as probably mis-) heard from a talented actress…
Tartarus. Classical mythology
The place of punishment in the lower world. Originally, a dark abyss as far below Hades as earth is below heaven, and later the abode where the wicked undergo eternal punishment.
This is from my F&W dic. Spooky. There are 4 further percussions of this world. If interested, do ask.
Have you met the wolf of the steppes?
If not why the eff not. Barely over 200 pg and quite novel for a novel.
Re-reading it at mo, great bit from p8
He had thought more than other men, and in matters of the intellect he had that calm objectivity, that certainty of thought and knowledge, such as only really intellectual men have, who have no axe to grind, who never wish to shine, or to talk others down, or to appear always in the right.
1st line of a story that’ll get written one day
Doping up our heroine, Jack is on a roll again.
Punk love and Animal Sounds are some motifs.
And sexy sex perhaps.
Dealing with TimeS shifting arrow
Incorrect to assume that time is one dimensional.
Let’s imagine 2D time in the pic below
Vector. Precession. Equinox.
Circadian. Cellular time.
Astronomy
*rotation of fixed stars (!) and precession of the equinoxes
, seasons on the planet, circadian rhythms of daylight and darkness, evidenced by cellular time.
Here we encounter the challenge of extrapolating between these two dimensions.
Eventually may we reconcile our eternal being with our transiency.
>the Mind bypasses its middle range, dismisses the conditioning it has been subjected to.
Eternal being : transciency?
Seed : plant?
Seeds: DNA remains constant, mutating very slowly if at all.
Plants: which unfolds the seed in an incomparably faster time sequence.
I try to imagine absorbing cosmic energy on inhale, as
–converging inward–
by repeating space inverted in a vacuum inside.
Space only has meaning for matter.
Perhaps at transcendent levels of our thinking-space is irrelevant.
A gradual transitions between extremes and expectations
Fearlessly climbing. Equus Callebus
His gal, this gal, she’d run thru the jungle for ya and ya’lls, babe, my sugarfooted mouse.
Of the woods I have no fear. For there was I raised.
Of the caves, I do not go deep. Of darkness there will be epochs to learn, so I rush not.
Of the mesa do I have resonance, having ere dauntingly danced to dodge the threat of exposure to lightening.
What I know, you know not.
What you know, I know not.
LET no assumption be made, except that Ae submit aem love. Aem written. Tolle lege. Anon, anon; and, on and on. Aem, we are, new, I do contend.
Lovesome intent is my Tao.
Let’s follow Macha’s dictum and See it Another Way.
What you think I know, i dont.
What you think has been made painfully obvious, i see not.
What you must remember, I’m just a doe eyed dummy, man.
Yet I love you still,
despite not knowing your face, name, OR voice.
You are the scepter at the feast, and the feast is mentally prepared for you alone, by myself. Through my longing for real touch and to discard this silicon love in order to know flesh and blood love, with my love. Lovesome intent.
Fawning through the forest. No end game, just the breath of a moment and hope for companionship.
This is patience, not prudence.
Come or say you won’t.
Inarticulations
Transcendental haze of a sip from an elysian space dust.
New words shredding the cheddar sharply and mildly.
Absconding to absurdity ala Myshkin. But I’m not a book cover; I’m skin and want.
The thing about confidence
Sometimes the appearance of secrets is more alarming than the revelation of the secret itself.
Which music is the real music?
If dance is a fugue composed by and of the tension between the air and of the lungs, of course, the ballerina’s dance is the observable expression of the composition of breath itself.
If she dances to music, which is the ‘real’ music; and, with whom is whom dancing?
WrittenCasey 