Praying and Originality

I read today that Baudelaire prayed frequently for help, but not to God. Rather he prayed to Poe, the drunk, drug-taking writer and poet of tales of macabre. Malcolm Lowry disclosed that he prayed both to God and Kafka.

I tried to pray at one time decades ago when I was suicidal, for serenity and strength so I could overcome what was stupidly bothering me. I didn't know if it worked. I have not prayed ever since. The reason I didn't go through with the idea of prematurely terminating my life was that my love for my mother was bigger than my love, ironically sounding, for myself.  I didn't want to disappoint her and cause her severe distress to the point her own life would be shortened by my own stupid act. 

Praying is an act of self-hypnosis or a form of self-deception and cowardice. Private praying is sort of okay while public praying is obscene, stupid, and of bad faith because it smells and smacks of sanctimoniousness. Humans are a strange lot. Most of them don't have a proper sense of self-respect and dignity. They have no respect for truths. And I despise them. I know, they despise me, too. But do you think that I really care? My standards are higher and different from theirs. I know that, but I wonder if they know that, too. I don't even think they are quite human yet, even though they have human appearances. 

What comes out of my pen these days are by no means original. They echo what I have read and digested. Discerning readers would see traces of Zen, Nietzsche, Freud, Sartre, Camus, Henry Miller, and Castaneda. My preoccupations are existential and truth-related. I have tried to come up with a framework of reference that is distinctly mine, but I can't. Basically, my worldview is as follows:

I was thrown into an absurd world not of my choosing. I have a choice to stay in that world or I can leave. I have chosen to stay, out of responsibility and pride. I am the sum total of my acts and my life experiences. I determine my own values. And I define myself by my acts. To act is to be. To be is to act. Others certainly define me all the time, but I don't give a shit of their definitions because I know that they are incapable of knowing and understanding me. They are too normal, too human, too animalistic. They certainly have not given any signs that they are hearing voices of higher values and higher truths. I have deduced so from their words and their acts. They have false pride and they crave for a common respect. They don't have true pride and they don't have a respect that comes from within. What they have is a touchiness that makes them squeal like a stuck pig when their "pride" is hurt. Self-respecting individuals respect and look for truths that stand the test of time and the test of logic and morality. 

Anyway, philosopher Eckhart Tolle suggests that "there may be one person who reflects your love back to you more clearly and more intensely than others." I have met such a person. So in a way, I was blessed and should have one more solid reason to live because to live is to experience life to the brim, to actualize one's potential, to love and be truly loved. 

 

Ecce Homo

Ecce Homo

Why Do the Hell I Think so Highly of Myself?

Nietzsche wrote Ecce Homo (Latin phrase, meaning "Behold the man"used  by Pontius Pilate in describing Jesus before he was executed like a common criminal), a book about himself, just before he became mad. I've read the book at least six times because I find echoes of myself in there. 

A common monkey would say that he is a doctor, engineer, accountant, bus driver, sanitation engineer (garbage collector), building custodian (janitor), carnal pleasures manager (pimp), etc...in answering to a question who he is. In other words, monkeys and chimps and other lower primates identify themselves with their professions. 

I, a higher primate, a human supreme, say, with a sardonic smile and then a chuckle, that I am a poet and philosopher when lower primates want me to identify myself. 

I have reasons to feel superior to most earthlings on this planet:

1. Compared to them, my concerns and inquiries are more profound to the nature of Reality and of the world; more existential; more to the nature of who I really am, why I am here, and where I will go after I die. Lower primates stupidly accepted what they were told by mind handlers that that there is a God, reincarnation, body-soul demarcation, etc...They are too stupid to see that they are intellectual slaves. They cannot think deeply. They are not into logic and philosophy. They don't know shit about Nietzsche and Wittgenstein. They don't know, don't want to know, about thinkers because they themselves are not thinkers and thus cannot understand thinkers. 

2. They cannot write exquisite, lyrical passages in English as I do. They cannot write poetry. They lack artistic sensibilities. And they are so fucking dumb to the point they have the stupid audacity to think that they are my equal in status and intellectual and emotional make-up. They don't know I regard them as inferior, untalented, unaccomplished beings, who live lives of quiet desperation and crushing boredom. I personally know two monkeys who pretend to read books. They would go to a library checking out a bunch of books. They read a few pages. And then two weeks later, they lug the books back to the library so they would have a feeling that they are "readers". I have not seen them once read one serious book from beginning to end because I think they are not intellectually equipped to do so. They don't have the intellectual capacity and curiosity and patience. I know them because I talked with them and tried in vain to engage in intellectual discussions. I gave up after several attempts because I felt I was talking to a brick wall or an echo chamber, I know they struggled to finish college. They don't have a real thought in their head. They cannot think. Their "opinions" are those of a child. They are so poorly educated that it is hilarious every time they open their mouth and opine. I now conclude I have no business of even talking to them because sooner or later they would say things that would nauseate me for being so stupid and uninformed. They are not in my league intellectually and emotionally. Monkeys don't know who they are. They lack the capacity for self-introspection. Maybe they do, but they don't have the courage to do so because if they do, they would feel so bad about themselves that they have no reason to live. So they fancy that they are okay, even good, so they can go living, having sex, and producing children and are very "proud" of that mundane act of procreation, an act that a dog or a pig can do quite easily. Despite having such a miserable, boring, animalistic kind of existence, they are hunting for reasons to laugh at superior beings like myself, who make them feel small and stupid. 

