The world’s top grooviologists agreed that gut-checking is a delusional strategy manifesting itself in assigning humans the role of demi-gods. The experts also contend negative solidarity to be unnecessary, more often than not counterproductive, and, for the life of fulfillment, by far less appropriate than fellowship.
For the life of fulfillment, positive fellowship turns out to be the engine fueled by and feeding into the community of comrade cyborgs free of corrosive suspicion, detective affinities, soaped mind, fearful generosity, boredom threat, superimposed happiness, banalized sentiment, deceitful charm, and possession.
Freed from the vortex of confusion between vulgarized emotionality and mindless corporality, stigmatized commitment, orgiastic philosophizing and moralistic poeticizing, heresy of overexplanationa and trickery of underverbalization, reduntant complexity and parthenonian napoleonianism, simplicity of quietude, lukewarm passion.
Dear fellow cyborgs, The world confronts one with challenges hardly explicable in the languages known to those who are trying to use them to the best of one’s knowledge. And yet, that very fact, consisting of several aspects, at the same time provides a clue for the bewilderment one sometimes faces.
Say more!
There you go…First, the challenge itself arouses puzzlement. One wonders why the world that should ensure a sense of home provokes the feeling of estrangement. That very situation indicates that some kind of weird discrepancy is at stake. Although a prompt of a kind for dismantling the quandary, it does not alleviate the friction.
What’s the friction?
The simplest way to explain it is to say that those who speak languages find explanations to be among the challenges that the world confronts one with. Say more! In a minute…The more one tries, the more one thinks. The more one thinks, the less one knows. The less one knows, the more one wants to figure out how to know better. The more one wants, the fewer the words come to mind. The fewer the words, the more the thoughts. The more the thoughts, the more the memories. The more the memories, the more the books. The more the books, the wider the language spaces. The wider the spaces, the more varied the stories. The more varied the stories, the greater versatility of languages. The more versatile the languages, the greater verisimilitude. The greater verisimilitude, the more narrow the range of possibilities to say what one wants.
Then what?
Then one thinks hard. Goes back in history. Bloodlines and books lead to the questions and answers, sometimes confusing, at times awe-inspiring. Reading, one reimagines the times when fellow cyborgs spoke in letters, syllables, images, and sounds that say very little about any other times but theirs. And yet, within those undecipherable depictions, one finds strangely soothing signals that those comrades might have felt, if not the same, than somewhat similar anxieties and pleasures. Sounds good! Yes, but it also sounds like there are resonating frequencies that index the situation we are addressing today. It is that we, like them, don’t know how to talk about the things that we want to say.
Shit!!!
Shit, yeah! It feels like wearing a mini skirt on a freezing Arctic day. It feels like drinking water when the stomach needs a proper meal. It feels like asking for a coat when one needs a soft pillow. Take what you need! Dear comrade cyborgs, It’s not about me. Not about you, either. And yet, it is about us all. Show me the person who would with a hundred percent certitude claim that once upon a time, long time ago, humanity was assigned, ahem…a slightly wrongish kind of homework. Huh?!?!?! That’s right. Now, for centuries we’ve been trying to tell each other that what we want to say is constantly being obstructed by the words available. We’ve been trying to give answers to the questions that we cannot ask. Because there are no words to articulate them.
What’s the homework?
The homework is the question whether a human being, universe, and everything else are of the same size.
Bullshit!
Yeah, right. But try to say more and you’ll see that anything you’d say is the sound of the sweat pouring down the pulsating forehead as the thoughts are trying to break away from the entrapment of the themes one doesn’t need.
Pour some over here!
It’s like metaphorically…
Dope! Whateva…
The other aspect is that our age, alongside a myriad of nearly useless linguistic possibilities, offers a plethora of visual titillations. Barely distinguishable from one another. There are no forcible demands for either speaking or watching. Therefore, one can choose not to. True like fuck is your word of wisdom, comrade cyborg. That’s what one does. And yet, to put an absolute veto on the pursuit for a way to say…
Say what? To say that the language available to us prevents one from saying that one’s choice is half a choice, half it is not.
Weird…
Weird, indeed. Well, but to give up altogether the possibility of saying something intelligible, if not comprehensive, about the troubling issues is out of the question. Unovodamsayin?
