Wednesday, December 20, 2017

The Predicament of Humans

An excerpt from Erich Fromm's The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness.

Self-awareness, reason, and imagination have disrupted the
"harmony" that characterizes animal existence. Their emergence has
made man into an anomaly, the freak of the universe. He is part of
nature, subject to her physical laws and unable to change them, yet
he transcends nature. He is set apart while being a part; he is
homeless, yet chained to the home he shares with all creatures. Cast
into this world at an accidental place and time, he is forced out of it
accidentally and against his will. Being aware of himself, he realizes
his powerlessness and the limitations of his existence. He is never
free from the dichotomy of his existence: he cannot rid himself of his
mind, even if he would want to; he cannot rid himself of his body as
long as he is alive-and his body makes him want to be alive.

Man's life cannot be lived by repeating the pattern of his
species; he must live. Man is the only animal who does not feel at
home in nature, who can feel evicted from paradise, the only animal
for whom his own existence is a problem that he has to solve and
from which he cannot escape. He cannot go back to the prehuman
state of harmony with nature, and he does not know where he will
arrive if he goes forward. Man's existential contradiction results in a
state of constant disequilibrium. This disequilibrium distinguishes
him from the animal, which lives, as it were, in harmony with
nature. This does not mean, of course, that the animal necessarily
lives a peaceful and happy life, but that it has its specific ecological
niche to which its physical and mental qualities have been adapted
by the process of evolution. Man's e)l.istential, and hence
unavoidable disequilibrium can be relatively stable when he has
found, with the support of his culture, a more or less adequate way
of coping with his existential problems. But this relative stability
does not imply that the dichotomy has disappeared; it is merely
dormant and becomes manifest as soon as the conditions for this
relative stability change.

Indeed, in the process of man's self-creation this relative
stability is upset again and again. Man, in his history, changes his
environment, and in this process he changes himself. His knowledge
increases, but so does his awareness of his ignorance; he experiences
himself as an individual, and not only as a member of his tribe, and
with this his sense of separateness and isolation grows. He creates
larger and more efficient social units, led by powerful leaders-and
he becomes frightened and submissive. He attains a certain amount
of freedom-and becomes afraid of this very freedom. His capacity
for material production grows, but in the process
he becomes greedy and egotistical, a slave of the things he has created.

Every new state of disequilibrium forces man to seek for new
equilibrium. Indeed, what has often been considered man's innate
drive for progress is his attempt to find a new and if possible better
equilibrium.

The new forms of equilibrium by no means constitute a straight
line of human improvement. Frequently in history new achievements have led to regressive developments. Many times, when forced to find a new solution, man runs into a blind alley from which he has to extricate himself; and it is indeed remarkable that
thus far in history he has been able to do so.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Existential Comics

The funnest find in a long time.  Existential Comics.  These are so much better than reading a tome of philosophical writing.

Existential Comics

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

The Second Coming

By Yeats.  The Second Coming. 

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Friday, December 1, 2017

Emptiness - the Eastern View

Our Western minds have a difficult time grasping the Eastern idea of emptiness.  If something is empty, it's useless and non existent, right?  Eastern thought sees emptiness as a part of a unity.  Emptiness is a component of the whole.  Instead of me explaining, here is a bit of Alan Watts explaining the concept from the Taoist perspective:

Thirty spokes unite at the wheel’s hub;
It is the center hole that makes it useful.
Shape clay into a vessel;
It is the space within that makes it useful.
Cut out doors and windows for a room;
It is the holes which make it useful.
Therefore profit comes from what is there;
Usefulness from what is not there.

This space is not “just nothing” as we commonly use that expression, for I cannot get away from the sense that space and my awareness of the universe are the same, and call to mind the words of the Chan (Zen) Patriarch Hui-neng, writing eleven centuries after Lao-tzu:

The capacity of mind is broad and huge, like the vast sky. Do not sit with a mind fixed on emptiness. If you do you will fall into a neutral kind of emptiness. Emptiness includes the sun, moon, stars, and planets, the great earth, mountains and rivers, all trees and grasses, bad men and good men, bad things and good things, heaven and hell; they are all in the midst of emptiness. The emptiness of human nature is also like this.

Thus the yin-yang principle is that the somethings and the nothings, the ons and the offs, the solids and the spaces, as well as the wakings and the sleepings and the alternations of existing and not existing, are mutually necessary.

Yang and yin are in some ways parallel to the (later) Buddhist view of form and emptiness, of which the Heart Sutra says, “That which is form is just that which is emptiness and that which is emptiness is just that which is form.”

The yin-yang principle is not, therefore, what we would ordinarily call a dualism, but rather an explicit duality expressing an implicit unity.”

