Pity the Belly of the Beast

                I’m at a point in my life where the thoughts in my own head I’m convinced are in need of edit because I ate too much last night and drank too much the night before so that I made myself lazy and slothful and usually when that happens I believe that all of the rational and good ideas that I was thinking I will remember of course because ‘they are such good ideas’ that ‘I am therefore a genius’ which becomes ‘how could such a genius forget?’ How?  Because genius does not assume discipline.  There is prodigy genius, which is inherited, and therefore squanderable, and then there is disciplined genius, which earns the distinction because of moral integrity.  What was I thinking?  Sure, my ideas are good (not comparing), but they are sometimes long, complex, or a step in a multistep process that I’m trying to forge and my memory is not that good and isn’t this why we have the written word, so that we might be able to reference it later, but what good is that if I never take the time to look back or am too lazy to pick up my implement?  Please forgive and God help me!  I may not be the best and brightest, but I could be!  I’m mad at myself because it’s 0531 and I didn’t get up a few minutes earlier to really seize the day (sans alarum)! Part of it is that I need a new bed, this floor-mattress set-up has just about reached its mesial limit.  These are such food ideas, and I’m a fool, Quiche! And she’s such an egg pie!  My gut tells me otherwise.  Will, chicken fucker I told my orders to, wants to control more, including how I feel, the meal would be better in smaller portions, less distended.  Why the struggle?  Resistant reality, light limits, fictive coefficients, pleasure is friction…
Pain, science fiction? (You feel me?)

                I watch my Presence of Mind wander a field astray, fetches visions from outer space, I time my dog?  I swing my spider!  Manufactured cloth webbing around a dinner fork, lighter than lace, stickier than silk.  My dreams are weird.  I have to shit, but somebody just stepped in the shower. I’m like a loser losing interest all the time until I lose my shit instead, for a minute a day, pissing with a bedraggled penis.  It takes on a life of its own.  It takes a life of its own. It takes on a life of differentiation. It takes a differentiated life.  It takes something greater than a fetus to destroy life itself? It takes an undifferentiated life through combining forms. Through death, life becomes differentiated.  Check, through death, lifeforms become differentiated by separating life from form.  Unless everything that has form has life?  Is Jainism the ultimate answer?  Can one take life to a different form?  Fetal forms by zygote!  What’s the matter with all this stuff?  Is there an ideal balance?  Do those with a lot of “stuff,” forms devoid of life, have less life than those who live joyful lives in the void?  Who dies and becomes the microwavable platter?  I’m really hungry!  Little torture!  It takes a lot to have a little, but the virtue of poverty is truly a motivating factor, like the fast diet, in that it counterintuitively gives one undifferentiated fast energy unit. 

                Undifferentiated women; a break-up, a differentiation, a simplification?  The original mother, a woman, the only one (of two) that one couldn’t do without.  Do you doubt, Thomas, Adam?  Is God a woman?  If one is a woman, God is a woman.  If one is another woman, God is a man, a differentiated woman, and you can be sure she cares about her man’s culture of domesticity, even if she eats the occasional apple by mistake.  Like something stupid on repeat, a nag; like a lie, a gnat.  Like verisimilitude, anthropomorphism; like superstition, symbolic perception.  One can also be a woman, unattached, and care about man, mindfully.  My mother is a mindful woman.  What woman nags and lives a lie?  Who is surrounded by horses and flies?  Ride or die, bitch! But I’m all out of spite.  Is leaving home like a break-up? Isn’t it more about living life larger?  Bar largesse!  Get drunk and make a mess!  What does man, undifferentiated, become?  A man’s-man or a lady’s-man?  Maybe both at best.  Stop trying to be different, stupid.  “Hurry bring the ladle,” sez the sexy Hungarian’s intermediary, for her chili.  It’s a trap.

                “I think I found the culprit,”

                (me?)

                “Externalize, you!  Tell me what you know! Tell me what you think! Tell me what you think you know!”

                Ugly one, always under the gun, stressed by metaphor, coward of the machine, spasmodic, fearful of the unknown, textbook xenophobe.

                “How can the autopsy’s looks be deceiving?  Stabwounds, gunshot bulletholes…” differentiated weaponry, knives: a pair of scissors, shears, machete, kris, or broadsword, etc. guns: AK’s, gats, Uzis, sawed-off shotty, etc.  (Not a scratch, how irritating?) “Bulging eyes, clear sign of a violent death, inflicted by who?  Speak, you!” goes the magistrate in an un-American version of criminal justice.

                A Chinese pinhead, and poor old Mrs. Djou, languishing in the screws and some old idea of Hell in Asia, full of symbols for the sinologist.  Meanwhile, Elliot Smith, Needle in the Hay, languishing in some American emotional hell, aren’t all wounds in the imagination self-inflicted?  Who is the mentally healthiest and how did he or she get so well?  Through deference or rebellion?  A little bit of both one could say, I would say (still maintaining my mental health, in the running) through moderation, modulation, and occasional ululation.  Presenting Freudian slips on Facebook for all to overanalyze, to screw you up!

