Hello, everyone! For a while I couldn't manage to log in dA - time constraints, above all, as I have only just arrived to the island of Syros for my summer vacation. It's rather funny that, though I personally do not believe in an underlying principle of morality, the term "guilt" seems most suitable to describe my feelings right now; I haven't been active lately and I feel that I owe you all an apology. Truth is, it's going to be a tad rarer for the next week; not so much a bad connection as the strict silence routine in the hostel I am living that do not allow me the use of electronics with as much ease as I'd like.
But the sun and the sea - oh yes, the sea! - and that lovely salted, iodine air with the smells of fennel, sage and lavender have a way of stimulating the mind, leading me to thoughts and trails of examination that fill me with excitement and pleasure. To use a hopelessly Nietzschean method, I will merely write down all the hunches; no argumentation, no logical "dryness" or the prowess againist a critique - far more a recollection, a notation of ideas, a representation of all the iris peculiarities of a hunch.
Then to understand depends on introjection? I understand, therefore I take in, I take part in and the part becomes one, I assimilate within the self what lies outside? And if that is so, what is "outside" and what is the self - what kind of borderline lies between the "I" and the "not-I"? I understand by similarity, I understand by the community of experience, by the availability of a common ground, a common stepladder on which to stand. So - life? Biologically, I mean? Is it a matter of what responds, of what counteracts, of what sends feedback and establishes its own pole, its own part in communication, in the dialectics between the "I" and the "it"? Then biological life sucks all close like a black hole and lifeless matter is pulled vigorously through the void. Then an individual is a pylon of definition and pylons form grids.
To please one's idols: little is as rewarding.
How blessed, those who forget! In my recollections I cheat time; I cheat existence; I create distance between that inconclusive vagueness of "now"; I turn a "not-now" into a "now" - in short, I give the dfinite and pointilistically precise past the lively indeterminacy of the present. But am I within "now", simultaneously? Or have I fallen asleep, with the dreams of nothingness? Am I dead, when not "now"? Those who remember all are cursed in death eternal.
And yet the sky is not blue. For what is blue and what is the sky? And if there are clouds? What about rain or sunshine?
The most invisible of economies is that of marriage. But the most painful of births in a marriage is that of an economy.
Is our quest for immortality through morals hindred by the differentiality of others? But is it not only the self - instead of the others - that wrecks any possible immortality we could possess?
And then we learnt that numbers are infinite... and that schools of fish always bear the chaos of motion.
Do we try to forget our mortality through custom? Through the sanctuary of frequent happenstances and repetitive instances? Repetition is healing in the face of death - healing by killing the self quite painlessly.
We are all so mercilessly unimportant - valueless - when compared to the chaosmos. For me, that is excuse enough to accept everything - and decline all at the same time.
Many, like Brecht, talked about changing the world. "Change the world, it needs it"... I haven't heard anybody talking about changing the self.
But contemporary physics never claimed meaning...!
All of us seek agreement - ah, but agreement... with the self!
Love is such an excuse...
And how can I function as a composer when the "unbearable lightness of being" stalks me all the time? What kind of music suits the existential paradox? Perhaps... every kind.
Time is eaten; food is not exclusively spatial.
The most amazing tartuffery begins with the phrase: "But it simply is so!"...
It's not about there being no truth, no. Truth is there, everywhere. It's about there being infinite truths, as diverse as the cells of an organism.
Can I be certain? I don't believe in knowledge, certainly not in metaphysically endorsed knowledge, but is there a possibility to be certain about something? Based on feeling, perhaps - yes, why not? Is it the bergsonian concept of intuition, the deepest level of consciousness as I adore witnessing it in the work of David Lynch - is it all of that and many more? Perhaps - yes, why not?
Its a clash of teleologies. The human species is constantly changing, contsantly moving around 'till its arms grow legs and its legs grow arms. The feelings of the future - the instincts of the most distant humanity I can think of are the strong memories our minds are getting accustomed to: arithmetics, calculation, memorization, swiftness, accuracy, effectiveness. Future sex is merely a very long multiplication formula. But - does it have to be this way?
I decided to take a differrent turn, so far as my genealogy is concerned.