and yes, very much a niche concern, my laptop broke down
and i'm forced into the box room, albeit not ramped
out with Nabokov's Switzerland lodging:
at a hotel in the Alps catching butterflies and Lolitas -
i've finally matured in my likings -
but let me tell you, it has been painful
adjusting to the upright sitting:
lost the slouch and the quickie
crow-on-a-windowsill with a whiskey
sharpshooter and then a tornado cascade
into the lesser concept of a blank page and that famous
nothing of philosophers... i love the lesser critique
of Heidegger, my grandfather bought me
a 25 volume worths of interest,
and Heidegger stood out foremost,
primarily because of a peculiar surname,
i later learned that he was the German
that would eventually make Wordsworth
pointless in picking up the lyre,
with so many books i had to realise that
i needed a partner akin to walking through
Dante's epic,
i could have chosen Ovid, but esp.
Horace, but i didn't choose Virgil or Homer,
a blood German peasant... but also
a pheasant, which means auburn peacock...
oh sure, you get familial ties with people
of the world, people who made either their
forenames or surnames akin to the nouns
as familiar as stars chairs and smoked ham rumps...
perfectly akin to everyday familiarity of use...
i wasn't worn in Warsaw or Krakow -
if i were, i probably wouldn't have left the natives,
but living on the outskirts of that great capital
doesn't necessarily impress:
in all honest edict contraction: i feel debased
travelling into London (central), ***** and ******
out my mind...
i guess this means two more years rereading
Heidegger's being and time
after purchasing his ponderings ii - vi
from the years 1931 - 1938;
yes, my family was directly affected by **** Germany,
not in concentration camps, on the frontline,
so why would i be sopping over a **** familiar
in the realm of philosophy?
a. public intellectuals don't exist in England,
English doesn't like philosophy,
proof
? b. Shakespeare - peer in on shaking
a pear and
the dancing of a retired circus bear dancing.
c. that's Pythagoras, we leave him in the Pascal gambit.
i just think it's a shame that i have this massive
democracy in my room, and i'll end up with something
akin to a Quran -
again, why Heidegger?
i don't know, it could have been that Czech Kundera -
or Kafka, it could have been Seneca,
but all these writers are city dwellers,
Heidegger was a quasi-villager pseudo-city-dweller,
i find foxes and deer and dead badgers in my little
promenade escapades, also Satanist black masses
with the framework of in excelsior satanis! -
and lightning that strikes but no thunder is heard...
less for the sons of thunder: the 12 hot-air balloons,
it's very much Germanic in Japan with
feng shui or otherwise known in the peninsula as qi
kee.
then there's the **** of the haiku
by the west and me answering: let's make ensō -
smoothed out narratives, ecstatic variation from
thinking and away from moral decisiveness
in that activity of perpetuated choice-making -
how clearly thinking extends into narration
rather than the Cartesian
precipitation of thought into being -
nope: from thinking into narration
juiced-up enclosure of "zoological" tightening
with ensō: beefy haikus.
but what i really find problematic?
the interpretation of Heidegger's concept of dasein
as coupled with ecstasis.... our ex-stasis...
with da meaning there
you can pretend to be "happy" about protests
across the world, and wars and other turbulent
activity...
what i am proposing is what Nietzsche
prompted with sum ergo cogito,
in that the real ecstasis is concerned with being
allocated to a here, and therefore a hesein -
the interpretation posits the ecstasis there
when Heidegger originally posits concern there,
or as he encodes: "concern"
meaning the dittoing puts him in a safety
of the here, it's the ecstasis of not being there,
but here in the present as the ecstasis, and there
of some abstract venture as being beyond his command
of attributed dynamism of being involved,
for he's not involved. give me an hour and i'll be
in the countryside: we have that weighty countryside mentality,
farmers talking ******* when stacking hay
and laughing with the grammar Nazis when
people go to the gym but teach their brains
the flab that the brains actually are: primarily spongy fat -
apart from typos, it's the case
(it is the case that)
i don't (do not)
much concern myself from English
slang of piano (Joanna)
and the outright **** (Pakistani),
cos there was no sine when people
overacted toward the tan of me swallowing vowels and
replacing them with shortcuts to prop'ah Cockney,
oi oi, ******, bruv! brush up! this bus to school is
mingy with the throng!
who ordered the sardines?
