[b]Bianco Luno
Cold morning sun, like faith.
Like Bach.
I have not lost everything.
I can still remember the rapture of what it was like to believe.[/b]
Me too.
The acidity of mind.
Especially when thinking the things no one wants to hear. Though not necessarily in the minds that hear them.
Bemoaning the loss of faith may be human but it is not the right thing to do.
The latter will always be just out of
reach.
Well, it will be in acidic minds.
The music in church was the only thing that never seemed phony to me.
I still find pleasure in remembering when it still didn’t.
It still doesn’t to me. Whatever pleasure that still brings.
[b]Bianco Luno
I care about this homeless mendicant, so I give my change.
Certainly, I say to myself.[/b]
The games we play with ourselves: are they more or less corrosive than the games we play with others?
It is not even true that we care only for ourselves.
And even this is not even true on occasion.
Prudent—if we were that, we would never know regret.
Yes, but what is prudent I regret to say.
Self-love is an exaggeration.
For some however it is an understatement.
Cynic: one who has not let off trying in earnest even after it has become rather amusing is most deserving of the badge of the dog.
If that is true this dog is dead.
[b]Bianco Luno
Someday, to be sure, men will be violent after the manner of women today, who, it is hoped, will have progressed to as yet unimaginable forms.[/b]
On the other hand, testosterone is still the killer of choice in nature.
“You remain so dense. Out of the language of reason and truth you think you wring new inventions. The rules of thinking predate your integrity and will not brook your having enthroned it. The point of living escapes you.”
Nature invented intellectuals in order to entirely miss this point.
The woman, who calls herself the most intense and alive human being she knows, with whom I spend time when I spend it with anyone, said to me, “I’ve never been more alone in my life…”, leaving me to finish the thought, “…than now with you.”
This is Olivia I suspect. She subscribes to The Word. Especially this one: Thanatos.
[b]Bianco Luno
The meat we cannot stand to slaughter.[/b]
But are never more eager to consume.
You cannot bear that I turn into a question of taste what you deem a question of right. But no relativist, I think there are absolute standards of beauty in the universe, and though unattainable, they are somehow connected with moving through difficulty while embracing it…
Or into deeper and deeper difficulty.
And the worst difficulty I can imagine is the absence of hope—not merely its absence but that it never can exist; its every appearance a sham.
And this is unconscionable to you.
We can of course go around and around and around and around here; but I will concede the futility if you will.
I try to imagine a pure real hope, what form it would take, how I would recognize it, as I might, say, a liquid feeling in a line of Bach…
The logical function of sorrow: welling in the eyes momentarily blurs the unforgivingly sharp outlines of truth.
May you reach that point in life where the only hope left is to die. And may you live a long time before you do.
[b]Bianco Luno:
How possible is it for a genuine Marxist to experience a local sadness or personal joy?
Marxism is ethically unimpeachable; its trained manners (trained to proscribe indulgence), on the highest plane; the rest of us, profligate sentimentalists, worthy of the scaffold.
But the urgency for violence is somewhat mitigated by the fact that the rest of us will quite voluntarily wither away when our eyes are fully opened—that is to say, when we learn to look through them.[/b]
Local sadness and personal joy are located as much in the bowels of dasein as dasein is located in the bowels of a particular political economy located in the bowels of a particular historical regimen.
Here what is deemed not ethical is easily enough proscribed, isn’t it?
[b]John Lennon:
Living is easy with eyes closed/misunderstanding all you see…
It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out/it doesn’t matter much to me.[/b]
I keep my eyes [and my ears] wide shut now while stomaching a True Believer.
[b]Bianco Luno
This though: there is no Marxist aesthetic.
“…and its opposite is fundamentally immoral.”[/b]
Or moral as the case may be.