Monthly Archives: June 2016

Studies in Pessimism – Schopenhauer

On The Vanity of Existence

That which has been exists no more; it exists as little as that which has never been. But of everything that exists you must say, in the next moment, that it has been. Hence, something of great importance now past is inferior to something of little importance now present, in that the latter is a reality, and related to the former as something to nothing.


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AA Monologue #3

So I had this epiphany the other night I just gotta tell somebody about. So I’m out on my balcony and I’m smokin’ a stogie and I’m thinkin’, ya know? A lotta thoughts come bustin’ in and I gotta try and sort ‘em all so they make some sense, ya know? I been tryin’ to put together or ‘synthesize’ a lotta information I been readin’ up on lately. So there’s this other guy, a German guy I think, Haydigger. Now Haydigger, he says, he says we’re all constantly becoming. Now what does this mean, I think to myself. What does it mean to constantly become? So then I link that idea of becoming to my readins you see? So what do I do when I read? I take in information right? I’m getting new ideas and new perspectives. What do I do with em, these here new ideas and all? You know what I realize I been doin? I been forgettin’, that’s what. So here I am spendin’ all this time learnin’ only to forget. Now what’s the point of that? How am I betterin’ myself? And this is what H says. He says progress can only happen when we make something new from these ideas we got. So it puts it this way. He has this like formula. Thesis plus anti-thesis becomes synthesis. It’s like you’re puttin’ all this information together and making something new out of em. And the only way to do that is to think about all this information and connecting it all together somehow. And then it all starts makin’ some kinda sense. It’s like a painting, ya know? A painting that we only see pieces of and the more pieces you connect, the clearer the picture will be, right? That there, see, that’s what I’m tryna to do. I’m tryna see the whole picture. I don’t just want nobody tellin’ me about the picture, I wanna see it myself. See that’s one of the best parts of livin’ I think, to ask questions, to find out things, like who we are and what we are. The fun part’s the journey. And that’s the good thing about this whole learnin’ business, see? It never ends.

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Wise Blood – Flannery O’Connor

“I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody else’s, but behind all of them, there’s only one truth and that is that there’s no truth,” he called. “No truth behind all truths is what I and this church preach! Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it. Where is there a place for you to be? No place.

“Nothing outside you can give you any place,” he said. “You needn’t to look at the sky because it’s not going to open up and show no place behind it. You needn’t to search for any hole in the ground to look through into somewhere else. You can’t go neither forwards nor backwards into your daddy’s time nor your children’s if you have them. In yourself right now is all the place you’ve got. If there was any Fall, look there, if there was any Redemption, look there, and if you expect any Judgment, look there, because they all three will have to be in your time and your body and where in your time and your body can they be?”

pg. 104 – Hazel Motes

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In Flux

Becoming, becoming, never to be,

Always becoming, we’ll never be.

How is this thing called you and me

Always becoming, never to be?


You see, the outsiders they just don’t see,

The secret world of you plus me,

The secret world that came to be,

But grows and changes constantly.

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Anatomy of Love


This is the part where I meet a lover

And this is the part where you meet a friend.

Why can’t the two of us just be together?

Why can’t the two of us be more than friends?


La la la la la la la la la lala lala


This is the part where I tell the lie

That I never loved you and I never did cry

But you saw through me like you always do

You knew my heart would always be true.


I can’t wait for your love to develop

I need to be free to find something better.

So goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend,

Will we ever see each other again?


La la la la la la la la la lala lala x2


Now this is the part where I meet a lover,

We’re so happy we found each other.

Now you come to me with your eyes full of love

But I can’t love you now that I have another.


And you look at me like you finally see

The only one that made you happy.

So goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend.

‘Cause we’ll never see each other again.


La la la la la la la la la lala lala x2

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Me + You

The me that is me is not the me that you see,

The me that is me is most definitely

NOT a towering sturdy oak tree,

Or a sprightly little bumblebee,

Not a hump-backed whale,

Nor a red velvet cupcake many days stale.

Neither a clownfish all orange and white,

Nor a hammerhead shark with a toothy bite.

For the me that is me and the me that you see

Is a me that is indescribably, exclusively, me.


The you that is you, well, here’s something new.

The you that is you, well, I haven’t a clue.

Are you one color, or possibly two?

Are you green and red? Or maybe just blue?

Maybe not a color, perhaps a drop of dew?

Or perhaps you’re a memory of someone I once knew?

Are you both the past and the future too?

What is it, what is it that makes you you?

Maybe like me you haven’t a clue,

Maybe like me, you’re inexpressible too.

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Black Boy – Richard Wright

pg. 249

“I had once tried to write, had once reveled in feeling, had let my crude imagination roam, but the impulse to dream had slowly been beaten out of me by experience. Now it surged up again and I hungered for books, new ways of looking and seeing. It was not a matter of believing or disbelieving what I read but of feeling something new, of being affected by something that made the look of the world different.”


pg. 250

“The plots and stories in the novels did not interest me so much as the point of view revealed. I gave myself over to each novel without reserve, without trying to criticize it; it was enough for me to see and feel something different. And for me, everything was something different. Reading was like a drug, a dope. The novels created moods in which I lived for days.”


pg. 280

“Repeatedly I took stabs at writing, but the results were so poor that I would tear up the sheets. I was striving for a level of expression that matched those of the novels I read. But I always somehow failed to get onto the page what I thought and felt….

My purpose was to capture a physical state or movement that carried a strong subjective expression, an accomplishment which seemed supremely worth struggling for. If I could fasten the mind of the reader upon words so firmly that he would forget words and be conscious only of his response, I felt that I would be in sight of knowing how to write narrative. I strove to master words, to make them disappear, to make them important by making them new, to make them melt into a rising spiral of emotional stimuli, each greater than the other, each feeding and reinforcing the other, and all ending in an emotional climax that would drench the reader with a sense of a new world. That was the single aim of my living.”


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