TAROT CARD OF THE DAY:
A young man on the go, attractive to women, capable of creating dissention in his wake. May indicate change of residence, travel, departure.
So the theme of today’s divination readings seems to be ‘on the go’ vs. limitations. Seems apt.
I had a bad night yesterday, whatever the time frame looks like that when your sleep schedule is all over the place. As a post had it on social media, in quarantine people have their cycles of coping and then every three days or so they have dip into the ‘hell zone’ for a couple hours, and it’s different for everyone. Yeah, maybe, that was what it was.
I have been thinking about Descartes’ idea of mind and matter being distinct substances, and the difference between them being their essence. That matter has extension (takes of space), whereas mind.. does not. And I was thinking this needs re-evaluation. It seems like Descartes, in foisting his program of radical skepticism, faltered on spirit into a total collapse, where he acknowledges mind… aka SOUL, but collapsed it into non-existence. It has no physicality; geometrically, it is neither line, nor as small as a single point. NO extension means this in his philosophy. Maybe this was due to his program of a strict closing off of every avenue of investigation except.. a crack under the door for empiricism? He didn’t leave any room for the girl at the party who can read your aura, or the feeling of coffee waterfalling down your throat warming your chest AND your being. He perhaps stopped in his tracks in order to doubt so rashly and think through the next sinewy extension and planting of his footstep, and forgot the feeling of a body… in motion.
I think there is a second category of extension, that of soul, and that it relies on our WILL for its quarters. It is what we pull near our selves, hold to our conscious thoughts and efforts, and it has its own attendent philosophical problems and metaphysical turnstyles to challenge us, for us to jump and ride away from.
I’m reading a really crazy killercool book right now. I got it at the leftist/anarchist leaning coffee shop Mokabe’s in my area a while back, and it is both so good, while being so obscure, that it is one of those things that leads you to believe that the surface world is just so much sparsity and cleared forest to the possibilities of what could be, given proper watering and soil. But I digress. These are hard enough days, without imagining the soul any more rich and acrid.
The book is Bædan 3: Journal of Queer Time Travel. And I didn’t even feel the need to go ahead and order the back issues, if possible, because it felt so sufficient in itself to have this in my hands. That’s something, you know. A feeling of satiety, in that way.
But the days are so meandering and the time to sit down and read seems like both a mirage only gainable by long treks through desert madness, never witnessed or drunk deep enough… While such a blessing that it gets you through the blinding othershit enough to keep you going. One knows not how to comprehend any kind of plan of approach. I just think myself a hero for getting a single thing done in a day, for being alive for tomorrow. We’re still flying. It’s enough.
Probably should have written more notes on other stuff I’m reading into the past few days, like Marshall McLuhan and ‘The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind’ by Julian Jaynes, and how McLuhan’s ideas kind of further the idea of the voice of God in our brain by pushing the media-tion into the cultural landscape at large. Like if one wants to think our will a product of environment, a trick of apperception and sensation and biology, we could simply be in a symbiont relationship with movement and fear of death and moving typeface logic pushing us into linear thought onward into computers so that we miss the moment of arrival at standing upright of our own accord and simply accidentally move our bodies to the recycle bin thinking we have won the kewpie doll for bursting the balloons with the dart of volition and suddenly the stuffed animal falls to ground and the carnival lights go out.
I for one welcome our new A.I. overlords.
Most days my body feels aggrivated and tired and unwholesome in a way where only a primal scream might heal me. Who has the patience for staying inside these hollow homes. With only threat and no serenity. With no time spent in the presence, only rushed intransigence. I could cry myself to sleep, were it not for the wealth of information. And the stories.
It is date night in the universe. – – –
So much depends on
a comfy couch
spilled with guacamole, homemade
beside the bad movie bargain bin
long past midnight
That Baedan journal I mentioned talks about a metaphysical topology schema of ‘wholeness’ vs. ‘holeyness’. It seems like a unified theory of everything for these days. That we are in the desert searching for water founts. And in the jungle weary of quicksand. We’re drowning in the Both-And. I don’t even know what it means. But I want to understand the things I say sometimes.
That’s why I keep speaking my mind. Even when I walk like nonsense.