Sunday, March 20, 2011

a validating frame of mind

One should not feel aversion to the notion of phenomenology. It’s not at heart about conceptual analysis, rather—to my mind—it’s educive translation.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

playing for keeps

A short posting last night here became a long posting today which is now elsewhere longer, better, and truer, in a sense.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

swimming notes

I occasionally emphasize my obsession with news because the vague reminder is the most I make time to do online, to remind myself that writing of tragedy could consume me. I’m often embarrassed to seem oblivious.

But the reality is opposite: I strive to keep on track with what I can do, which happens to now be so many details of a writing project (sensitive to happy happenstances) that may seem to have no direction.

But the reality is opposite. I’m no Beckett willfully, anti-nihilistically going on. I’m in love with life, partly in honor of what life might have been for those who never had, or lost, chances. It’s not a self serving ethic. (I dislike even mentioning it.)

I’ve been near death and survived. I know that my wish for others, should I be dying, is that they live as fully as they can. That’s no play to seem sentimental or precious. It’s none of your business that I cry easily when confronted by stories of so much tragedy.

Here’s a photo. Can words do it justice? A woman kneels outdoors, holding onto just fingers reaching out of mud. The caption says “Yoshie Murakami cries out as she holds onto the hands of her dead mother still buried beneath the rubble where her home once stood….”

We would stop to hold her (comfort her grief), if we had the chance. We would stay with her awhile, though her grief would have a life of its own longer than we can stay. One learns to move on. We all can only move on.

Here: Have some hopeful news in an unrelated venue: Private “Satellites Offer New Window Into Documenting, Preventing Genocide.”

Here: Help motivate an aging philosopher to develop a languishing, undeveloped blog: “humanistic union,” expressing desire to do things beyond abstractions of the critical spirit, having no single point on the horizon toward where to swim. Just begin, anywhere, by living well, as some so well do. (Quote yourself, if that feels apt.)

I seem to retire into art. But the reality is exactly that: How so much might tenably cohere in textual co-hearing, step by step—albeit, for my part (at my age), in a way that pleases my sensibility, a long and high view.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

sweet transgression

To traverse a hill, begin at some lowland and go upward.

Sunday, March 06, 2011

uphill, downhill—highland, midland

8:06 pm

OK, the evening’s not over yet. I’ve had a productive weekend, but you’ve heard that one before: It doesn’t bear fruit, such productiveness.

“The fruit spent so much time setting up the pieces of the game that there was no time left to play. Maybe he finished. We left him to his designs.”

Yes, I finished (in a manner of speaking). But now I have to take a walk—in the rain which will cease its weekend reign in the upcoming days we have to go to the office where we may be thankful for little breaks.

So, ummm, if God is Good luck, then right now God is dead.

9:20 pm

—which was a frivolous comment from someone who long ago (and deeply) took to heart the issues of “Being”—which wouldn’t help much in an office, given the character of that. It also awards no control over the rain. But it provides much gratitude for the fact that a little rain is the worst of my complaints.

However, an interesting point about practical inefficacy of admirable thinking might pertain to academic life altogether which lacks the comfortably good sense to stay ensconced in an ivory tower, relative to your average corporate office—an interesting reality, even fascinating for awhile: to fully inhabit all manner of Differences.

It wouldn’t have to be in any way elitist, just as ethnography isn’t as such elitist. How else is one to understand Differences other than by living them?—maybe living them so effectively that there seems to others to be little notable difference altogether, like being accepted as a tribal native, no extraterrestrial at all—except for our academic’s occasional bursts of intolerance for chronically slacker relations s/he has no “discretionary authority” to mentor, save by—let’s call it—a realism of “provocative therapy” (which, in such a setting, would require accepting the disciplinary consequences of appearing to not know what one is doing—thereby playing the character that others need in order for them to feel comfortable with their presumptions).

I surmise—just doing fiction there. But it’s good entertainment. The point of the little simulation above is to wonder about living a Difference fully. It could be amazing—provided one doesn’t get stuck there, due to a recession and a sparse market for academic attitude.