Dualism

Dualism

Very interesting and original analogy about egg shell being body and mind is what's inside the shell.

My humble thought is as follows:

Body-Mind dichotomy is false, a pernicious carry-over from common sense, religious indoctrination (Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist. There may be others as well, but I am not informed about them so I can't say). Then in 17th century it was given a veneer of respectability by Descartes. Dualism is an incomplete, though apparently sensible way of understanding reality. The world is more than dualism. It is oneness, all interrelated. What appears as separate, discrete entities are illusions caused by perceptions and not profound thinking. 

If you are serious pursuing the reflection, you need to take up philosophy and reading about cosmology.

Regarding if the chick needs help to get outside, in real life, the chick needs no help. As a metaphor, help always comes from within. The individual must realize he needs help and seeks help, hence, life.

Regarding another life, another shore, there is none. We have only one life, one chance as an individual. As the species, it's a different matter. 

I may come across smug, abrupt, and arrogant in my "answer"/comment/feedback, but I do fancy that I am gifted in metaphysics, besides languages and verbal fluency. Stupid people have mocked and denounced me. Those in the know, however, are aware that I am rare and beautiful, despite having signs of internal conflicts and abnormalities. I am tired of dealing with stupid and emotionally crippled folks. You are not one of those. No signs yet. 

We all have to know where we stand and who we are. Stupid, ignorant, and emotionally crippled monkeys and chimps, however, fancy that I am not smarter or more developed than they are. They are unwittingly a joke to themselves and clearly a joke to others. 

The Day the Music Died

The Day The Music Died

Somebody told me the other day you had died

I said, "Is that so? Of what and when?"

"Where have you been? Her plane fell out of the sky.

So sad, so beautiful, so much to live for.

But what happened? You don't cry, don't you love her anymore?"

I said nothing, just clicked off the phone after saying goodbye.

What could I say to him, the one who knew I loved you so?

How could I tell him The Day The Music died 

Not when he told me the news of your sudden demise

Not when I realized loving you was so much pain to me

For a long time in moments of despair I called out for your name,

You appeared in my dreams night after night

Because of you I lost all my carnal desires.

I knew loving you was insanity and puerility all the same

Still, several things came out good from this crazy love of mine

I learned French and others and really tried to improve my mind

I worked on my body and  I had some good money for a while.

Now, just when I thought I was finally free of you,

Somebody called me up and told me you fell out of the sky,

Making me go through one more time The Day The Music died

November 20, 2013

Wissai

Patriotism and Heroism

Patriotism and Heroism and One's True Nature

http://nyti.ms/1gWIRBg

The Czech writer Ivan Klima’s new book, a memoir, begins in a Nazi camp and ends with the Velvet Revolution of 1989.

A very emotionally strong, unusual, and brave person and a writer to boot. Someone to think about in connection with the true meaning of patriotism and heroism. It's much easier to make noises about freedom and democracy and all that jazz while living in a free society than to do so in a totalitarian society. For that reason, the dissidents in Vietnam should deserve our utmost respect while those loudmouths in the Viet émigré communities in the West and Australia should be viewed with tempered caution. Patriotism without our heroism does not mean much.

Reading the above link about the writer set off a cascading chain of thoughts in my mind, one of the thoughts was the preceding paragraph. Others are as follows:

1. Love without risk does not mean shit either. To love someone in a safe, cautious manner is not love at all. It is cowardice. It is selfishness. It is a form of self-love, not true love. True love is dangerous to oneself, to one's well-being because it involves giving of oneself and that's vulnerability. True love is a form of insanity. But if reciprocated, then sanity, a special kind of serene, transcendental sanity emerges. And the lovers know peace and paradise. But such love is rare. 

2. To understand a person, we take him to drinking and talking and putting him in situations that infuriate him or force him to make a choice of protecting his own skin or risking his security, even his life, to help us. Until then, we don't know that person at all. I fear and despise selfish individuals. Those individuals are not quite human. They are in some cases worse than beasts. I have known many women are like that. 

3. A man who talks so frankly, so openly about his shortcomings and foibles as I have been doing is lying or into self-debasement or seeking integration of warring contradictions. Do you actually believe I was into booze and drugs and hitting women? Or somebody who loved me so much that she bought me a car and jewelry and taking me out to nice restaurants on a regular basis, despite my hitting her so hard that she lost consciousness?  Do you think I am that depraved and yet that lucky to be loved that much? If you do, then your IQ must be of room temperature and you are much more stupid than I thought. Maybe I am just a lousy fiction writer who is much into wishful thinking. It's very hard to live on just arts alone. The other day, a former Bulgarian Olympian weight-lifter---I repeat, weight-lifter, just forget and never mind he was good enough to be chosen for the Olympics--- told me that I was an artist. I asked him, "How could you tell?" He replied, "The way you talked, the odd way you dressed." I shook his hand. He made my day. I asked him if any chance he had artistic sensibilities himself. He nodded his head and smiled. 

