continued from
themongreldiscourse.blogspot.com
rrrrrr. screeching to a halt and completely shifting direction, genre, tone, purpose, profession,
but eventually, after this long long almost interminable detour involving a forty day sojourn in a desert including a fast from all forms to prove your godly status, after which you can never go home again, we'll get back to that tack
program notes
first, some mechanics --
warning:
The form and content of these
scraps struggling to gather into a book
translating a fresco by Giotto
(which closely resembles a Beethoven symphony)
into a novel way of doing philosophy,
a novel way of doing art history,
a novel way of being religious,
a novel way of being scientific,
in short a novel paradigm of knowledge,
has never been imagined before the appearance
of this thing itself.
Still, it's only a novel arrangement --
like, say, a DNA molecule
with a novel way of arranging and connecting
somewhat novel kinds of molecules
(albeit possibly blown in from outer space) --
of known things newly twisted and turned,
sometimes stretched or shrunk,
but never broken
(unlike the novelty we're now used to,
made of genetically engineered elements and entities --
or if it's art or philosophy hoping to feel like it's that new,
as more and more these once humanistic endeavors
resemble the news in being so new they're outdated
and become period pieces with charming nostalgic appeal
almost the instant they appear --
though to cook up one of these Frankensteins and tame it is no small feat;
you can generally really only make and handle one of them in a lifetime
and then just show it off from different angles, the trademark recognizable,
the novel angles novel enough to keep you in business.)
Still, the tempered, merely formal
form of novelty imitating the novelty of life
at its inception, the novelty manifested
in the present case too
is, like life at its inception,
quite as deeply novel, in its way,
and it too cannot be compared to anything you know,
you can't find a grounding for it elsewhere,
you can only dive in and let it sweep you along.
The first time it is heard it will encounter boos
and nays and what the hells? You call yourself
a cipher of the music of the spheres??
You call this an imitation of the novelty
of life at its inception,
a translation (indirectly) of Beethoven,
when meanwhile, to add insult to injury,
it lasts days or months instead of two hours?
This is just a lot of crude, prosaic constructions
that constantly collapse because they keep going
up and up and up until they break the rules
that would hold them up! I want my money (time) back!
No no please stay, stay until the end of the symphony (book).
You might be the first to get it, and then you get the credit
that will in no way accrue to those who just jump on the bandwagon.
or put it this way,
though overtly the forthcoming text follows the trajectory of my finding of an -- or even the -- origin
of perspective in a fresco by Giotto,
scholars and artists interested in such a thing will, unless sufficiently prepared, at a certain point lose interest -- because they have decided in advance what an art historical finding is supposed to be and do, and it's not allowed to be and do anything else.
and most people with the level of literacy and education needed, unless sufficiently prepared, won't have patience for the plodding, physical mechanics of it.
but you can't fix a car without getting on the ground and sliding under it after spending a lot of time learning and figuring out how it works
and being in language is pretty similar to an automobile -- it's a complex, but not unfathomable --after all we generate our own experience and construct our own objects -- whirring rather musical machine whose moving parts are maps made understandable by their and its motion.
if you're a philosopher -- philosopher or slave, it's either/or -- if you love knowledge, then you must be sick by now of all the fakes facsimiles and filibustering -- really, please don't call it that, taking a lot of side roads, scenic routes, beset by bandits, all that is part of it, such that
surely by now you're ready to get the fingers of your mind dirty, just crawl under the car and get us back up and running...just as you gain knowledge, so sweet and delicious for its own sake, the power it confers being secondary.
knowledge being know how, whether or not
my specific working theories are right or wrong,
at least instead of proposing and refining
inadequate generalizations
that counter-(post the previous-)
inadequate generalizations
or their counter-counter (post-post-the previous)
inadequate generalizations
and getting hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine logic,
at least by laying out hypothetical principles
and offering hypothetical diagrams and crawling
under the vehicle to see how they directly match
what's there and help heal it,
we're speaking the actual working language
of being in language, at least we're tinkering
with the machinery, that means we're getting somewhere,
because we're learning, even if results still elude us...
in our souls we've arrived just by being on the way --
"all the way to heaven is heaven" -- in this case
if you're a philosopher, who loves knowledge,
therefore loves the work that fosters it...
