3
Trade The Cash For The Beef For The Body For The Hate
Posted by Lizzie
on
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Part I: A Bit Of Housekeeping
1) We have our layout up and running. There are still a few minor things to be worked out. Ryan's on it.
2) Sometime soon we'll be taking submissions for a guest contribution from one of our BFFs. It's going be published on the last day of the month. More about that later when the deadline approaches. But this is just a heads up to start thinking about if you're interested or not. Tell other people who might be interested. I know you all have an internal blog entry that's just dying to get out.
Part II: A Math Proof Is A Terrible Thing To Waste
Today while I was cutting across a parking lot on my way to work, I witnessed a guy get a stack of papers blown out of his hands. That only happens in the movies, right? No, I saw it happen for real. The poor guy was distraught so I helped him gather his math proof. I'm hoping it was a groundbreaking theory. I feel like my existence is more validated than usual today because I stumbled upon a chance to help someone out. It was a minor thing and only took a minute or two, but honestly, it was probably the most worthwhile thing I've done in a week. Books don't care if you read them, papers don't care if you write them, bottles don't care if you paint them, but people care when you help them out. And of course there's the altruistic side of it, where you genuinely do want to help someone out, but there's also that feeling that a part of you was part of this. Absalom, Absalom sums it up better:
"Yes," Judith said. "Or destroy it. As you like. Read it if you like or don't read it if you like. Because you make so little impression, you see. You get born and you try this and you don't know why only you keep on trying it and you are born at the same time with a lot of other people, all mixed up with them, like trying to, having to, move your arms and legs with strings only the same strings are hitched to all the other arms and legs and the others all trying and they don't know why either except that the strings are all in one another's way like five or six people all trying to make a rug on the same loom only each one wants to weave his own pattern into the rug; and it cant matter, you know that, or the Ones that set up the loom would have arranged things a little better, and yet it must matter because you keep on trying or having to keep on trying and then all of a sudden it's all over and all you have left is a block of stone with scratches on it provided there was someone to remember to have the marble scratched and set up or had time to, and it rains on it and the sun shines on it and after a while they don't even remember the name and what the scratches were trying to tell, and it doesn't matter. And so maybe if you could go to someone, the stranger the better, and give them something--a scrap of paper--something, anything, it not to mean anything in itself and them not even to read it or keep it, not even bother to throw it away or destroy it, at least it would be something just because it would have happened, be remembered even if only from passing from one hand to another, one mind to another, and it would be at least a scratch, something, something that might make a mark on something that was once for the reason that it can die someday, while the block of stone can't be is because it never can become was because it cant ever die or perish..."
Anyway, when someone gets a stack of papers blown out of their hands and across a parking lot, and after frantically running around trying to collect them all, aren't you supposed to meet this person in the middle to return the papers, make eye-contact during the exchange, and fall in love at first sight? It didn't happen. It's true that papers get blown away. Movies don't lie. But it's not true that you fall in love as a result. Movies do lie.
Part III: David After Dentist
This video summarizes existence and the actuality of being. Backwards and in 2 minutes.
0:03
Dad: How did it go?
David: I didn't feel anything.
0:18
David: Is this real life?
Dad: Yeah, this is real life.
David: Ok, now... ok, now I... I have two fingers.
Dad: Good.
David: Now, four fingers.
Dad: Four fingers?
0:48
David: I can't see anything.
Dad: Yes, you can.
0:56
Dad: Stay in your seat.
David: [epic yell]
1:32
David: I f--I feel funny. Why's this happening to me?
1:44
David: Is this going to be forever?
Dad: [laugh] No. No, it won't be forever.
Now, put it in reverse, substitute You/Me for David and God for Dad. I personally don't believe in God, but to me, the concept of God translates into a universal force of existence. Kind of like a fate force, but not really. Regardless, insert whatever you want. Make it personal. It's a journey. The journey of your life.