                The global ‘democratic’ powers that be seek to maintain control, dominate.  Democratic domination crisis, consumerism as a belief system, brand superstition, at resource’s end, mining a dump’s sediment for its valuable gourmet maggots of the future.  Despite consumerist hankering, it is impolite to demand, for even in the face of supply, it is more polite to ask.  Where do economists get off demanding all the time?  First demands, then coercion, then the dark side of the jar, jar wrapped in aluminum, full of commodity, alone, with thoughts full of undifferentiated run-on sentences, a mind full of ‘-nesses’ aka things, masses, and blockages savagely catering to the impaired.  Tattoo of a star, tattoo of a crutch, nursed by a system that rewards virtue with intolerance?  It rewards impairment with mercy, because common people cognitively impair themselves all the time to avoid the advanced state of rationality brought on by catered food.  It’s easier to be cognitively dissonant to avoid the labor dispute, viz. a disparity in values, the trickle-down effect?  Flood up, trickle down.  Some people just need more time to digest! The effects of particle physics in the gut, leave the light on, burn the midnight oil, and remain aware of your surroundings so as not to fill rooms with the stuff of wasted space.  Stuff collects like interest and life is squandered by disinterest like a gypsy resource curse.

                There was dream effort to torpedo large fish through shallow white water canal locks from a fishing ferry in tight sequence for enterprise!  Material science, what is matter made of?  Pure energy! A mattress materializes and dreams thereupon sublime.   Some things are matters of fact and some others are anti-matters of perception, like surreal and esoteric metaphor you don’t know me!  Anti-McCarthyism and the Red Dering Doo, “I’m not scared of your ska bred, radio head, anarchist sentimentality!  I only add to myself by giving myself away, this is called ‘inspiring the light’.  See two (and only two) photons in the dark with eyes crossed or attenuated?”  The analytical mind, seeking patterns in bed at night, looking for something that’s not there (yet), like mathematical Sasquatch or Nessy for realz.  A large body that takes a certain (discrete) amount of energy to procreate, a living human mass made of cells and electrons, soul and emotion, sense and perception.  Your sense is clouded, your perception obscure.  Pickled tink?  Tickled pink by Floyd Januaryweather the weak pugilist (this year).  Tink can wait in her jar, Peter, I think I hear the hook (to this song).  The acoustics in a jar, oh!  Wasn’t it wrong for the United States to invade South Vietnam whilst ignoring holocaust level genocide in East Timor?  Challenging sides!  I hope to see improvement in my time.  As a state with a phallus, I understand, sometimes you fail us, and sometimes you gotta swing that dick, tricky as can be, and when hard, maintain one direction!  You can only feel sorry for so many at the same time, and what about the rest of the militarized pacifist superpowers?

                “Pity preserves things that are ripe for decline, it defends things that have been disowned and condemned by life, and it gives a depressive and questionable character to life itself by keeping alive an abundance of failures of every type. People have dared to call pity a virtue…people have gone even further, making it into the virtue, the foundation and source of all virtues, - but of course you always have to keep in mind that this was the perspective of a nihilistic philosophy that inscribed the negation of life on its shield. Schopenhauer was right here: pity negates life, it makes life worthy of negation, - pity is the practice of nihilism. Once more: this depressive and contagious instinct runs counter to the instincts that preserve and enhance the value of life: by multiplying misery just as much as by conserving everything miserable, pity is one of the main tools used to increase decadence – pity wins people over to nothingness!... You do not say ‘nothingness’: instead you say ‘the beyond’; or ‘God’; or ‘the true life’; or nirvana, salvation, blessedness.  This incorrect rhetoric…” 

                What does Nietzsche mean by nothingness?  Inertia?  Disproved by particle physics.  Nothing in the universe is motionless.  Where there is observation there is not nothing.  Things come in and out of existence spontaneously.  ‘The beyond’ could mean nothing.  Zarathustra believes God is dead, therefore, if God no longer observes, who is in charge of creation but the individual, still thinking through some miracle?  I think that the age of the notion of God as the judgmental anthropomorphism in the sky is passed.  Is there no true life?  Why dishonesty?  Are nirvana, salvation, and blessedness nothing?  Maybe to Nietzsche, but they may be meaningful and substantive in another life.  Why does Nietzsche just come out and say here that Heaven and Hell are nothing?  He works around that!  Pity does not cause inertia, but it also does not necessarily move people to action, and that apathy, lack of charity, and loss of humanity is what I believe Nietzsche is against, rightly so.  Would you pity yourself during an attack?  If the furthest extent of Hell were real, who wouldn’t pity a soul bound for eternal damnation through their lack of judgment?  Heaven saves humanity, because if people are bound to die, and they typically do, in varying degrees of violence, why pity one off to a better place, something substantive, another life?

                “…from the realm of the religious – moral idiosyncrasy suddenly appears much less innocent when you see precisely which tendencies are wrapped up inside these sublime words: tendencies hostile to life” viz. these words themselves? Am I hostile to life by being wrapped up inside these words?  Would Nietzsche (from The Anti-Christ found on GoodReads) admit his hostility towards life here?  Should it not say, ‘those sublime words’?  Beyond God, true life, nirvana, salvation, and blessedness, these words are hostile? But to speak to their antithesis, with God, false life, hell, damnation, and wretchedness?  I guess it all depends on how one defines God?  Pins God? Pegs God? Anthropomorphizes God?  Crucifies God? It’s true that many of those who regard sections of righteous text with rigor tend to miss ‘the big picture.’  While mastery of such discipline and derived virtue are deemed laudable to some, efficient discipline and efficient virtue negate patience, the place where a Christian notion of long-suffering is a virtue.  Those suicide bombers and shooters, how can they possibly renegotiate their innocence after the fact that they attached their own clip like a machine and fired? That they clasped their own explosive belt like and anti-mart(yr) and did more than flip a few tables.  The fact that they cast their own God’s righteousness upon their fellow man, following a religion they chose on their own, every day, like a machine, and mercilessly tore apart families minding their own businesses?  But who wants privacy anymore?  Those smoldering chunks of human flesh are suicide famous! No virgins, just Suicide Girls, no burka, just tattoos, no privacy, just on stage presence, etc.