The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Wed Dec 07, 2016 10:11 am

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YJ__ja4QpMM

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Against the universal backdrop of ever degrading entropy, we choose to measure time through perpetual cycles. The futility hasn't yet dawned fully upon the soul, perhaps it never will, or should.

A horizon is always a horizon, however far or near. What we are limited in, isn't by the constraints of the real, physical now.... that of and in this moment, but of lingering memories of otherhood that superimposes and give way to recognition of myriad things. We add meaning to our daily life by exploring concurrence, without knowing how to read the storm clouds this very act drawls forth. The existential man can't exist by looking back to affirm and confirm, but this is the role of memory, and it is how we too often instinctively do it, and it is ultimately how we are done in through long living.

Which shore was I staring into at night that matters the most now to me, under which stars did I look, how I looked? It gains meaning and looses it when it has become habitual and ritualized, a constant need to return to the realness of unreality, spotting it in nature.

We remember, somewhat, not all at once, only in pieces. A little registers each time at seeming random, unprovoked. Most experiences in eternal slumber, the import passed on, a living mind?, no..... a mortuary of what was, most rotting and passed on in the strides forward we take in life.

What is renewed and challenged are our current biases informed by pressing needs, not given meaning through the man I once was, for he is gone. Who I am, lost bit by bit in the ebb of the tide, a new man forming on the return. The one constant, a shore that most likely will out last me, but that I will never know with any certainty, because a day will come when I move on to a new one.

When I go, finally leaving this world, will I become the darkness I stare out into, or the contrast of lighted imagery that gives it depth? The only questions of time beyond the self, worthy of a philosopher. An introduction and end to Cynic Philosophy.

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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Wed Dec 07, 2016 10:30 am

In memory of Ierrellus' creativity, 1887-2016
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Wed Dec 07, 2016 12:18 pm

Journey Till Yesterday

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The ancient world anticipated Heliodromus and Henosis, of a cosmic swirl of unity through the selective rarefication of kaleidoscopic multiplicity, the static known through the shattering of the dynamic, forever in a casual orbit around a unmoved mover that moved all dark and ignorant things in a illuminated circle about, giving birth to bring. A great turbulence, forever caught between creation and destruction, time itself incarnation. All the cosmic chatter of doomsday and perfection, contradicting and affirming all our rationalizations.

What did we get from all of it? A reigning in of unknowable complexity, silencing the chaos of a painful, confusing world? Our every sense of direction, in giving and taking, colored in the swirling imagery of ungraspable meaning?

Poetry through imagery and words, how long does it sustain the imagination on a long journey, in a world where we take one step after another? Can artistic knowing compete with the momentary distractions that creep in, both beautiful and ugly, that calls out the indwelling random strife of the self, to resist such formulaic knowledge?

Where do we journey to within and without when we are no longer certain, in need of knowing? When our dreams are too vivid to stay awake, but the anticipation too exciting to let us fall asleep, as a insomniac in the drift of clouds and jumbled paths, worn bare only by forgetfulness and deep thinking, where the self is met in the unknown?

If we are in need of knowing, we are in need of remembering. When we remember, we forget. All catharsis is forgetting, and in its impersonal cosmic manifestation, so closely resembles love. That is the fearful thing about love, it can be impersonal and cosmic, and particular. It is why the old pagan philosophies ultimately died out, they never gave a god to love who could passionately love us back as much as we cherished our love ones in the finality of it all, the bleakness of life.

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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby Meno_ » Wed Dec 07, 2016 5:27 pm

Impressive & Thoughtful.
Irrellus will be back just like Arc was in her hidden 10 days of absence. No worries.
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Tue Dec 13, 2016 9:13 am

The State of Love

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"The Way Home" is the locus of time, our most fundamental understanding of here and now. That is the crux of the philosophy of the Cynics, they were the first who rebelled against it, and through them, attention to it's import.

Try to imagine a future without a home. It is fearful and thrilling, with no comforting root to sink into, a endless drift in a nebulous abyss, in denial of hope. Try to imagine the past without, and it becomes a scattering of disjointed actions, schema without territory, familiar becoming alien.