Birth
You/Me: Is this going to be forever?
God: [laugh] No. No, it won't be forever.
(Life-burnout begins at an early age and God/The Universe just laughs)
You/Me: I f--I feel funny. Why's this happening to me?
(Helplessness, befuddlement. Wanting to know why you're subjected to all of this)
God: Stay in your seat.
You/Me: [epic yell]
(C'mon people... who hasn't felt that before? The restraint, the confusion, the unknowing --> WTF angst yell)
You/Me: I can't see anything.
God: Yes, you can.
(Either
a: God's lying to you and you're right. There's nothing there to see. You can't see. There are no answers. You're eternally in the dark. And something in you says, "No, this can't be right," and you get some kind of reassurance. Reassurance that you can see, that there's a point, a light at the end of the tunnel, even when there isn't actually a point or a light at the end of said tunnel. This reassurance confuses you for the remainder of your existence. Because you were right the first time. But led to believe that you weren't.
...or...
b: You really can see, even though you think you can't. And you're almost there. You've almost made it! With a little encouragement and support you've almost achieved enlightenment!)
You/Me: Is this real life?
God: Yeah, this is real life.
You/Me: Ok, now... ok, now I... I have two fingers.
God: Good.
You/Me: Now, four fingers.
God: Four fingers?
(After being either unfixably misled or almost getting to the point of understanding, you're forced to come to some kind of conclusion about what exactly this is. You ask the all-encompassing question. The response is either a lie or more reassurance. You arrive at an answer you're happy with. You actually found the answer or you believe you've found the answer, and either way is good enough. As long as you believe it, the effect is the same. BUT WAIT! Oh no. Is that true? Is the answer something else? How can I be sure? I'm so confused. I thought I knew, but maybe I didn't. What about this alternative? What is reality? What is anything anymore? A/n: This part could also more literally represent old age dementia where you actually do just completely lose your marbles and think that you're holding up four fingers instead of two)
Right Before Death
God: How did it go?
You/Me: I didn't feel anything.
(No explanation needed)
Death
|
1) We have our layout up and running. There are still a few minor things to be worked out. Ryan's on it.
2) Sometime soon we'll be taking submissions for a guest contribution from one of our BFFs. It's going be published on the last day of the month. More about that later when the deadline approaches. But this is just a heads up to start thinking about if you're interested or not. Tell other people who might be interested. I know you all have an internal blog entry that's just dying to get out.
Part II: A Math Proof Is A Terrible Thing To Waste
Today while I was cutting across a parking lot on my way to work, I witnessed a guy get a stack of papers blown out of his hands. That only happens in the movies, right? No, I saw it happen for real. The poor guy was distraught so I helped him gather his math proof. I'm hoping it was a groundbreaking theory. I feel like my existence is more validated than usual today because I stumbled upon a chance to help someone out. It was a minor thing and only took a minute or two, but honestly, it was probably the most worthwhile thing I've done in a week. Books don't care if you read them, papers don't care if you write them, bottles don't care if you paint them, but people care when you help them out. And of course there's the altruistic side of it, where you genuinely do want to help someone out, but there's also that feeling that a part of you was part of this. Absalom, Absalom sums it up better:
"Yes," Judith said. "Or destroy it. As you like. Read it if you like or don't read it if you like. Because you make so little impression, you see. You get born and you try this and you don't know why only you keep on trying it and you are born at the same time with a lot of other people, all mixed up with them, like trying to, having to, move your arms and legs with strings only the same strings are hitched to all the other arms and legs and the others all trying and they don't know why either except that the strings are all in one another's way like five or six people all trying to make a rug on the same loom only each one wants to weave his own pattern into the rug; and it cant matter, you know that, or the Ones that set up the loom would have arranged things a little better, and yet it must matter because you keep on trying or having to keep on trying and then all of a sudden it's all over and all you have left is a block of stone with scratches on it provided there was someone to remember to have the marble scratched and set up or had time to, and it rains on it and the sun shines on it and after a while they don't even remember the name and what the scratches were trying to tell, and it doesn't matter. And so maybe if you could go to someone, the stranger the better, and give them something--a scrap of paper--something, anything, it not to mean anything in itself and them not even to read it or keep it, not even bother to throw it away or destroy it, at least it would be something just because it would have happened, be remembered even if only from passing from one hand to another, one mind to another, and it would be at least a scratch, something, something that might make a mark on something that was once for the reason that it can die someday, while the block of stone can't be is because it never can become was because it cant ever die or perish..."
