The momentary dusk of reason ; or the world as a received trigrammaton.
The structure of the fading world's not actually difficult to discern, though unwillingness towards such discernment's very cheaply had anywhere in whatever quantity, and consequently well entrenched everywhere through sheer colossal impaction.
One letter stands for the caliban anarchist, the unyielding force of will entirely unreasoned. Her, or him, or him, or her, or any of the all of them, the same exact thing : not so much "bad at math" as simply disinterested in any kind of foresight. A life of the spirit's not mandatory, let alone immanent ; biology will carry on its own a while -- so let it!
Another letter stands for the elohim anarchist, the unyielding force of will entirely rationalized. Her, or him, or him, or her, or any of the all of them, the exact same thing : barely literate, to the very unsatisfactory standard of being capable of producing syntactically correct nonsense. A relationship to meaning's not mandatory, let alone possible ; biology will carry on its own a while -- so let it!
Thoroughly unconvincing in betwixt and among these, a thinly spread, utterly hopeless smattering of pantsuit, calling all things their oppositei for truly no deeper reason besides simple despair. They're the agents of reason in their own estimation and there only, in reality bereft of any working or even in priciple workable model, bereft of any of the tools of reason (long sacrificed to the unsustainable requisites of denial), bereft even of the possibility of expressing their sad situation. Supposedly a life of the spirit's not merely mandatory but actually immanent, and the relationship to meaning not merely mandatory but actually accessible. To them. Just so.
That's it. Three leters. Those three letters. Such is the world as it stands to be found tonight, gum chewed and attached and detached and re-chewed and re-attached to the point of thorough gray. Between the child much too bovine to break the silence and the child who can't shut the fuck up lest he thereby disintegrates into nothingness, the rural classroom's well and truly empty. On closer examination self-appointed "teachers" can be discerned effectlessly haunting about, insane, insensate, little Napoleons in worn denim pants completely unaware of bicorn hats.
What can be done with such a thing ? Reason within itself isn't really very much, you see, and indeed even less than that without itself. Moreover, why should anything be done with such a thing (or for that matter -- any thing at all) ?
Yet reason, not very much within and even less without, nevertheless is unto itself sufficient ; coincidence aside, idle considerations of "success" irrespective, the overwhelming property of reason is that while not all, not many, perhaps not any may be reasoning subjects -- nevertheless all things equally well stand as the objects of reason. In that it's all-integrating (even if not systematically) it therefore is, and stands, and perdures, and forever will remain the top node of everything.
The nature of the world is cyclical ; it has to be, it's the cheapest kind of movement available. For my endlessly lengthy life I've been repeating the same things, in the same circumstances, to ever the same people (that didn't know they were the same). I said "the matter does not worry me" before, it was of course very different in all particulars and contextual relationships to things and matters and relatively distinct... after all, perceived difference's the cheapest kind of sameness available.
There's of course better fates than being the casting of a letter ; not knowing which letter you're the casting of isn't one of them.———
- "Progressive", right ? [↩]