where we'd all like to be (no?)

i am happy Right Now
i dont know How or What
swirl of wind or mind 

or leg or finger 

-------- 

known unknowns

unknown unknowns 

worry not me

something i edited on 3/14/10 but wrote on 1/29/08

[ed. - i readily admit that this is possibly a cheap, weak way out of my promise yesterday to produce a publishable piece a day, but, at the same time maintain the equal possibility that this is just as valid a contribution as it is new in a narrow but productive way, as well as on point with contemporary self and social concerns. so i guess the administrative question raised on this first day is whether moving a piece from draft to published counts. put that way, the answer is clear. yes. without a doubt. based on previously articulated standards defining 'progress' with a large amount of respect paid to quality, against the power of quantity]

I feel such clear and distinct misanthropy. It flows wildly, rampantly, persistently. Though it is not new. it has been here before, to be sure. And after it leaves, it shall return again. There is no end in sight.

A light shines somewhere. Though, where I do not know: it could have ancient origins and like light from the very earliest moments of the universe, just be reaching us now; or it could emanate from present possibility, the eternal ability for us to jump the course, laying waste to our habits and revolutionize ourselves, our community, rip the status quo to shreds; or it could reside in the future and we're simply a couple generations too early: we all must trudge on, ignoring the spoilers, accepting the good we can do on the smallest of levels, enduring the disagreement and pervasive petty squabbling; or it could be an asteroid, a false positive, and imminent death.

Apathy joins the party. But he must not be in the same room as Misanthropy. Neither diminishes in any noticeable fashion. They accommodate one another; a perfectly destructive assimilation. I don't care which one is true. I don't care if they're all wrong. If the light itself doesn't exist in any manner: positive or negative; it's a sheer product of my human artillery: brain, optical nerves. Like fucking colors. They need us to exist.

I want to deal with non-human contingencies, realms outside human creation. I'm with Hamlet on this one: "man delights not me." I'm sick of money, of big buildings (metaphorical and commercial ), of lies, of fear, of homogeneity, of hurrying, of barriers, of not enjoying pretty much everything, and being distracted from the life i would love...making that life a reality.

This whole contract with government where I give up a little of my freedom so that I can gain the advantages flowing from living in society: order, specialization, recreational time; I'm really losing interest in holding up my end of the bargain.

What is the most fundamental part of living in society, within communities?

Communicating well. This endows a responsibility on members to have this knowledge, as well as act on it. We must not only know it, we must recognize through action and actually do it. Not to be lost in the picture here is an important act of reflection: criticizing and then removing those hindrances to honest, open dialogue.

It is often held up as a virtue that one who respects others opinions, and more specifically their ability to believe differently, is integral to communicating well. Respecting the differences of the Other. And this seems entirely counter-intuitive to me. Of course, we're all not the same person. We are each different in the way our particulars manifest themselves, but we share the general schema of particulars, the different categories. It is a difference of degree. If honest, open dialogue is needed: how can we justify removing such a general group of statements as beliefs from the mix? It seems right to apply the tag of "universal human good questions" to "beliefs", for really what is a belief other than an individual's "conclusion" (and i use that word loosely) answering the question: How is a human life best lived? For it would certainly be an outrageous concept that anyone would live their life in any way other than the one they deem the best for a human to live, no? Though I guess perhaps no one is perfect, No One can live in perfectly congruent accordance with standards of value (self-derived or otherwise)? But, all the same, it seems entirely ridiculous that one would live so far outside the spectrum of the standard and that this would still remain as the standard. It seems that if one lived so far out of whack with what is claimed by the standard, then perhaps self-reflection is needed to sort it out and decide what is the standard that is actually ruling and contributing to reality, interacting with wills external to my own: "I may claim to myself and others that it is one thing, but doesn't this clear fissure prove otherwise? How can I claim to value x so greatly on the one hand, but restrict if from ever manifesting itself in action by walking towards y and only groping at x? Perhaps, I value this y, the end my actions proves out, and not the end I thought I sought in my mind."