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke

When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower, 
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought. 
When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop, 
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today. 

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Watching The Wheels

And so it goes.  Though there are weekly developments of "what?" kind of news, at the same time it's really nothing surprising at all.  Another massacre, what?  Oh, yeah ok another massacre.  We're at the brink of nuclear war, what?  Oh yeah ok, sure, brink of nuclear war.  Aliens could descend and abduct thousands before TV cameras and I think I'd be surprised for perhaps an hour or two.  Life is weird and yet at the same time it just goes on.

A couple of links.  An article about how the Age of Reason morphed into the present Age of Anything Goes Squishy Thinking: 

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/09/how-america-lost-its-mind/534231/

Also, a compare and contrast article explaining The Greek Ideal v. American Ideal:

http://www.wescecil.com/blog/


Thursday, August 10, 2017

The Hollow Men

I've been fairly fascinated by this poem lately.  There is a bit of debate over what the poem is about.  I think it is clearly about people trapped in an in-between place, a world that they are powerless to move through or transcend.  Some say Eliot wrote it about Europe after World War I - and the consequent state of being amongst the population.  Some other writers think it is about his feelings while his wife was having an affair.  Doesn't matter - it's brilliant in every way.

The Hollow Men - T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz-he dead
            A penny for the Old Guy



                       I

    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar
    
    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
    
    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.

    
                              II

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.
    
    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer-
    
    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom

    
                   III

    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.
    
    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.

    
                     IV

    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
    
    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
    
    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.

    
                           V

    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.

    
    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
                                   For Thine is the Kingdom
    
    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
                                   Life is very long
    
    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
                                   For Thine is the Kingdom
    
    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the
    
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

The Gemini Bells have a new track

Check out the new Gemini Bells track, Icebergs.  Recalling the days of shoegaze past ...

ICEBERGS


Thursday, June 8, 2017

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Just a little Slowdive Band Practice

If only my band sounded like this at practice.  Actually this is soundboard from a performance, but I imagine practice sounded about the same.  Incredible!




Thursday, June 1, 2017

Slowdive - Golden Hair

An amazing performance by a fave band, Slowdive.  This is a builder - and does it ever build into something so joyful.

Garage Surf - Chop Suey Watusi

What if Sato got lost in a hallucinogenic twister of monster movie partying?  It might sounds something like Chop Suey Watusi from Thee Jaguar Sharks.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Thee Jaguar Sharks - Manta's Dream

Sometimes you feel that mermaids may just pull you in from the storm to some tropical paradise, right?  Gem Cutter Records gives you Thee Jaguar Sharks, Manta's Dream for some exotic vibeyness.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

"By not adoring the worthy, people will not fall into dispute.
By not valuing the hard to get objects, people will not become robbers.
By not seeing the desires of lust, one's heart will not be confused.
Therefore the governing of the saint is to empty one's mind, substantiate one's virtue,
weaken one's worldly ambition and strengthen one's essence."
--Tao Te Ching

Friday, March 24, 2017

The Funeral

I sometimes wonder at the meaning of lyrics.  For instance Band of Horses' song The Funeral.

I'm coming up only to hold you under
And coming up only to show you're wrong
And to know you is hard; we wonder
To know you all wrong; we warn

One website says this song is about heroin.  And that makes a kind of sense.  But it also seems to articulate the human condition, which is also related to heroin use.  The sense of being "under" the strata everyone else exists at.  The effort to show everyone that indeed you can exist at their level.  The problem of ever truly knowing anyone or even yourself.

Then the chorus, "At every occasion I'll be ready for the funeral".  Does it mean that someone is unafraid of death?  Does it mean they are living on the edge?

And so it goes.
 

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Help out Steve Kilbey

It's highly depressing that one of my favorite songwriters and singers is having trouble paying the rent or just getting by.  If you have some money to spare or contribute, please go here and help the man out:

HELP OUT STEVE KILBEY


Art

Where there is no art, there is no humanity.  Where there is no respect for art, there is no spirit.

Monday, March 6, 2017

Mr. Apollinax - T.S. Eliot



WHEN Mr. Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter tinkled among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees,
And of Priapus in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah’s
He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.
His laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the sea’s
Hidden under coral islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence,
Dropping from fingers of surf.
I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair

Or grinning over a screen
With seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaur’s hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon.
“He is a charming man”—“But after all what did he mean?”—
“His pointed ears... He must be unbalanced,”—
“There was something he said that I might have challenged.”
Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.

The Knight's Wake Roadtrip playlist.

 Brad and Jim put together some of their favorite cuts for the the Knight's Wake Roadtrip playlist.  Find it here at:   Knight's Wak...