Wissai

Logic and its ramifications

As I struggled through the words of Wittgenstein and the comments and opinions of Wittgenstein's admirers and detractors, the following thoughts, by no means true nor profound nor original, came to me. They are not in any order. I have to write them very fast, otherwise they would disappear:

1. Logic is the foundation of this world, this universe. There is a fundamental reason for its existence. We humans just don't know it yet.

2. We think/reason mostly in language. Language has a logic/structure/syntax/ to it. Language contains symbols. Man is a user of symbols. But the language we use in every day social discourse has limitations. More about this later (see Russell's introductory essay to Wittgenstein's Tractatus).

3. There is a hierarchy in language users. The below can't really quite understand the above. The stupid can't break out of their prison of stupidity. They self-project their stupid and limited understanding onto the thinking of others, especially those higher than them in intelligence, and onto the affairs of the world. The tragedy is that they are not even aware they are stupid even if overwhelming evidence tells them so. They are into deep denial. 

4. Math is language. Nothing new here. Math is part of logic, not the other way around. Yet the logic we know and practice everyday is the Aristotelean logic which is flawed and being replaced by mathematical logic which is known only by the intellectually aware. This mathematical logic was pioneered by Frege and independently by Russell, and further refined by Wittgenstein. But Wittgenstein went beyond mathematical logic. He extrapolated into the realms of philosophy and the limitations of language. He was a mystic strongly affected by religious thoughts and known for strongly invoking the notion of God, despite his pronouncement he stopped believing in the existence of a Personal God since high school days. 

5. Russell expressed himself in limpid, crystal clear prose, but he lacked the poetic, arresting metaphors employed by Wittgenstein. Both didn't write poetry, a very symbolic language, although both worked in symbols, logic, and language. Therein lies the mystery of poetry. To be a poet is to be in touch of that mystery and with the wonder of language as a vehicle to express the mystery. 

 6. Rhetoric is part of logic, the applied principles of clear thinking in language. An individual should not get into a debate if he doesn't have a groundwork in rhetoric. 

7.  Buddha and the founders of Zen Buddhism recognized the limitations of language in conveying philosophical/religious insights. In trying to understand another human, we must go beyond the lexical meanings of the words he uses. We must put ourselves in his shoes. We must have empathy. We must not be a slave of dictionaries. 

8. If you think you are super-intelligent, try to read Wittgenstein without exegetical help. 

Do you know what Love is?

Do you know what love is?

I am an authority on love. I should know, okay? I have been searching for it over 44 years. I have known 24 women in the Biblical sense, and dozens more casually. Women have flocked to me like bees to honey. And out of all these women, only two loved me. How did the fuck I know? Because they forgave me, over and over again. Their mission in life was to take care of me, not themselves. They thought of me first. That was love. They gave, gave, and gave of themselves to me. The other women? They fucking used me, man. They never loved me. They loved themselves. They used me in order to love themselves. How did the fuck I know? Because they never forgave me. When we had a fight, they dug up old bones and past hurts and used whatever facts they knew about me---facts they would never have had, if I had not loved them, trusted them, and told them about---to hurt me when I myself refrained from doing the same thing to them. What did I do? I ran away. That was why the relationships didn't last. I trusted them no more. Love is trust and giving, not betrayal and hurting others. 

Next time some bitch tells you she loves you, don't fucking believe it. Just smile and be polite. Then watch her closely. See if she plays games, if she's selfish, if she doesn't keep her word, if she's only concerned with herself when you have sex with her, if she wants you to spend money on her. Watch her, man. Watch her like a hawk. Don't be stupid and gullible like me. A woman's words don't mean shit. All women lie and manipulate. They like to be in control. They are bossy. When I read stories in the paper about a woman this or a woman that being beaten by a boyfriend or husband, I say, that's right, beat the bitch some more, show her who's the boss. 

An old, ugly, undesirable, ignorant, poorly educated, delusional, intellectually cowardly bitch demanded that I remove this post because it eerily brought back bad memories of her previous incarnation with a drunkard husband. I told her to take a hike. "Hit the road, Jack, oops, I mean Jill, and don't come back no more." Her absurd demand reminded me of what Harriette had advised me. She said, "Roberto, please honey, after I die, promise me that you only associate with women who are smarter or at least as smart as you. The dumb ones will never be able to understand you. They will annoy you. They will bring you nothing but pain. There is a reason why castes exist, why people marry one another within a circle, why people associate with other people with similar education, tastes, and intelligence. You've been bragging that tons of women have come after you, but from what you've told me, all of them are garbage, except me. Only I understand you. We are alike in temperament and intelligence. Other women think you're as dumb as them. No, they think they're smarter than you. That's the real fucking comedy and tragedy. You got what I was saying, right?"