On, Oh, Let's Say, Epistemology. Again.

09/25/2007 6:45 AM – 7:07 AM

Why start today? I don’t really know. But then, we have concluded by verification of repeatable experiments, that I don’t really know anything. Except of course, those odd little things that I do. What do we know? But not a list exactly, more an attempt to classify. Then we venture into the tricky territory of claiming a place on the spectrum.

Because we do know some things and to claim otherwise merely to fulfill an abstract notion of aesthetic rightness is rather dishonest to reality. I suppose that we could start with a list, but I don’t really feel like it. Odd, isn’t it – that this little bit of notes indicates to my mind a progression. There are many things that the Zen masters were right about. But they were wrong about stuff too. Life isn’t about fleeing the tigers unless one has managed to become a being pathologically fixated on death. Screw that shit. Somewhere between the naiveté of the palace life and the moronic aestheticism of the forest is honesty that can be put to use.

It’s true that we don’t know a lot, but neither do we know nothing. For now, one can leave it at that and my cozy little hermit’s cell is warmed by desires. There is another thing that the Zenites overdid. The rebuttal is simply bad poetry because it is overly used, not because it is untrue. Desire, says the old man sharp in wit and vigor, desire, desire, desire. We stay alive to grasp something. We love living for the moments when we do. If the ends are far, far away, you must fall in love with the means, and most good ends are far, far away. What do you want then, O Spike, of Dread and Delight? Well, for one thing, to move the fuck out of Dread. This place sucks and most of the chicks are fatties. But apart from that, I want what I’ve always wanted. To have a nice solid home that I can abandon and return to at whim. Me, mine, my, no one taking, no one giving. To be given something, no matter how small is to put your balls a little more between someone’s teeth. Unless you’re an asshole, then it’s fine. Nothing to latch onto, see? But I rarely enjoy being an asshole. Except for those times that I do. But the bell rang and what I meant to say was, “write, run and save money,” these fine little commandment issue forth from reality, which does not give a shit how you feel about the weather.