in truth you've been waiting all your life for this...
now please don't go looking for matches
with what such metaphors make you think of
or a recognizable procedure that will seem at least
to try do what I just said. The metaphors
won't be understandable for some time,
and the procedure won't be evident
until certain results reveal
what we'll be groping around
for using a kind of pretext or McGuffin
(the origin of perspective)-- as knowledge fills space
and gets lost in linear time. Just let it unfold,
but keep these warnings in view and mind
for when you start flagging. This, again, is a course
in a totally novel subject, and as few as are called
to participate, yet fewer will pass, I suspect,
though please, public, prove me wrong.
But investments in modes of supposed knowledge
that deny its mechanical features or the work needed
to understand them must be abandoned,
there is no compromise possible, not on this side,
this side can bend so well it can touch its nose
on the ground after twisting around its own body,
but on that side, if a denial of this one is built into it.
If you have any such baggage you can't live without,
if you have a wife or husband and kids to support
on the salary you're getting professing such supposed
knowledge that no doubt professes the inclusiveness
it will not practice, or you otherwise have a persona
to protect wearing the armor of such supposed knowledge,
and refuse to let it fall -- or at least suspend disbelief
until the end followed by a gestation period,
instead of quibbling and trying to one up me --
read no further. Buddha and Jesus,
among other venerables,
have made the terms of knowledge clear
and will not be fooled with.
now quiet everybody sssshh lights down silence
at the strains of a lone cello, a plainly dressed figure emerges from behind the curtain, moves in the darkness to the podium, and turns on the dim reading light. again silence.
themongreldiscourse.blogspot.com
rrrrrr. screeching to a halt and completely shifting direction, genre, tone, purpose, profession,
but eventually, after this long long almost interminable detour involving a forty day sojourn in a desert including a fast from all forms to prove your godly status, after which you can never go home again, we'll get back to that tack
program notes
first, some mechanics --
warning:
The form and content of these
scraps struggling to gather into a book
translating a fresco by Giotto
(which closely resembles a Beethoven symphony)
into a novel way of doing philosophy,
a novel way of doing art history,
a novel way of being religious,
a novel way of being scientific,
in short a novel paradigm of knowledge,
has never been imagined before the appearance
of this thing itself.
Still, it's only a novel arrangement --
like, say, a DNA molecule
with a novel way of arranging and connecting
somewhat novel kinds of molecules
(albeit possibly blown in from outer space) --
of known things newly twisted and turned,
sometimes stretched or shrunk,
but never broken
(unlike the novelty we're now used to,
made of genetically engineered elements and entities --
or if it's art or philosophy hoping to feel like it's that new,
as more and more these once humanistic endeavors
resemble the news in being so new they're outdated
and become period pieces with charming nostalgic appeal
almost the instant they appear --
though to cook up one of these Frankensteins and tame it is no small feat;
you can generally really only make and handle one of them in a lifetime
and then just show it off from different angles, the trademark recognizable,
the novel angles novel enough to keep you in business.)
Still, the tempered, merely formal
form of novelty imitating the novelty of life
at its inception, the novelty manifested
in the present case too
is, like life at its inception,
quite as deeply novel, in its way,
and it too cannot be compared to anything you know,
you can't find a grounding for it elsewhere,
you can only dive in and let it sweep you along.
The first time it is heard it will encounter boos
and nays and what the hells? You call yourself
a cipher of the music of the spheres??
You call this an imitation of the novelty
of life at its inception,
a translation (indirectly) of Beethoven,
when meanwhile, to add insult to injury,
it lasts days or months instead of two hours?
This is just a lot of crude, prosaic constructions
that constantly collapse because they keep going
up and up and up until they break the rules
that would hold them up! I want my money (time) back!
No no please stay, stay until the end of the symphony (book).