Maybe that is too black and white. Or too naive. It isn't that people aren't aware of the parallel, crashing standards. Or are aware of one and not the other. It's that they don't recognize the conflict. They have no idea that they engage in a self-negating cycle. That they act towards one end for a period of time. Then towards another. And that these aren't parallel, never-meeting-except-at-the-finish line lines, but, sadly, tragically, inextricable from one another. Ripping the other to shreds while building itself with glorious intentions. And then powerlessly getting ravaged by the other. Neither counterwilling, neither protesting. They have no idea for of course the courses of actions themselves exist in a vacuum; they are human dependent, human created. They require a director, and not an autonomous one at that, an autopilot suffices. They don't know the difference, they are intangible, puppet concepts. So, the onus is on the director to realize the conflict and adjust. But he doesn't. He doesn't look inside. He wanders about aimlessly, motivated by emotion and whim. He feels the pain of the battle raging within, and is unable to know that not only is he the only who could stop it but that there is a conflict worth fighting at all. That Yorke’s “two colors” reside inside his head. He sits contentedly in pools of corrosive, quickly consequential unknown knowns.

So, if we maintain that communication is the most basic tool for social success, then an even more fundamental need arises towards that end: self-reflection

And what of language, that most basic building block of communication? How does it affect comm that words have become so detached from any sort of "static" meaning, bending stretching, each time in another direction, under the auspices of another general, adifferent set of troops with dreams of conquering lands wholly unfamiliar to previous generations of usage.

metamethodicality (on method) (part one)

It has to be methodical too. so far, It (this partially-in-formation, always-in-formulation, fulfilled writing capacity) has been riding a spontaneous wave while slowly becoming more methodical, more consistent. but it's time that a more rigid framework come into play within which the in-the-moment, anti-artifice can still exist. i guess the methodical here is modifying the spontaneity, really, i don't think i have thought about this in ages. great to come back to it. being methodical, disciplined is

so, this is just a way of calling myself out "publicly", but really only to myself as i do not believe there are any people who think to themselves "hmm, i wonder what's goin on at methodical spontaneity...i'm gonna type it into my web address whiteness and see what steve's written." and this isnt bitterness over lack of readership. i don't think that the people who know about it read on their own, and of course i can't know about the people who i dont know, whether they know about it, via the deep dark recesses of my facebook profile. but this is assuming quite a bit and, importantly, ignoring the effects of the confessionalism of my writing which would serve as a possible deterrent against people reaching out and commenting on it. this "commenting on it" is the only real way i would know if anyone reads this on their own, without a link sent by me. having said this, a clarification is probably necessary due to the glaring fact that the tone and words chosen indicate a perceived audience. and there most definitely is, but only by virtue of the nature of this blogging medium.

the blog gave me the ability to have a concrete place where i could save, work on drafts while in progress, and then put them out into some different, more official or...final place, when the piece has reached a level of self-satisfaction that i deem it fit to be seen by another. i don't think this social relationship is problematic, diluting my efforts. i almost never keep something as a draft if i am happy with it, meaning...nothing is too personal. if ive written about a feeling, a dream, a fear, a person, and i think it is quality, something im proud of, then it gets published. occasionally, ill get nervous about a particular piece, but in the end i usually prevail, the piece gets republished.

so, i'm going to write at least one publishable piece a day, one creation, riff, whatever, that i value and define as 'done' (a dynamic, and not necessarily stereotypical definition, to be sure; ) - and this does not count.

(after writing this, it seems necessary to at some soon, future time write down the philosophy of art represented in my poetic style and subjects. ill say this: i like to think i am following in the spirit of henry miller and his subjective embrace with perhaps a dash or three more fictionalizations, like, combining two, true but distinct events because they complement each other and do not contradict. also, my style is way more abstract. anyways, another time.)

(another interesting question for another time: how necessary is this perceived audience? could i write merely for myself? can i even come close to knowing if and how this perceived audience is a cause and not a more inane than meaningful environmental accompaniment? is it still fun to think on? yes.)

ive been walking around
in the halls of your mind
while you wander wondering
occasionally, frequently
smiling my way

and that smile
its a wonder i dont
crumble and break
my heart palpably pangs

our string of moments
alternating
saturation and scattered
brings the sweet apple flesh
and then turns a bruised low brown

then youre testing my memory
while your feet keep your indian knees
from busting loose their gird

your bottom lip turns
red from your teeth
and you're laughing
while asking me

what was that dream?
who was that man?
why was he pointing at me?

my lips start to part
the corners rise up
my teeth show some skin
and laughter trumpets
well worn melodies
of hope and renewal
and faith in a beating heart

for i have forgotten
the details you lay out before us
like unwished on wishbones
and you calm down
as if my perfect memory
could cause detonation, decay

but im just spinning my yarn
some facts try, some lie
there is a well up of tar
ill probably fall down there and fry
in the raw sunbeams of your eyes

drought follows rain
and i dont know what i know
except the dense little pebble of us
that can never never go