Embrace it, and the world runs as a blur, time will be found to be of been used up too fast, seemingly a lifetime lost in a blink of an eye, as in a old man asking "what has happened to all my days".

Yet without it, the world turns slower, and the soul retreats before the fires of eternity, disdainful at the slow stretch of painful occurrence, living too many lifetimes back to back, forgetting and remembering tied as a pained knot in the mind.

A man without compass finds meaning from without, by seeking it, first through the trauma of fear, retreat and hatred. In time, he may come to know enough for a little love and lots of cautious regret, pragmatically pondering before the hearth. In more time, when love and fear, pleasure and pain is digested, the foundations of a state emerge, as every state has. Our best states are founded by those slow to love but most studious in their caution, capable of turning confusion self loathing, forgetung and regret into ordering traditions for family and tribe. They die so young but live the longest, ironically just as they start getting used to the warm embrace of love.

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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby WendyDarling » Tue Dec 13, 2016 10:26 am

Ierr is a smoke free, selfie-hater, but his poetry is near heavenly (like raineys of days gone by). Find a muse and return.
I AM OFFICIALLY IN HELL!

I live my philosophy, it's personal to me and people who engage where I live establish an unspoken dynamic, a relationship of sorts, with me and my philosophy.

Cutting folks for sport is a reality for the poor in spirit. I myself only cut the poor in spirit on Tues., Thurs., and every other Sat.
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby Meno_ » Tue Dec 13, 2016 5:28 pm

ILP should adhere to the principles of any good organization. Like Hotel California, you can check in but you can't check out, unless it is management who throw you out.

Therefore with any one having sense in the construct of society, the need for this kind of understood structure, should be uppermost in any dedicated person's mind.

Turd, how would a family at home, a state look like if the level of commitment was lacking? How would the military look like, if there was no understanding by those exemplary and dedicated young men, not to understand that if it came to battle, they would have to die for their families and their country?

If this silent and hidden principle is not inherent in anyone trying to hold a family together, even under the most abstruse or extremely confusing circumstances, then there is no point in spelling it out, there is no point to any preliminary indoctrination.

Yes, poetry is fabulous in the depth of imagery it can carry the soul, even though few can attempt the journey, nor understand it, it still moves, and the greatness of it, like an almost translucent filigree of a moon light, hidden to be uncovered, as a sonata would traverse that immensely short but extremely and tediously long, time, longing to find the rest, the whine of the gods, from which drank one, to obliterate style for the sake of a family, even if it's made up, his mind resting now,

Always think of everything besides the loveable, sensitive, fragile, babe, onvce were you, and don't even knew you way back then, defenseless, ready for unknown vultures, way back then at the beginning of primitive time.

The home is always there, wherever you lay your head, and who or whomever comes into your life , and be significantly and thoroughly challenged, the greater the need to transfer him, like Irreal,who besides himself, a good friend maybe a very good one a child woman of schizophrenic statuesque,whom we all need to save, like Dali his mother woman, and
like Allen Ginsberg's mom.

Fight like the devil, but not make a pact with him, William Burroughs said that a deal with the devil is not good, it will backfire.

Fight for sanity, and the most pressing requirement in that fight requires the following of the dictum: never, ever let go. Don't leave your mom, who brought you into the world.

Your momdad or dadmom, is an ananthropophorm, and godlybeastly, and it is for you to understand the
Saintly journey of forgiving grace, into the Sartorial of home.

If you can give that up, somehow, somewhere, in this god forsaken terrain of charm and grace, then, and only then can you disbelieve the physical terrain called home, then and only then will liberation be at hand.
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Wed Dec 14, 2016 12:20 pm

Anti-Enkidu

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Between strife and love lay not the cornacopia of soulful wisdom as is told by some philosophers, but a mere echo of individuality and finality calling for us to stay and in bargain to accept, or to leave, like Odysseus lost further and further out, searching to the metre of a rhythmic oaring in the sea in the unknown, from place to place, paddling to ships bell, the ding struck against the brass mold civilized men are increasingly cast in, unable to ever quite crack it, that act of yearning to hear the immortal man himself that carved that mold, beyond the crafted sound of limitations.

