Mud Rhetoric

There is only one freedom.

Clarifying the Map

So now we’ve written a little, now what? Does this tell us anything? What have we really written? I can’t tell you this. I can only tell/show you what I did. Did I do the right thing? I also can’t say that. I made movements that can be mapped onto my thinking patterns. This must tell us something, as this is knowledge that we didn’t have before. Knowledge is something to be valued, no? What are the purposes of these questions? Does any of this really matter? What are we to gain from this exercise? Does this not just lead to more questions? Of course, we cannot escape this bind – the gap of identity. We can only move around it, around the center which we call ourselves (our name – that rigid designator that transcends worlds). Are we the center of our own maps? Is this the true question? We relate through things – things among things. All things are animated. Would you be you without all these things? What happens when those things go away (as is the way with things)? What are we left with? More questions, and only questions. Do we need answers? Are there answers? I leave that to others with minds greater than mine. I can barely put together a coherent question.

What is my job? How would you describe it? What do you expect from me? Should you expect this from me? Who is to say? What role am I to play in your lives? What of those to your left or right? To the class? We could be elsewhere, but we’re not. We’re here. Why? Why are you here? It isn’t just because, as you could just because anywhere. Why here? This question is specific. Specific questions need specific answers. We need to run from generality. Flee from generality. What is your job? Is this the right question? Maybe. I don’t know. I am convinced that we need to consider it. But why do I feel this way? We need to consider this as well. We have to know why we are doing the things we are doing. If we don’t know the why, how can be know anything? Regurgitating facts is not knowledge, at least not the knowledge I’m concerned with. Facts are easy; that’s just rote memorization. Facts are meaning for the game (this game, but we must know that it is a game). But facts are just surface. It doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It is just another thing amongst things, but only one thing. Facts belie the truth. I am unconcerned with the truth. The truth is uninteresting. It doesn’t tell me anything other than what it says. It’s tautological. It’s a viscous circle. The snake devours its tail. We are consumed by a monster. Is this any more different than a fact? How so? Are you convinced by this? Does your being convinced mean anything? Am I trying to persuade you? Why or why not do you think that?

I believe that language does act to constitute, but it is only one way. Language is not everything. Language is always already a posteriori. It means only after the fact. That thing we call a rock, was before and will be after. That rock isn’t a rock. It is something else. But without calling it a rock, we have nothing to talk about. This is a rock (for us only). This is the ancient point of Protagoras. We only are a measure, nothing more. This is the basic fact of human existence. That we are nothing more than a measure.


My Map of 2-27-17

Arcanum -> Spycraft

Trauma/199x/Always Sometimes Monsters/Yet One Word/Reperfection
– getting in touch with your emotions
– feeling
– compassion

– piecing together the fragments of a mind

Always Sometimes Monsters
– childhood, horror, terror, fear, abandonment, trust
– Who would your hurt to change?

Yet One Word
– the cost of transformation
– genuine, authentic, apology

– the past can’t be changed
– What is the cost of change?

– learning to let go

Is there only one center to the map? I see only an interconnected morass of overlapping lines. Do these lines mean anything? They are said to mean connection, but do they connect? Where are the other pathways? I am only remembering so much, the rest I forgot. Is it necessary to remember? Why these things and not the other? I can remember the names but no longer the connections. All these names fade to dust. I am forced to consider myself, and the role I play in my unmaking. This self is not the self of a second ago. It exists briefly, and is lost as soon as it is noticed. I grapple with this nothingness. It is an inescapable hole. Perhaps this void is me. I have to accept that as a possibility. Perhaps, I am nothing. I have to be okay with that.

There are words written on this page, but they are all meaningless. They express nothing. They only address the surface. They talk around the issue. Like Levinas, I struggle to express in terms other than ontological. Is not that what language does? Ground us. Constitute us, but still the irony, the contradiction which is that it is never enough/sufficient. But is that not the perfect expression of our being – incompleteness? I am dissatisfied with this polemic. I must return to the beginning (or one of them).

I am drawn to Trauma. It is how I understand my memory. It is all composed of unconstituted fragments. None of them real. I can’t see beyond them. The lie of Trauma is cohesion. It never comes together so clearly in reality. There is always a gap. I want/desire to know that gap. It is denied to me. I dwell and turn to nihilism. We can never know the gap, but that does not make me desire it any less. It makes me want it more. I am rebuffed once more, yet I shall return again, to be once more rebuffed. That is my current cycle.