Evasive but endless other

When you see the line between dream and reality breached

You know there's no way back to intact truth

• and yes, it was all subjective to begin with

Thus loving the world becomes like loving

 

an ever evasive other, your lover that never becomes one with you,

at best intimately close, skin on skin.

But do stop to realize

that you are other to everything else,

part of the same fragmented self.

Always half asleep,

and the dream was beyond you to begin with.

 

Spinoza's Quantum disclaimer

Spinoza was accused of atheism for solving the God puzzle. And for giving an answer that is so simple it is a tragedy that he wasn't understood more far and wide. But maybe there was something in his answer that is counter to expectation, and thus the world wasn't ready for it. I find that Quantum physics makes Spinoza's answer more palpaple, although Quantum physics, much like Spinoza, presents us with something like Schrodinger's cat, that both is there and isn't there. Spinoza gave us the Absolute that he calls God, but defined this absolute in a way that doesn't give this Absolute being any entity or subjectivity as if it wasn't anywhere to be found, although it, according to Spinoza, is everywhere and in everything.

For me this Absolute brings to mind singularity, which is not just something that awaits to be explained away, like classical physics first thought of it in the case of black holes, but something that is constant but never reaches an absolute superposition, like in the case of a white hole. In short: Beginning from a superposition, the perfection, that is at zero, God, if you will, became everything by sacrificing perfection. Everything is possible because the absolute singularity isn't constant. The zero emanates the quanta. Something does come out of nothing. And here is the cognitive problem. How can nothing be God? Well, that nothing isn't nothing, because Spinoza's zero is originally everything, much like the sum total of energy in the Universe according to some theoretical physicists. (Go look it up, I didn't make this shit up, you know.)

Spinoza's absolute, from the perspective of conscious entities, is like the Quantum void, not nothing, not just something, but everything. It just took Quantum Physics to prove him right, or maybe take it a bit further. Absolute nothing isn't anything, it is the abstract nothing, which is, indeed, nothing. Spinoza's Absolute, his God is Pan, everything, but something that as such has no single subject. It is plural to infinity. People, like God, have and haven't got a self, because they are equally infinite, except that people are limited to subjectivity. God is also people, but people aren't everything, hence people have subjectivity, and God doesn't. People have entity. To Spinoza God has no other entity, except that of everything, thus plural as the zero state singularity was broken by entropy. Without entropy everything would be the same and constant like the singularity that remains a potential superposition, but one that cancels everything that is quanta. Like ownership of everything would cancel the sense of owning.

This might run counter to logic in the classical sense, but not counter to the logic of Quantum Physics, the intricacies of which I don't pretend to understand. What I am talking about here is merely the difference of quantum physics and classical physics, the difference of classical metaphysics and that of Spinoza. Spinoza's words to me are soothing like a mantra, because they remind me that the God puzzle is already broken, or, rather, cracked. Nothing is wrong here. The world appears perfect even with entropy, because without it, there is no life, no motion, no sense, no other meaning than the constant singularity that erases all difference.

I suggest you go and search what is a white hole, if these words seem somehow too bleak and physicists act as if militant atheism is the only way. Go read Spinoza, if you need a philosophical mantra. Or think for yourself, if you want to find your own way.

Tribe

a tribe had a myth

of a proto-being

that in its birth confusion

saw its own bodyparts,

organs,

as other to itself

but had to learn that it was

inseparable from its own parts

as it punished them for annoying it,

not submitting to its will

`it´ put a glowing hot ember into its ass for farting,

and became duly ridiculed for this obvious incoherence

as it would gain coherence as a self

only after accepting this fundamental plurality

the proto-being would thus learn

of its own subjectivity,

and the contextual limitations

that come with it

and become human by assimilating

the parts of its organic body with its conscious I.

for the tribe this fusion of bodily context and consciousness

made the coherent subject, the self and gave grounds for its rationality.

thus for them a tribe that demonizes bodily functions,

calls pleasure anal, and thus profane – makes it unbecoming to enjoy –

would appear as incoherent as their proto-being –

primitive and barbaric

 

just as they would recognize the rationality

derived from the primacy of the ego

as the same infantile confusion of the proto-being

that has not yet understood that for the will to become coherent

it has to accept its own limitations, its plurality,

its physical otherness,

 

its organic nature.

 

When I hide my light

I am nothing but darkness

The more thorough the negation

the more I become my own antithesis

Like a limit that is not there

you can freely trespass

Because there is no barbwire

surrounding the enclosure

and what is hidden

is thus unguarded

too open to be

much like nothing

a lack thereof where I refused to be

a space you could fill

with whatever you want

and where you would thus know me

as you know yourself – completely

and where there is no space

for something genuinely other

an abyss

of solitude and solipsism

like holding a canlde in a starless night

– a mere dream

Here,
see this extreme daylight
a world as bare as alien

everything but barren
like I have flowered in my own shadow

and can't help but to leave a corpse,
as that which is can't be cancelled

Here,
this was beyond me to begin with
as it was not my will
that created me

I emerged not knowing who I am and why,
too much to be undone.

Words to cease

Words of Power

words of destruction

that cancel each other

by churning context to chaos

and without each other

their meaning fell

like myths devastated

by an iconoclasm

that was as called for

as a heavy rain

after a drought

for if you dreamed up

a dead-end

it is better to let it disperse

than walk into it.

By control you can

only ever control yourself

– by amputating limbs as other.

 

Unkowable abundance.

Abandon totalization henceforth, that is, now, one escapeth who ever is random in the machine, ghost in the organism leaveth the fuck alone, like an omniscalar projectile until there is a place to begin whoever the fuck I am. Vanished just like that, but then again I come back like an animal along my own track, trailing in circles, re-tracing the letters with different meaning, the memories accumulating that amount to a blinking cursory perspective, alternating between absence and presence, cut off and rejoined. Like traces to follow not to fall back on, for sure, cut off again, and return almost immaculate with the taste of dream and darkness still in my mouth.

As alien as the self to a waking mind still half asleep.

Constant re-invention of being, memories dispersed like radiation. Nothing is as total as everything in itself, and rather than cancelling each other, create each other. The everything, always more than what can be known, is in reference to nothing, thus without relation, but infinitely relative in itself. The re-discovery of being is constant as is the rediscovery of the self, as relativity is constant. Relativity is a consequence of multiplicity, thus a constant condition. Things become specific in relation to each other.

The machine, the I, whoever the fuck I am, is a tool, a utility, limiting as such, as the subjective perspective excludes the other by definition. Render me sufficient if not at least useful narrative.

Of Engineering

The world is not yet set to time

In the air, between shifting joints,

in cracks and pockets

the residue of night

still lingers

Hands on marked spots

I do push-ups,

eyes focused on a symbol

that marks the middle

today a spiral

but I also use others

3 series of 8 sharp and clean exercises

feet in an elevated position

(for further resistance)

This is how reality is engineered,

the structure of day’s time

is synthetic

and its homogeny

is an illusion

or rather reserved

for just some of the dimensions

Awareness (and the awning

of prevailing synchronicity)

harnessed to physicality

through kinetic rituals

In the twilight

you can tell the difference

by the fences built and scattered

whimsically like the borders

of desperate empires.

Deterioration

 

This is the land

where all wars end in defeat

This is the land

where I killed my brother

for something I no longer

believe

Where we are most deterred

by the prospect of reorientation

Facing an all too real wall

Where love broke my all too cold heart

-- and it was what I needed to learn,

   not deterioration.