Saturday, July 1, 2017

9699. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1
Making Cars
Well, for crackling sure the world has changed.
I like to ask people, right out, if they think Evil
is about, in the world. The stupidity and callousness
of things today, of course, allows for no answer
because the very people I ask about this are usually
the ones I already know wouldn't have a clue. Which
is part of Evil's overcoat, swarming them. It's as if I
was running a Quinnipiac Poll for the pre-determined
results I wanted : ask only idiots about idiot matters.
-
When I was a kid, we were brought up  -  I was brought
up  -  to keep quiet and not touch a thing. It's ended up
as a sort of reverence for things, and a silent witnessing.
It's still like that for me a lot. Mostly, I tend to intellectual
matters and don't do much else. Maintenance and upkeep
offer me only the most minimal enjoyments. I don't like
solid objects  -  I guess if it had to be summed up that
would be it. To me a solid object, a 'thing' possessing
'thingness' is but a digression from the spiritual nature
of what a life should be.
-
It bothers me that I can't address a solid object. I 
appreciate form and design, texture and color and shape. 
Yes. I can 'understand' function' and usefulness. But,
still, it does nothing for me. I can't share-to-reason with
a something. It's just a hard assumption about the world.
Part of the fiction' of the universe we demand around us,
fitting all of out definitions and gradations. Solid objects
are traps, and I've never liked traps.
-
I can't assume the ideas of shape and form. That was all
shattered long ago, for me, when science and physics began
delicately pointing out to me how things simply do not
exist  -  how solid is never solid, still things are actually
always moving, components in motion, atoms clashing and
charges banging. When I can put my hand (which evidently
is also not a solid object) through the surface of a table, or
walk through a wall, I will then know I've achieved my aim.
-
I think I'll be touching more on this subject in future 
segments. I already love this wide-open feeling. Paradoxes 
abound as well, and will, and I'll make note of them. I once 
had a friend who wanted nothing more out of life than to
dig a hole. Period. He wanted nothing any longer to do
with Art, logic, thought, intellectual pursuit. Nothing
at all except to speak of the wish to dig a hole. With
a shovel. by hand : he claimed it was real, tangible, a
solid pursuit with a closed end. I guess. He's dead
now, so this never went any farther than concept.
-
The paradox was : that shovel that doesn't exist, and
which isn't a solid object  -  were it to have hit his
cranium, which also didn't exist and wasn't a 'solid'
object (I never told him that), there would have been
some real, serious and tangible blood flow around the
skull fracture from the collision of these two non-existent
objects in conflict. Like that old car joke, in the 1990's,
'If my Plymouth Cirrus hits your Dodge Spirit, will
there be any damage?
-
Back to my growing up, and then Pt 1 will be finished.
I married a tinkerer. The complete opposite of me. To her
things est only to be taken apart, mended, fixed, twisted
around, tended to. Sometimes I just want to say, 'Leave
the damn thing alone, for pity's sake.'






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