You might be the first to get it, and then you get the credit
that will in no way accrue to those who just jump on the bandwagon.
or put it this way,
though overtly the forthcoming text follows the trajectory of my finding of an -- or even the -- origin
of perspective in a fresco by Giotto,
scholars and artists interested in such a thing will, unless sufficiently prepared, at a certain point lose interest -- because they have decided in advance what an art historical finding is supposed to be and do, and it's not allowed to be and do anything else.
and most people with the level of literacy and education needed, unless sufficiently prepared, won't have patience for the plodding, physical mechanics of it.
but you can't fix a car without getting on the ground and sliding under it after spending a lot of time learning and figuring out how it works
and being in language is pretty similar to an automobile -- it's a complex, but not unfathomable --after all we generate our own experience and construct our own objects -- whirring rather musical machine whose moving parts are maps made understandable by their and its motion.
if you're a philosopher -- philosopher or slave, it's either/or -- if you love knowledge, then you must be sick by now of all the fakes facsimiles and filibustering -- really, please don't call it that, taking a lot of side roads, scenic routes, beset by bandits, all that is part of it, such that
surely by now you're ready to get the fingers of your mind dirty, just crawl under the car and get us back up and running...just as you gain knowledge, so sweet and delicious for its own sake, the power it confers being secondary.
knowledge being know how, whether or not
my specific working theories are right or wrong,
at least instead of proposing and refining
inadequate generalizations
that counter-(post the previous-)
inadequate generalizations
or their counter-counter (post-post-the previous)
inadequate generalizations
and getting hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine logic,
at least by laying out hypothetical principles
and offering hypothetical diagrams and crawling
under the vehicle to see how they directly match
what's there and help heal it,
we're speaking the actual working language
of being in language, at least we're tinkering
with the machinery, that means we're getting somewhere,
because we're learning, even if results still elude us...
in our souls we've arrived just by being on the way --
"all the way to heaven is heaven" -- in this case
if you're a philosopher, who loves knowledge,
therefore loves the work that fosters it...
in truth you've been waiting all your life for this...
now please don't go looking for matches
with what such metaphors make you think of
or a recognizable procedure that will seem at least
to try do what I just said. The metaphors
won't be understandable for some time,
and the procedure won't be evident
until certain results reveal
what we'll be groping around
for using a kind of pretext or McGuffin
(the origin of perspective)-- as knowledge fills space
and gets lost in linear time. Just let it unfold,
but keep these warnings in view and mind
for when you start flagging. This, again, is a course
in a totally novel subject, and as few as are called
to participate, yet fewer will pass, I suspect,
though please, public, prove me wrong.
But investments in modes of supposed knowledge
that deny its mechanical features or the work needed
to understand them must be abandoned,
there is no compromise possible, not on this side,
this side can bend so well it can touch its nose
on the ground after twisting around its own body,
but on that side, if a denial of this one is built into it.
If you have any such baggage you can't live without,
if you have a wife or husband and kids to support
on the salary you're getting professing such supposed
knowledge that no doubt professes the inclusiveness
it will not practice, or you otherwise have a persona
to protect wearing the armor of such supposed knowledge,
and refuse to let it fall -- or at least suspend disbelief
until the end followed by a gestation period,
instead of quibbling and trying to one up me --
read no further. Buddha and Jesus,
among other venerables,
have made the terms of knowledge clear
and will not be fooled with.
last warning:
for true philosophers, that is, lovers of knowledge, only. That's the only thing that's offered here, no perks, no short cuts, no deals, no discounts, just that which true philosophers love and will climb any mountain and forge any stream for, no more no less. Oh yes, the stream and mountain replete with sunny grassy plateaus, landslides, dangerous animals, and extraordinary views are provided free of charge, but only to philosophers, who must put out their eyes and extinguish all their senses to find and recover the ones they left behind in childhood. Happy blind climbing. And during the fasts from forms, no hangdog looks. Just remember that the journey to the top begins with and continues to consist in thousands and thousands of single steps. Again, philosopher or slave (including fake philosophers; forgive them, they know not what they do), it's either/or.
now quiet everybody sssshh lights down silence
at the strains of a lone cello, a plainly dressed figure emerges from behind the curtain, moves in the darkness to the podium, and turns on the dim reading light. again silence.
opening meditation, or prayer :
it's a long, painstaking, extremely delicate process
it is open heart surgery applied to language and the collective body.
you've got to waste a lot of time to tame a fox.
 |
| a telling of the finding accompanied by Carolyn Heitler (alto sax/flute) and Lucas McCrossen (bass) at Galerie Tanja Grunert in NYC in 2016, see parts one and two below. photo by jerid gooding. |
free book available!!!
