Saturday, April 23, 2016


32. SOAP
The great round world is a
fervently roiling mass of swirling
possibilities and changes and all
the contradictions that go with that.
There is nothing rational or sedate
or steady-line flat about it. The
swirl must be embraced, taken in,
swarmed and cradled. That is
really what living is  -  the
scientific nothingness of the
movement and struggle of a
constant and always underway
creation. That too is the horror now
to which Science and all its once-
rational endeavors have brought us
to. All those physicists and science
and mathematics types, who have
brought us to this point now of
many civilizations, parading
as one, with all their discoveries
and wonders of the world both
within and without  - they have
come to the fiery precipice (which
most still refuse to cross and plunge
into) that there is, simply put,
NOTHING at all  -  no solidity
upon which to get footing, no real
matter that is Matter at all. Things
are movement, at all times in flux,
swirling, taking on identities,
crossing places and blending. There
and not there. Illusionary factors
on some weirdly magic-carpet sort
of a projected ride we all assume
each other to be part of, first assuming
there are 'others', and then stupidly
prescribing the course and projected
Reality of everyone else. That's all
flat-land stuff, and it's all wrong.
Heads bobbing to hymns and
I've never been able, really, to
reconcile,these two varied sides 
to Life. Never knowing which 
we are, at core. All that stuff's
always been hard for me to 
discern and distinguish between.
You know how it's been said, 
like how a man wants to be the
strongest 'man' in a room, but a
woman wants to be the only 
woman in that room. How like
being a woman is like acting  -  
you're constantly 'on', playing 
a character and a role. Putting on
a face or a persona. I never knew
about any of that, and it seems
that they both work just as well in
the other direction, and there's
probably no difference anyway. 
It's all that clog-headed stuff that
makes these distinctions, mostly
so that one or another party can get
over on the other  -  money, factions,
politics, and all. Sylvia Plath, in 
talking about Physics  -  all that 
work of destroying concepts and 
disproving worlds, as it gets 
summed up in equations and 
the like, she put it : "Physics made
me sick the whole time I learned
it. What I couldn't stand was this
shrinking everything...hideous, 
cramped, scorpion-lettered
formulas." I always felt the 
same way, and even moreso 
was I perplexed by the idea, the
same idea she'd put forth, as to
how a 'Physicist' with the 
revolutionary mindset of an
Earth-shattering line of concepts
about Life and Reality, still has 
to hew to the rote fundamentals, 
and the equations, to get across,
in a provable and rational fashion,
the shattering things he or she 
gets to. Almost as if they should
be apologetic instead. But they 
turn back to this ideal and rational 
presentation of hypothesis, 
summation, cryptography, theory
and formula, to make it all work.
It's a real conundrum  -  one that
I always measured as 'the rationalist
has a shoulder blade; the romantic
a hunched back.'
In light of William Blake, my own 
life has included irrationality. One 
time when visitors came to their 
house, in Felpham Manor, the 
years not spent in London. There 
was no soap found in the house, 
sinks, bathroom, anywhere, and 
a guest made mention of it and 
asked where it was or why there 
was no soap, and Catherine (Mrs.
Blake), replied : "Mr. Blake's
skin don't dirt." That's always
probably been my favorite quote.
And this : "Formulas, equations, 
and mathematics are to physics 
what poetry is to prose : the irreducible
distillation of actuality into chords
that resonate with human sensibilities."
I think that's pretty much saying 
where it is I've always been, or
felt to be anyway. The poetry part.

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