Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Fingers Like Fishsticks
Again, APJ. My mind is too quick to deal with the fluffy stuff in the middle- beginning, end.
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"He who sees everything as nothing but the Self, and the Self in everything he sees, such a seer withdraws from nothing. For the enlightened, all that exists is nothing but the Self, so how could any suffering or delusion continue for those who know this oneness?"
Isha Upanishad; sloka 6, 7
Solipsism is considered both a philosophy and a mental illness.
For doctors, existence of this belief is extremely detrimental, and fairly insulting. To think, this detached shell of a person believes that he’s not real? He scoffs. How absurd. He exists, he is sure of it; how else would he be able to enjoy his Merlot and steak dinners every Thursday night? Or golfing lessons every Sunday morning? And what of that time three years ago when his stocks went up fifty odd points and gained him a fortune three times greater than his first inheritance? If there is anything he was ever sure of, it is most certainly that.
For the bourgeoisie of the world, it passes into their minds, and they shrug it off casually. They have no way of proving themselves right, nor the other person wrong. However, if this really was true, why isn’t life perfect? If there was just one person who created everything, then why is there pain? Why do people age and grow ugly when we could have all stayed young and beautiful? Why do diseases rampage our earth and kill more people than any war ever has? It isn’t logical; life would be perfect if someone just thought it all up one day, because… why wouldn’t they want it to be?
For philosophers who speculate and dissect, this may be one of the more annoying creeds to come across. It is indeed one full of holes; it lacks real substance, except by the sole word of the solipsist himself. It is a belief that will leave one arguing for hours if both parties are stubborn enough, and in the end come to no conclusive settlement at all. It is seen as a rather petty argument, as the solipsist can always fall back on his own mind if he’s ever really confronted, soothing himself with notions that it doesn’t matter what they think, because they don’t exist. And, of course, whatever doesn’t exist doesn’t matter, and thus he is drawn even further into his downward spiral of egoism, of which he has no reason to remove his self from. So generally, philosophers are not concerned with such self-important creatures, and turn away from the meaningless cries of ‘you’re just an illusion!’ with deaf ears.
And as for the Solipsists themselves, they smile a knowing smile, settle back into their therapist’s velvet couch, and think of only one thing.
(sources)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solipsism
http://www.qwantz.com/fanart/03-Solipsism.png
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--
Isha Upanishad; sloka 6, 7
Solipsism is considered both a philosophy and a mental illness.
For doctors, existence of this belief is extremely detrimental, and fairly insulting. To think, this detached shell of a person believes that he’s not real? He scoffs. How absurd. He exists, he is sure of it; how else would he be able to enjoy his Merlot and steak dinners every Thursday night? Or golfing lessons every Sunday morning? And what of that time three years ago when his stocks went up fifty odd points and gained him a fortune three times greater than his first inheritance? If there is anything he was ever sure of, it is most certainly that.
For the bourgeoisie of the world, it passes into their minds, and they shrug it off casually. They have no way of proving themselves right, nor the other person wrong. However, if this really was true, why isn’t life perfect? If there was just one person who created everything, then why is there pain? Why do people age and grow ugly when we could have all stayed young and beautiful? Why do diseases rampage our earth and kill more people than any war ever has? It isn’t logical; life would be perfect if someone just thought it all up one day, because… why wouldn’t they want it to be?
For philosophers who speculate and dissect, this may be one of the more annoying creeds to come across. It is indeed one full of holes; it lacks real substance, except by the sole word of the solipsist himself. It is a belief that will leave one arguing for hours if both parties are stubborn enough, and in the end come to no conclusive settlement at all. It is seen as a rather petty argument, as the solipsist can always fall back on his own mind if he’s ever really confronted, soothing himself with notions that it doesn’t matter what they think, because they don’t exist. And, of course, whatever doesn’t exist doesn’t matter, and thus he is drawn even further into his downward spiral of egoism, of which he has no reason to remove his self from. So generally, philosophers are not concerned with such self-important creatures, and turn away from the meaningless cries of ‘you’re just an illusion!’ with deaf ears.
And as for the Solipsists themselves, they smile a knowing smile, settle back into their therapist’s velvet couch, and think of only one thing.
(sources)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solipsism
http://www.qwantz.com/fanart/03-Solipsi
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Just Like a Man
An AP Journal Entry. Because I'm just that interesting.
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You’re different, just like everyone else.