The guiding romance of myth, of coming of age, the acts of a play, makes little sense against the grinding phenomena of exploratory life, and the marvelous sights seen through a solitary nature doesn't quell the demures of the soul that drives one him forth from place to place, in a impossible search for something invisible.... a hidden logic who's only parallel is the pattern unfolding in dreams, guiding us forward into the familiar unknown.

Gilgamesh wept for Ekindu, as Castor did for Pullox, as did Rumi for Shams. All explored and marked the limits of the soul in contrast to one another. Ekindu entered the city just as Adam left the Garden, but where is the story of Anti-Ekindu, the man who leaves it from a unfamthable, unknowable grief to travel back to alone?

Stifling silent chills in frozen forests, dew in the morning fields, fog over the ocean, virgin sunrises on beaches, harsh sand on the dunes, mountains in the distances on the plains. Those images sustain the spirit like meager food on a fast, but does not quelch the flames like a soothing rain. A sense of wonder is no substitute for a content soul, and the search is never satisfied by the sights beheld. It is a beginning, not a end, and the drive forward untenable, however charmed and beautiful. The end is always hidden, but little by little gained in a new understanding of man's relation to a larger world, in how to become human, understood to a higher degree than anyone before.

Imagine setting out on a walk, all sights familiar, friends waving hello. A drive to push farther than you have walked before overtakes you, to see a sight beyond what you have known before. A sight further, and further, heartbeat and joy overwhelm. You travelled too far to turn back, sleep wherever, silent beneath the stars, life and people you know running through your head. Next day, a look back, and a look forward. Each day forward, that was the choice. People no longer wave but stare fearful or in disbelief, as the stresses of the wear and tear of the journey wreaks havoc. Your a stranger in each land, but the people always seem the same, despite being so different, and you yourself despite your appearance seems the same you as ever. Architecture changes, environments fade. Impossible beauty and wonders. New ideas,beautiful women, new ways of perceiving. A constant internal conversation.

Linger too long, memories will haunt you. Questions. Why threatens finality, a impossibility to accept. A end always ready, one by embracing civilized life, or of exploration, both hollow and incomplete in different ways, like dawn and dusk,so similar yet different.

A man in torment, yet the fullest man. Everystep forward is a step of further understanding, weathering the constructs supposition, tearing down the walls built up between feeling and reason constructed over a lifetime.

However complete, you are alone, the heart is not satisfied, for two sorts of memories now torment. Of the places left behind, and the life left behind. The irony is, there is no return in this journey, for the return to the old home and the old ways doesn't eradicate the memories those other places visited and that other life left behind. A man can never have both, yet we crave it, a spirit emblazoned in the solitary journey into the ever changing unknown, and the loving familiarity of the life in the community. Most we can find, is that quality in another, and it will always come up both deep and shallow. Erotic beauty and soulful intimacy is not the same as discovering the sublime found on the edge of a dream after a long journey in a distant, trying place. The longing for love and shelter is not the same as a warm embrace. The conflict drives the maelstrom of the spirit, and the bard that sings every song, the artist behind every stroke, aims to express this conflict we all experience just a little, but only a few truly understand the twisting nature of.

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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Thu Dec 15, 2016 7:56 am

Forests of Volition

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The Forest of Volition is found between the New and the Fading, the preserve of knowledge and ability; dense and chaotic, overgrown and decaying, a forest with no epistemic boundaries.

What is the meaning of life for one lost in a jungle so vast and jumbled, where the consequence of any one thing is suspect, dangerous, likely misunderstood? Do you know of the dark creatures on the prowl of this cursed habitat? I am one of those many, so beware too long of a stare into the incomprehensible. Your instincts are wrong, the safest place is the caution ahead, not the blind and trusted trail now behind, in this every changing, overgrown world, which predators and pitfalls abound.

There is no exit, only the death of the forest. Sands and fires creeping in, just as the decay of the world you know goes. You've seen houses decay or burn, books fall apart and scatter. Great men die, and uncertain fools fill their shoes. Ancient civilizations seem distant, and they too had far more distant knowledge even farther past, now completely forgotten. Nothing is constant in this forest. No law of mathematics, no philosophy or ethic, all dependent on the men who make up the every branch and tree.