Anyway, when someone gets a stack of papers blown out of their hands and across a parking lot, and after frantically running around trying to collect them all, aren't you supposed to meet this person in the middle to return the papers, make eye-contact during the exchange, and fall in love at first sight? It didn't happen. It's true that papers get blown away. Movies don't lie. But it's not true that you fall in love as a result. Movies do lie.
Part III: David After Dentist
This video summarizes existence and the actuality of being. Backwards and in 2 minutes.
0:03
Dad: How did it go?
David: I didn't feel anything.
0:18
David: Is this real life?
Dad: Yeah, this is real life.
David: Ok, now... ok, now I... I have two fingers.
Dad: Good.
David: Now, four fingers.
Dad: Four fingers?
0:48
David: I can't see anything.
Dad: Yes, you can.
0:56
Dad: Stay in your seat.
David: [epic yell]
1:32
David: I f--I feel funny. Why's this happening to me?
1:44
David: Is this going to be forever?
Dad: [laugh] No. No, it won't be forever.
Now, put it in reverse, substitute You/Me for David and God for Dad. I personally don't believe in God, but to me, the concept of God translates into a universal force of existence. Kind of like a fate force, but not really. Regardless, insert whatever you want. Make it personal. It's a journey. The journey of your life.
Birth
You/Me: Is this going to be forever?
God: [laugh] No. No, it won't be forever.
(Life-burnout begins at an early age and God/The Universe just laughs)
You/Me: I f--I feel funny. Why's this happening to me?
(Helplessness, befuddlement. Wanting to know why you're subjected to all of this)
God: Stay in your seat.
You/Me: [epic yell]
(C'mon people... who hasn't felt that before? The restraint, the confusion, the unknowing --> WTF angst yell)
You/Me: I can't see anything.
God: Yes, you can.
(Either
a: God's lying to you and you're right. There's nothing there to see. You can't see. There are no answers. You're eternally in the dark. And something in you says, "No, this can't be right," and you get some kind of reassurance. Reassurance that you can see, that there's a point, a light at the end of the tunnel, even when there isn't actually a point or a light at the end of said tunnel. This reassurance confuses you for the remainder of your existence. Because you were right the first time. But led to believe that you weren't.
...or...
b: You really can see, even though you think you can't. And you're almost there. You've almost made it! With a little encouragement and support you've almost achieved enlightenment!)
You/Me: Is this real life?
God: Yeah, this is real life.
You/Me: Ok, now... ok, now I... I have two fingers.
God: Good.
You/Me: Now, four fingers.
God: Four fingers?
(After being either unfixably misled or almost getting to the point of understanding, you're forced to come to some kind of conclusion about what exactly this is. You ask the all-encompassing question. The response is either a lie or more reassurance. You arrive at an answer you're happy with. You actually found the answer or you believe you've found the answer, and either way is good enough. As long as you believe it, the effect is the same. BUT WAIT! Oh no. Is that true? Is the answer something else? How can I be sure? I'm so confused. I thought I knew, but maybe I didn't. What about this alternative? What is reality? What is anything anymore? A/n: This part could also more literally represent old age dementia where you actually do just completely lose your marbles and think that you're holding up four fingers instead of two)
Right Before Death
God: How did it go?
You/Me: I didn't feel anything.
(No explanation needed)
Death
|