Stendhal is still the love of my life... i can write
enough complexities with Heidegger, but my love
resides with Stendhal... who would have thought
that a film adaptation would make me eager to read the book
(the scarlet & the noir)? Peter Jackson knew, as did J. R. R.
but it comes from the musings,
once i do the Kantian critique a one over
the missing yawn and what's actually the most underestimated
arithmetics of wording rather than number circus
or replicas of taxman rubrics:
after enough chemistry, favouring the organic and
later becoming endowed with a palette for Indian cuisine
well: philosophy books are the worded versions
of mathematics in terms of jumping the burning wheels
of 1 + 11 = 12 and i contemplate
but what's the = and the 12?
it's so ****** open, i could have invited a hundred thieves
to porose a car-boot sale at my house.
but all this, which might seem like self-love,
it's not about that...the French intellectualise
and have them public because they talk beautifully -
the English?
they sing...
the Germans are morose and silent...
the Spanish are simply the onomatopoeias of *******
and the Italians are seen and heard licking their fingers
after enough basil is added to tomatoes...
i'm still banging on about the apathetic interpretation
of dasein, rather than the ecstatic version popularised
by the scholars...
the version that reads:
if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one to hear it fall,
does it make a sound? that's my interpretation of
dasein / being there / being "there"....
a. b.
concretely in abstract,
we already know that the abstract of being is nonbeing
or that things are abstracts of nothings with identifiers
of being used, without actually being touched:
i can say that i see a chair without actually having
to sit on it.
i was thinking simpler though -
olly murs' heart skips a beat and someone of the major
tracks by one direction...
when i reference myself to these tracks
i'm being ecstatic, in the dimension of hesein,
like da, shortened purposively from the
authentic hier / here in german....
why am i ecstatic in the here?
because i don't have to be concerned in the realm of da /
there, where my opinion "might" matter...
but really doesn't...
which is why i don't understand
this interpretation of dasein meaning ecstasis -
or ex status quo....
as already suggested -
our moral obligation toward language is to provoke
a Minotaur to become an architect of our venture in
using language, away from the market place...
into forests, into depths that have no justification
for being imagined, or as such diagnosed as ever being
there and established to planning permission and norms
of established caricatures and cleanly undertaken
shallowing and hollowing out from them being furthered.
i should be sad having trodden such a path
for myself, but i feel a kinship with this German,
come on, what consolidated the Kantian
dichotomy of a priori and a posteriori as in
or must not philosophy a fortiori poeticize beings?
should not be conversed with from a wholly
anti-intellectual dynamism suggesting a personal
historic aversion of what's otherwise ethnically ******
without suspicion in terms of cultural tact?
again: nothing - which is higher and deeper than nonbeing(s)
(i ensure the ambiguity of the plural, if only
due to the fact that nothing is
kindred of a definite article - the -
and ensures a translation as nonbeing,
while nothing in a quality as in nothingness
kindred of an indefinite article - a -
and ensures a translation as nonbeings, the plural,
ambiguity and throng -
perfect offshoot that's already known as a-
and -the with a missing -ism).
yes, language ought to resemble something less
instructional, certainly less capital / monetary,
and more of a preservation of ambiguity and subsequently
myth... or what otherwise concern themselves with
in the hustle and bustle of a public life: integrity,
ulterior of the personal sphere of interests:
the person per se;
and the apéritif (a'per-teeth)?
for lack of diacritical insurance, the English
are constantly in need of a tongue-map for waggling it
prop'ah:
the Chelsea y'ah
or the Cockney wa'er - t t t.
mind you, that's related to the trilling of the R
(originally intended as a trill) and subsequently lost
in the Germanic ethnic cauldron: hark the French and
cipher the English curling the tongue making the R curled
rather than trill - my idiosyncratic fascination aged 8.
i thought i ought to end this with a thought about
what's a universal maxim in psychiatry
in England in terms of a standard prognosis:
patient A has lost touch with reality...
that's the prognosis, the diagnosis: dialectics of Gnostic
teachings? anyway, that's the standard,
that a person has lost touch with reality... what a great swindle!
y