to pass onto your heirs
by printing up blog and/or files
linked here --
preferably on archival
cream colored paper
and installing in a cardboard folder.
part 1:
analytical instruction manual
and tools for repair of the vehicle (language)
also eventually involving
intellectual foreplay
https://drive.google.com/open?id=13IQ6oQpCTp5hjelUr1LgYnTGU4erYpCr
analytical instruction manual
and tools for repair of the vehicle (language)
also eventually involving
intellectual foreplay
https://drive.google.com/open?id=13IQ6oQpCTp5hjelUr1LgYnTGU4erYpCr
if file won't open directly, please download
gradually melting into
part 2:
healing verified by test ride
or
spiritual passion
incomplete draft,
some notes out of order,
different versions included:https://drive.google.com/file/d/1nRamMVOGDjxSn-4bdZa1ABcHVvZUG0ui/view?usp=sharing
There is a rebirth and an image of rebirth. It is certainly necessary to be born again through the image of Resurrection. The image must rise again through the image. The bridal chamber and the image must enter through the image into the truth: this is the restoration. This power the apostles called "the right and the left."
(Gnostic) Gospel of Philip, Codex II, 3
many more illustrations illuminations and elaborations forthcoming
You must, using your own, unfolding life story, flesh out the skeleton of the journey and bring it to life in order to negate the negation in practice, not just theory. The finding of the bones and assembly of the skeleton is just the preface. Unless you choose to cut the flowers, enjoy the scent, and toss them in the trash after the performance, as most now do with, say, a performance of a symphony by Beethoven. As the flowers, at the very least, have botanical interest in being of a novel species, I trust someone will preserve a source of the seeds.
note re the method in the attachments above
-- reasonable methods for gaining historical knowledge of whole, living beings and phenomena include acting and psychoanalysis. To understand a subject objectively one allows it inside and enters into it subjectively. Then one departs, changed by the experience, more transparent to oneself, as the subject is more transparent to itself, and no longer a cipher to the subject, who goes its own way. There are dangers, but when successful, you shall know the process by its fruits. Does the understanding accrued reveal a consistent, organic whole making sense of the subject's behavior?
-- reasonable methods for gaining historical knowledge of whole, living beings and phenomena include acting and psychoanalysis. To understand a subject objectively one allows it inside and enters into it subjectively. Then one departs, changed by the experience, more transparent to oneself, as the subject is more transparent to itself, and no longer a cipher to the subject, who goes its own way. There are dangers, but when successful, you shall know the process by its fruits. Does the understanding accrued reveal a consistent, organic whole making sense of the subject's behavior?
However imperfect, the process is rationally evolved, and notwithstanding many failures, results have been many times empirically verified — unlike the only philosophical method currently authorized — heading directly to a target, getting blinded by the light, and then running over it, or vice versa. I'd rather be a friendly Freudly informed, method acting freight train, with the living truth -- just like R&B's kid, the maximum Max, Calliope's twin bro -- if I might happen to be going its way, hopping on and sliding inside of me for a while in order to hook up with its friends all over the country and make new ones, and then I'll be moving right along until the living truth might be going my way again. My main job is to deliver roses from my Brooklyn backyard ex-trash dump rosary -- in full bloom as I write this!
 |
| my rosary, Callisto's Garden, May, 2019 |
followed by Italian tomatoes and cucumbers (I smuggled in the seeds), along with a breakthrough historical finding that should be of interest to scholars, and fresh, ripe questions for everybody -- come'n get em at this whistle stop! -- as all the questions out there seem to have hardened into the dried gourds of, to my mind, strictly ornamental, indigestible answers debated by the debaters. Even when a rare event happens, and the debaters seem to be listening to each other and treating each other graciously, it's really mainly so they can shore up their answers and do better next time -- though they're converging on the future, perhaps soon they will arrive! So you see there's a great need for what I deliver, even if the Maximum or even minimum truth rarely, if ever, hops on for a ride.
 |
| studio of the moi mole, 2016 |
The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said, "Bother!" and "O blow!" and also "Hang spring-cleaning!" and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the graveled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged, and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, "Up we go! Up we go!
