I would like to cry for no particular reason. Just for the release. But my eyes are dry.
I am dry. When I step on the gas, sparks fly and pistons begin to halt. My body aches from it all. I look up and I see the desert. It mine as well be a desolate funhouse of mirrors. How else could there be so much heat, and yellow baked and crunched earth? I suppose I should just get out and walk.
A man named Georges Bataille once said something like "In the end, there is only mutilation and the desert." I do not have the heart for mutilation, anymore, To reconstitute oneself daily is a waste. Truth be told, I was never good at it. Then there is the desert he says, Vast. Wonderous from a distance and as experienced a series of lessons in and trials of things like futility , isolation, hope, endurance, caution, mental fitness, fortitude, creativity/ingenuity/pregnancy/potency, and more.
I know what you're thinking. There is more than that. And there is. Old Georges Bataille was a nut. And a gifted, disciplined, rich, wet and insightful one. But what else is there? I would say, comfort. I would say, dancing and flexibility. But what he meant is how do you reach the peaks and and the valleys. It was all a journey of peaks and valleys. That is, Life <i>for him</i> was a thing of peaks and valleys and the time in between of feeling amazing or amazing feelings.. We dance out of fear, caution, it is an abeyance of the mutilation for a little while. We seek comfort and trust with one eye clsed and the other on the door we will escape from or the rock we will hold as the waters rush by us. It is dead and gone before we let it start. And my god, what a relief that has been in life.
Again, there is more than that. And there is. You are right. There is working together happily and growth. Who are these people that cannot live with people and help but to call it mutilation?
Wow. What a great question. Really it s. A place where people are encouraged, independent, resourceful, trusting, helpful. Where is that place? Is it when Mommy A tells Mommy B that she is having an affair and it is the most refreshing thing in her life, how much happier she is and Mommy B either looks at her with new and slightly distrustful eyes or does she smile acknowledging waiting for the veil on her face to drop for when her husband comes home? And what of the secrets he holds? It could just as easily be someone's annoying boss or co-worker that we silently think mistrustfully toward. Is it possibly anywhere that silence is used to cover up and hide the thoughts we cannot say or where we block out the words of others?. Oh. I have to ask, where is this place where people live and don't call it mutilation? Or perhaps suffocation is another way to look at it. This could be heaven if you like that sort of thing.
Where is this place where anxiety of individuality is disappeared the way Muslims in America are disappeared? Sartre (who didn't like Bataille for a long time) said it was scarcity. Material scarcity, an economic matter. Bataille looked for alternative economic solutions. Like valuing sacrifice. Some tribe in what is now Mexico or Texas or somewhere southwest of Chicago used to wage war by seeing how much could give up the most. There is a story of a chieftain who killed one of his own animals because he was displeased with the other chieftain. This escalated until they were killing their own slave labor. The winner was the "superior" of the men. That is not a model I reccomend. I tried it, in a matter of speaking. Really, you would be surprised how hard it is to gain it all back.
So I will ask again, where is the land that is not the desert but is not mutilation?
I do not even think Clarice Lispector could answer this. But she would have a reply that does not evade. something like, "Dude, you better get out of that car cause it doesn't work and you better start walking 'coz you ain't no camel." Well, she wouldn't say it like that. But it would make sense, get me going and make me smile anyways.
I am dry. When I step on the gas, sparks fly and pistons begin to halt. My body aches from it all. I look up and I see the desert. It mine as well be a desolate funhouse of mirrors. How else could there be so much heat, and yellow baked and crunched earth? I suppose I should just get out and walk.
A man named Georges Bataille once said something like "In the end, there is only mutilation and the desert." I do not have the heart for mutilation, anymore, To reconstitute oneself daily is a waste. Truth be told, I was never good at it. Then there is the desert he says, Vast. Wonderous from a distance and as experienced a series of lessons in and trials of things like futility , isolation, hope, endurance, caution, mental fitness, fortitude, creativity/ingenuity/pregnancy/potency, and more.
I know what you're thinking. There is more than that. And there is. Old Georges Bataille was a nut. And a gifted, disciplined, rich, wet and insightful one. But what else is there? I would say, comfort. I would say, dancing and flexibility. But what he meant is how do you reach the peaks and and the valleys. It was all a journey of peaks and valleys. That is, Life <i>for him</i> was a thing of peaks and valleys and the time in between of feeling amazing or amazing feelings.. We dance out of fear, caution, it is an abeyance of the mutilation for a little while. We seek comfort and trust with one eye clsed and the other on the door we will escape from or the rock we will hold as the waters rush by us. It is dead and gone before we let it start. And my god, what a relief that has been in life.
Again, there is more than that. And there is. You are right. There is working together happily and growth. Who are these people that cannot live with people and help but to call it mutilation?
Wow. What a great question. Really it s. A place where people are encouraged, independent, resourceful, trusting, helpful. Where is that place? Is it when Mommy A tells Mommy B that she is having an affair and it is the most refreshing thing in her life, how much happier she is and Mommy B either looks at her with new and slightly distrustful eyes or does she smile acknowledging waiting for the veil on her face to drop for when her husband comes home? And what of the secrets he holds? It could just as easily be someone's annoying boss or co-worker that we silently think mistrustfully toward. Is it possibly anywhere that silence is used to cover up and hide the thoughts we cannot say or where we block out the words of others?. Oh. I have to ask, where is this place where people live and don't call it mutilation? Or perhaps suffocation is another way to look at it. This could be heaven if you like that sort of thing.
Where is this place where anxiety of individuality is disappeared the way Muslims in America are disappeared? Sartre (who didn't like Bataille for a long time) said it was scarcity. Material scarcity, an economic matter. Bataille looked for alternative economic solutions. Like valuing sacrifice. Some tribe in what is now Mexico or Texas or somewhere southwest of Chicago used to wage war by seeing how much could give up the most. There is a story of a chieftain who killed one of his own animals because he was displeased with the other chieftain. This escalated until they were killing their own slave labor. The winner was the "superior" of the men. That is not a model I reccomend. I tried it, in a matter of speaking. Really, you would be surprised how hard it is to gain it all back.
So I will ask again, where is the land that is not the desert but is not mutilation?
I do not even think Clarice Lispector could answer this. But she would have a reply that does not evade. something like, "Dude, you better get out of that car cause it doesn't work and you better start walking 'coz you ain't no camel." Well, she wouldn't say it like that. But it would make sense, get me going and make me smile anyways.