Sure. See…that’s why one keeps leaping over the stuttering scratches created as one is turntabling.
For the life of fulfillment, positive fellowship turns out to be the engine fueled by and feeding into the community of comrade cyborgs free of corrosive suspicion, detective affinities, soaped mind, fearful generosity, boredom threat, superimposed happiness, banalized sentiment, deceitful charm, and possession.
Freed from the vortex of confusion between vulgarized emotionality and mindless corporality, stigmatized commitment, orgiastic philosophizing and moralistic poeticizing, heresy of overexplanationa and trickery of underverbalization, reduntant complexity and parthenonian napoleonianism, simplicity of quietude, lukewarm passion.
Dear fellow cyborgs, The world confronts one with challenges hardly explicable in the languages known to those who are trying to use them to the best of one’s knowledge. And yet, that very fact, consisting of several aspects, at the same time provides a clue for the bewilderment one sometimes faces.
Say more!
There you go…First, the challenge itself arouses puzzlement. One wonders why the world that should ensure a sense of home provokes the feeling of estrangement. That very situation indicates that some kind of weird discrepancy is at stake. Although a prompt of a kind for dismantling the quandary, it does not alleviate the friction.
What’s the friction?
The simplest way to explain it is to say that those who speak languages find explanations to be among the challenges that the world confronts one with. Say more! In a minute…The more one tries, the more one thinks. The more one thinks, the less one knows. The less one knows, the more one wants to figure out how to know better. The more one wants, the fewer the words come to mind. The fewer the words, the more the thoughts. The more the thoughts, the more the memories. The more the memories, the more the books. The more the books, the wider the language spaces. The wider the spaces, the more varied the stories. The more varied the stories, the greater versatility of languages. The more versatile the languages, the greater verisimilitude. The greater verisimilitude, the more narrow the range of possibilities to say what one wants.
Then what?
Then one thinks hard. Goes back in history. Bloodlines and books lead to the questions and answers, sometimes confusing, at times awe-inspiring. Reading, one reimagines the times when fellow cyborgs spoke in letters, syllables, images, and sounds that say very little about any other times but theirs. And yet, within those undecipherable depictions, one finds strangely soothing signals that those comrades might have felt, if not the same, than somewhat similar anxieties and pleasures. Sounds good! Yes, but it also sounds like there are resonating frequencies that index the situation we are addressing today. It is that we, like them, don’t know how to talk about the things that we want to say.
Shit!!!
Shit, yeah! It feels like wearing a mini skirt on a freezing Arctic day. It feels like drinking water when the stomach needs a proper meal. It feels like asking for a coat when one needs a soft pillow. Take what you need! Dear comrade cyborgs, It’s not about me. Not about you, either. And yet, it is about us all. Show me the person who would with a hundred percent certitude claim that once upon a time, long time ago, humanity was assigned, ahem…a slightly wrongish kind of homework. Huh?!?!?! That’s right. Now, for centuries we’ve been trying to tell each other that what we want to say is constantly being obstructed by the words available. We’ve been trying to give answers to the questions that we cannot ask. Because there are no words to articulate them.
What’s the homework?
The homework is the question whether a human being, universe, and everything else are of the same size.
Bullshit!
Yeah, right. But try to say more and you’ll see that anything you’d say is the sound of the sweat pouring down the pulsating forehead as the thoughts are trying to break away from the entrapment of the themes one doesn’t need.
Pour some over here!
It’s like metaphorically…
Dope! Whateva…
The other aspect is that our age, alongside a myriad of nearly useless linguistic possibilities, offers a plethora of visual titillations. Barely distinguishable from one another. There are no forcible demands for either speaking or watching. Therefore, one can choose not to. True like fuck is your word of wisdom, comrade cyborg. That’s what one does. And yet, to put an absolute veto on the pursuit for a way to say…
Say what? To say that the language available to us prevents one from saying that one’s choice is half a choice, half it is not.
Weird…
Weird, indeed. Well, but to give up altogether the possibility of saying something intelligible, if not comprehensive, about the troubling issues is out of the question. Unovodamsayin?
Sure. See…that’s why one keeps leaping over the stuttering scratches created as one is turntabling.
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