So, I’m walking down the road, walking my dog, and I see these two kids down the street. Actually they’re older than me, and taller too. Tall and pencil thin. Well, the guy is. The girl’s acceptably chubby; her double chin accented by all the pale make up she’s wearing. It looked normal from far away, but once I got up close it was fairly disgusting. Not that that was what crossed my mind at the time, far from it. When I spotted the sun gleaming off his thick studded belt and her gauged snakebites, I immediately craved acceptance. Smoky coffeehouses and backstage fumbles were the stuff of gods, and these two seemed closer to it all than I had ever been. I wanted to lick the ambrosia off their fingers, to savour the taste of individuality. I couldn’t get enough of their sweet defiance, and they knew it.
As it turned out, they knew too well.
Not even a glance was spared as I passed by, smiling a bit and crumpling my hand in a half-wave. And I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more rejected in my whole life, not even when I walked all the way to music with a hole in the seat of my hot pink pants and suddenly no one was my friend anymore. I didn’t even know them. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. That anonymous recognition of your worth becomes the scale that you rate all other comparisons to. If that person over there hates me just by looking at me, how am I able to look at myself in the mirror every morning?
So then you start not being able to. And it’s all downhill from there.
I couldn’t bring myself to look back at the future alcoholics and high-school dropouts, so instead I looked down. There was paint all over my shirt, and I think my pants were inside out. Painting my dad’s porch in ninety-degree weather was not my idea of summer, but, well, we’re related. I wanted to cry. My dog just wanted to keep walking. And my thighs were really starting to chafe from the sweat and denim.
So I went on, and fell into the Chuck Palahniuk view of life, where cynicism and criticism rule over hope and emotion. It isn’t comforting. It doesn’t make me feel better that there’s actually nothing out there for me, and if I die the stock market won’t even go down a point or two. If I ever get a tumor, I’m naming it Marla.
And the sickly sweet nectar is always just out of reach.
(sources)
http://www.lyricsdownload.com/say-anything-admit-it-lyrics.html
http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h24/dusk2311/scenester.jpg
http://www.foxmovies.com/fightclub/
--
--
You’re different, just like everyone else.
So, I’m walking down the road, walking my dog, and I see these two kids down the street. Actually they’re older than me, and taller too. Tall and pencil thin. Well, the guy is. The girl’s acceptably chubby; her double chin accented by all the pale make up she’s wearing. It looked normal from far away, but once I got up close it was fairly disgusting. Not that that was what crossed my mind at the time, far from it. When I spotted the sun gleaming off his thick studded belt and her gauged snakebites, I immediately craved acceptance. Smoky coffeehouses and backstage fumbles were the stuff of gods, and these two seemed closer to it all than I had ever been. I wanted to lick the ambrosia off their fingers, to savour the taste of individuality. I couldn’t get enough of their sweet defiance, and they knew it.
As it turned out, they knew too well.
Not even a glance was spared as I passed by, smiling a bit and crumpling my hand in a half-wave. And I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more rejected in my whole life, not even when I walked all the way to music with a hole in the seat of my hot pink pants and suddenly no one was my friend anymore. I didn’t even know them. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. That anonymous recognition of your worth becomes the scale that you rate all other comparisons to. If that person over there hates me just by looking at me, how am I able to look at myself in the mirror every morning?
So then you start not being able to. And it’s all downhill from there.
I couldn’t bring myself to look back at the future alcoholics and high-school dropouts, so instead I looked down. There was paint all over my shirt, and I think my pants were inside out. Painting my dad’s porch in ninety-degree weather was not my idea of summer, but, well, we’re related. I wanted to cry. My dog just wanted to keep walking. And my thighs were really starting to chafe from the sweat and denim.
So I went on, and fell into the Chuck Palahniuk view of life, where cynicism and criticism rule over hope and emotion. It isn’t comforting. It doesn’t make me feel better that there’s actually nothing out there for me, and if I die the stock market won’t even go down a point or two. If I ever get a tumor, I’m naming it Marla.
And the sickly sweet nectar is always just out of reach.
(sources)
http://www.lyricsdownload.com/say-anyth
http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h24/d
http://www.foxmovies.com/fightclub/
--
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Theory of Knowledge 1
I have a class, Theory of Knowledge, and our first homework assignment was to respond to the word "Why". This is my response.
(I added the rest in)
---
I hate to disassociate myself so easily so early on, but humans are explicitly known for their inherent curiosity. The almost perverse interest in the unknown propels man forward, keeping his brain ticking and boredom at bay.
But other than in things like space and microscopic particulates, which we cannot physically experience (to an extent), where does this interest come from? Shouldn’t everything else be plainly laid out for individual interpretation? Therein lies the problem. The source of “why” is in assumption.