Time is the creeping desert, stripping this green abyss little by little. Time is the forest resurgent, sinking new roots in the sterile sands. I wonder, looking around me, at the people and society I know, where eventually I may die, in a thick forest, or secluded alone, in the sands of time?

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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby Ierrellus » Fri Dec 16, 2016 3:47 pm

Be careful to keep the lid tight on your jar of definitions. Otherwise, I might escape into the free air and buzz noisily about your face.
"We must love one another or die." W.H.Auden
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Fri Dec 16, 2016 5:24 pm

Alright, he is back, time to go back to poo jokes.
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby Arcturus Descending » Thu Jan 26, 2017 8:30 pm

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Oh, lead me there.
SAPERE AUDE!


If I thought that everything I did was determined by my circumstancse and my psychological condition, I would feel trapped.


What we take ourselves to be doing when we think about what is the case or how we should act is something that cannot be reconciled with a reductive naturalism, for reasons distinct from those that entail the irreducibility of consciousness. It is not merely the subjectivity of thought but its capacity to transcend subjectivity and to discover what is objectively the case that presents a problem....Thought and reasoning are correct or incorrect in virtue of something independent of the thinker's beliefs, and even independent of the community of thinkers to which he belongs.

Thomas Nagel


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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Fri Jan 27, 2017 7:46 am

Can't you see global warming is destroying it? No, you need to stay far away from it.
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby Arcturus Descending » Sat Jan 28, 2017 5:15 pm

Turd Ferguson wrote:Can't you see global warming is destroying it? No, you need to stay far away from it.


Then it would make much more sense to me to live in the present moment within and before that deeply profound and beautiful contrasting landscape.

Be Still my Soul!


Without being able to express why, it reminds me of consciousness.
SAPERE AUDE!


If I thought that everything I did was determined by my circumstancse and my psychological condition, I would feel trapped.


What we take ourselves to be doing when we think about what is the case or how we should act is something that cannot be reconciled with a reductive naturalism, for reasons distinct from those that entail the irreducibility of consciousness. It is not merely the subjectivity of thought but its capacity to transcend subjectivity and to discover what is objectively the case that presents a problem....Thought and reasoning are correct or incorrect in virtue of something independent of the thinker's beliefs, and even independent of the community of thinkers to which he belongs.

Thomas Nagel


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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby The Golden Turd » Sun Jan 29, 2017 1:41 am

I slept hovering over the waves of such a place for months, just the moon was more to the right. It isn't exactly spiritual. Waves wake you up at night when it slams into the wall your sleeping on. Look down to your immediate left, a massive ocean swelling, moon hanging in the sky. Great time to roll over and ignore the swelling abyss and get some shut eye.
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Re: The Irregular Ierrullean Journey

Postby Arcturus Descending » Sat Feb 04, 2017 7:45 pm

The Golden Turd wrote:I slept hovering over the waves of such a place for months, just the moon was more to the right. It isn't exactly spiritual. Waves wake you up at night when it slams into the wall your sleeping on. Look down to your immediate left, a massive ocean swelling, moon hanging in the sky. Great time to roll over and ignore the swelling abyss and get some shut eye.


You mean that you literally slept hovering over the waves?
Are you a helicopter or were you in one?
:wink:

An old boyfriend and I would sleep next to the surf in a sleeping bag. I so loved the sound of it.
Why - I wonder?
Maybe residual memory from the in utero experience.
Maybe not...
I do not want to go back to that womb...lol
SAPERE AUDE!


If I thought that everything I did was determined by my circumstancse and my psychological condition, I would feel trapped.


What we take ourselves to be doing when we think about what is the case or how we should act is something that cannot be reconciled with a reductive naturalism, for reasons distinct from those that entail the irreducibility of consciousness. It is not merely the subjectivity of thought but its capacity to transcend subjectivity and to discover what is objectively the case that presents a problem....Thought and reasoning are correct or incorrect in virtue of something independent of the thinker's beliefs, and even independent of the community of thinkers to which he belongs.

Thomas Nagel


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