Hope is the enemy. We kill it whenever it rears its profligate head.
We are a machine, and nothing more. We handle anomalies with care, but with an end to eliminating them forever. We run for greater and greater efficiency. Not to produce anything, but simply to maintain a flow, the grinding of our gears. Bugs and other things to be ground to powder or less, to "grease the wheels." Yes, the grease of our wheels is the blood and cartilage of our errors. We grind on and on.
***
What is there to write about?
A monster hides in the core of our soul. We let it out periodically so that it can sate itself. What does it want? It wants a certain measure of violence and sadism.
***
The mind of action, of instantaneous decision making, and "intuition" is fundamentally racist, sexist, -istist. This is inescapable. People like to talk about a "race-free" discrimination-free world, but that is a world with the luxury of endless time and introspection. In reality, we make judgments about people all the time, constantly. We can try to make it seem as though those judgments are fair, but when it comes down to it, we are relying upon biases (inherited or not, conscious or not), and those biases have at their root something that is fundamentally irrational. After all, we cannot know everything instantaneously. We are not god, we cannot see the story written in each individual's apparent suffering. We don't know, and can't know. Maybe the person we extend a hand out to is a liar and thief; maybe the person we assume needs no help desperately wants just a word to keep from suicide.
We could adopt a stance. We could be merciful and sweet to everyone and everything, like a cloying, rotting flower. Or we could close ourselves off completely. I guess I tend to take the latter stance, if anything. But then again, I was hoping that it was possible to take the middle ground. Not a paranoiac stance that is perpetually wondering. But a stance that is at once ignorant, blind, and open. I can't know everything, but there are things that are apparent to me, and if they are strong enough, I follow them; and I might be wrong, but I forgive myself.
I am definitely not god.
I like to be systematic and strategic. But the world is not. It does not obey any rules. People, moreover, are always attempting to up the ante. They prey upon the assumptions made by others. That's another reason why this Hegelian idea of the absolute subject absolutely knowing itself is ridiculous. People by their very nature try to obfuscate and deceive. It is the game of life. Women try to appear clean and attractive and open and available, a soft landing spot. Men try to appear together and masculine and protective and gentlemanly. Or whatever. It is all a game. We play to the crowd. And perhaps even without a crowd, we would play the game, because without it, what else is there?
Sure, we could focus on some idea that is philosophically derived, like acting out of necessity, or saving the world, or what not. But that does not feed the monster inside of us, the thing that is desperately irrational and violent. We like to think that modern society will be rid of this thing, and maybe one day it may be, but it won't happen until we evolve out of our lizard brains...
...and besides that, who WANTS to evolve? I for one enjoy conquest and violence, to a degree...
***
I am still stuck with perhaps 5 minutes of writing time. I am now attempting to write for 15 minutes, uninterrupted...
Things change. The park that we used to bring the kids to when they were much younger, it has changed. It has new playground equipment. Meanwhile, the rope swing in the lower section of the park is no longer there. The branch that it hung from has been cut. I tried to see the remnants of that branch. Not sure, but there was a big oval where a significant branch once was...
I was recalling the idea of rolling down the hill in the back of the park.
I was recalling the Tenrikyo marching band practicing on the field.
These are all gone. No one knows that they were there. No one cares. No one can hear the music of the past. Things move on without remnant, without anyone to remember, without anyone to care. What is the significance of a life?
What is the significance of a life?
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