You can continue to ask ‘why’ for an extended period of time, starting with a simple statement. “We’re going out for a drink.” “Why?” “Because we’re celebrating.” “Why?” “John won the lottery.” “Why is that worth celebrating?” “Because he got a lot of money.” “Why are we celebrating that?” "Because money is something good- it makes us happy.” “Why does money make you happy?”
You could see where I was going with that. At the point where it says, “He won the lottery,” we take up the assumption that winning money is a good thing-something worth having a drink over-we don’t explore the basis behind that. We just take it for what it is. If we went further, like in the dialogue, we’d find the root of the situation, and the unknowns/ambiguities behind it. Hence, “why” is a result of assumption.
Depending on the situation, "why" can be a form of either distraction or immersion. Distraction, in that the situation is so far gone that the concept of "why" is unimportant (eg. running over your neighbor's dog). The reason for the action is, at that particular stage, trivial. All that matters is taking care of the situation as a whole. Asking 'why' then becomes a way of avoiding repercussions: a quick escape route from reality.
"Why" can also be a way of immersing oneself in a subject. This is the more common reason behind seeking reason; to try and understand what has happened/is happening so it can be prevented or encouraged in the future. (Or perhaps that's what we all like to believe is our motive; unwilling to admit that we're voracious information-beasts who swallow and swallow but rarely tend to digest)
Ignoring the numerous tangent-like arguments over the use of "why", it's prevalence in human action in unequivocal, and the quintessence of curiosity.
--
To which my ToK teacher replied: "Are there any circumstances/conditions that stop an individual from experiencing curiosity?"
(I added the rest in)
---
I hate to disassociate myself so easily so early on, but humans are explicitly known for their inherent curiosity. The almost perverse interest in the unknown propels man forward, keeping his brain ticking and boredom at bay.
But other than in things like space and microscopic particulates, which we cannot physically experience (to an extent), where does this interest come from? Shouldn’t everything else be plainly laid out for individual interpretation? Therein lies the problem. The source of “why” is in assumption.
You can continue to ask ‘why’ for an extended period of time, starting with a simple statement. “We’re going out for a drink.” “Why?” “Because we’re celebrating.” “Why?” “John won the lottery.” “Why is that worth celebrating?” “Because he got a lot of money.” “Why are we celebrating that?” "Because money is something good- it makes us happy.” “Why does money make you happy?”
You could see where I was going with that. At the point where it says, “He won the lottery,” we take up the assumption that winning money is a good thing-something worth having a drink over-we don’t explore the basis behind that. We just take it for what it is. If we went further, like in the dialogue, we’d find the root of the situation, and the unknowns/ambiguities behind it. Hence, “why” is a result of assumption.
Depending on the situation, "why" can be a form of either distraction or immersion. Distraction, in that the situation is so far gone that the concept of "why" is unimportant (eg. running over your neighbor's dog). The reason for the action is, at that particular stage, trivial. All that matters is taking care of the situation as a whole. Asking 'why' then becomes a way of avoiding repercussions: a quick escape route from reality.
"Why" can also be a way of immersing oneself in a subject. This is the more common reason behind seeking reason; to try and understand what has happened/is happening so it can be prevented or encouraged in the future. (Or perhaps that's what we all like to believe is our motive; unwilling to admit that we're voracious information-beasts who swallow and swallow but rarely tend to digest)
Ignoring the numerous tangent-like arguments over the use of "why", it's prevalence in human action in unequivocal, and the quintessence of curiosity.
--
To which my ToK teacher replied: "Are there any circumstances/conditions that stop an individual from experiencing curiosity?"
Brevity is the soul of wit, no?
When motivation slips away:
"While hands and faces clattered in the next room, X sat on the veranda and rubbed her belly.
They almost couldn’t hear her over the rumble of the takeoff.
Suddenly realizing how ugly she was, she bent over the swell in her stomach to vomit.
Sometimes she liked to pretend she was the star of a soap opera, and how glamorous a job she was doing, and how she couldn’t wait to get out of the thick body suit they kept stuffing her in. Because really, she would like to go home sometime."
"While hands and faces clattered in the next room, X sat on the veranda and rubbed her belly.
They almost couldn’t hear her over the rumble of the takeoff.
Suddenly realizing how ugly she was, she bent over the swell in her stomach to vomit.
Sometimes she liked to pretend she was the star of a soap opera, and how glamorous a job she was doing, and how she couldn’t wait to get out of the thick body suit they kept stuffing her in. Because really, she would like to go home sometime."
Anagram? Yes please!
"That's exactly what this country needs. A cock in a frock on a rock."
-Priscilla, Queen of the Desert
How cool am I?
Extremely.
-Priscilla, Queen of the Desert
How cool am I?
Extremely.
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