i can claim to have conjured up an
antithesis to the cartesian
res cogitans -
    i.e. the thinking thing -
   why? because i once could claim
a continuum, ad nauseam narratio -
toward a nauseating narrative -
and it was filled a continual presence
of thought,
  it's hard to imagine one's being
as completely filled with thought -
and no thoughtless action -
take for example exercise -
no person in existence actually has
a coherent thought or, rather a
     cogitans continuum -
           maybe the old flicker of an ego
with a word springs to mind,
but there's never a narrative when engaged
in exercise,
thinking becomes momentarily
non-existent, the body does not gravitate
toward a mind-body dualism...
                    and in this light i took from
buddhism the ides of meditation,
but made adjustments to it,
  this is a burning thought, or rather:
an purposed abstinence from thinking...
      its the mechanised body, at rest,
in the same way a mindless task gravitates
to a blank slate mind where mere thinking
hinders efficiency at a task,
a task that can in turn, become even remotely
pleasurable, given its mundane essence,
but also agreeable, in that it can become
completed more easily through
                         as one might make an analogy to:
sharpening a pencil, or a knife...
    the only pleasure in this world
is that of perfecting a menial task into
an art form...
          i look at my father roofing,
    yes, the scottish widows' h.q. near st. paul's
if my roof, in part,
              but when you can overcome
the menial labour, and profess the ultimate
proficiency of the labour at hand,
and ice-skate by comparison of
labouring rather than walking up a sand-dune,
you know what i mean.
abstract thinking is a labour process,
yes, ha ha, very pedantic of me to stress
that manual labour is harder than intellectual
labouring -
but then the mind-body duality becomes
a dichotomy...
                when inspected thus.
what do i do all day? i attempt a modern take
on buddhist meditation,
        in that: i once thought meditation had
to be this peace-invoking scene,
   under a tree, on a sunny day,
  whatever the parameters were, became shattered
by my re-invention of the counter-cartesian
"methodology"...
            i moved past heidegger's
dasein -
and the question of pluralism -
thank **** heidegger deals with pluralism and
not relativism, esp. moral,
since that is most abhorrent.
             the question of being in heidegger's
terms is best ascribed to named:
       newton, shakespeare, jefferson,
you name them...
        being is a form of magnetism -
                        the "question" of being,
is answered with beings -
it's beside the point to call for analogues -
that being is supposed to spawn analogues -
a **** similis to prophet or a genius -
hardly... existence is a lottery,
we get our deal of cards, and we play them
as we "thought" we intended to.
         the final point to make is that,
to gravitate toward by "buddhist" concept
from the western, cartesian concept of
res cogitans is not whether so much
of man's thoughts are wasted upon
the ad (nauseam) continuum of narratio...
the final barrier is to breach the threshold
of whether thinking is the rightful carrier
of any moral question...
            i.e. whether thought = (θ)ought (i)?
which is why i invented the concept
     / object (that is concentrated on) -
    when not exercising or labouring to endure
the mundane presence of narrative "thinking" -
i call it the slingshot...
  or, more technically: res vanus -
an empty thing.
   i stretch the rubber of the res vanus for
a whole day, but at the end of the day
i pour myself a drink and wait for a release point,
where, in the end,
i actually do become a thinking thing -
but more or less: res echo -
                my thought suddenly begins
to echo...
             from my mind to my body and
then onto a page, in writing;
                     but this dynamic only happens
when i treat my thinking as non-coherent,
compartmentalised, shattered,
  a rubic cube of attention-seeking deficints
in the sensual world engaged in seeking my
attention for the observer,
of what is the unobserved world...
it is i, who have to be the observed,
    and become so, by "seemingly" not thinking,
well, narrating my own little
solipsistic take on things...
            and to think, once upon a time,
i found so much pleasure from "thinking",
i.e. narrating... imagine my bewilderement
to have found that actual thinking,
is to actually not, think!
     like any other celibacy, which is quiet
funny...
because only by restraint, can you actually
conjure a non-self-sycophancy,
  of the most remote universal unit of, truth.

p.s. can you even stagger and believe that
the greeks already had graphemes?
     in the title, or so i "think" -
as ever, thinking ought to be a certainty
   of the uncertainty of thought per se,
                 doubt -
how ugly thinking became with the existentialists
who exchanged the end product: doubt,
with the end product: denial...
whereby by thinking became the
uncertainty of the certainty of thought:
minus the per se.