Thoughts

Thinking out Loud & Making Comments

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Sleep & Bill Hayes

A new discovery for me in Bill Hayes, the paramour of our own Oliver Sacks whom I must have written about in here somewhere. That’s not the point of it of course but only an anchoring place. Somewhere for us to tether a reference. Not so much for the reader as for my own needs I’m afraid. I’m not at all sure that’s a universal need. Although it (a reference tether) makes sense.

From Bill, as reported in Marginalia: “I was born dreaming. Deep in REM sleep, I was taken from the womb, my closed eyes furiously scanning for images that could never be retrieved, redreamed, or remembered. In this regard, I was identical to every baby. With a slap to the ass, it was over. Birth jolted me from a state of sublime unconsciousness to which I’ve spent the rest of my life struggling to return.”

And there it is. So well put. Hence our struggle for the illusive, the dream, Death. The Big Sleep.

Bill writes about this in Sleep Dreams which I have already ordered, naturally. A simple turn of some screw in the mind that allows me to act without thought when it comes to the purchase of some book that will further allow me to enter into that Other of the sublime—the right book with the right words. I’ll report back on the read, though I fully expect it to be delicious.

Before closing, a further thought. Did you know that Nietzsche believed that dreams are an evolutionary time machine for the human mind? Oh my. So much to think about. So much to dream about.

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Happy Birthday

The great poet Charles Bukowski was born on this day in 1920. 🍺

“…great writers are indecent people

they live unfairly

saving the best part for paper.

good human beings save the world

so that bastards like me can keep creating art,

become immortal.

if you read this after I am dead

it means I made it.”

Posted by Poetic Outlaws

Ugliest Poet on the Planet. But I’m sure glad he made it. And now he’s one of the Ugliest Immortals—yay! and rock on!

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Just Wondering

What ever happened to all of those fidget things that everyone had? You held them between your thumb and index finger and pushed down for it to spin. Continuous action was supposed to give you something to do. When you just wanted to fidget a bit. Some of the toys became quite elaborate and they were everything from a flying bird to a simple top. And a variety of colors of course. Everyone had one. There was even a bit of fidget envy. And then they disappeared. It was one of those things that is gone and you don’t notice until sometime later. And then it’s not because you want it. It’s just a stray thought that ambles in and shrugs itself off again. So where are they all now? It was years ago and there were millions of them. Maybe there’s a giant warehouse somewhere dedicated to the sole purpose of giving discarded fidgets a last resting place.

Botero Posted by Ravenous Butterflies
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And Alone

Loneliness isn’t the physical absence of other people, it’s the sense that you’re not sharing anything that matters with anyone else. If you have lots of people around you – perhaps even a husband or wife, or a family, or a busy workplace – but you don’t share anything that matters with them, then you’ll still be lonely. ~Johann Hari. Book: Lost Connections

Ravenous Butterflies

Some company, that’s all. But not with one who’s a contrarian. Or just plain dim. The companion must be one to suit ones ideals. One to whom the idea of a verbal challenge is not only understood, but welcomed. Ah yes, the simple things in life that were never promised but are worth all the rest of the promises, kept or broken.

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Despair

With every increase in the degree of consciousness, and in proportion to that increase, the intensity of despair increases: the more consciousness the more intense the despair.* ~Søren Kierkegaard

(Book: The Sickness Unto Death https://amzn.to/3S0ho70)

Posted by Philo Thoughts

*Now this sentence really needs to be parsed, not for grammar of course, but for meaning. Be careful of the use of “consciousness.” In my experience there are more levels to consciousness itself so as to urge caution in its application of use. (Forgive, please, I’ve been reading dear Søren) It is so very easy for me to slip into an accent, a tone, a language.

To think this through and apply your own experience, I do believe you will find the statement true.

And I do believe he is also saying that anyone who is conscious at all, aware in the slightest, will suffer the equal counter-part of Despair.

And that makes for an “Oh dear!” if anything does.

Now, that accepted, we must (most likely anyway) also accept that any one would want to be relieved of this Despair.

Note: Despair, as without Hope. Not Depression. Not Melancholia. Not Down. Not Sad. Despair—its very own category.

And therein lies the rub. The conflict begins. In order to resolve the situation I’ll needs must read a bit more of our dear philosopher. Suffice it to end here, for today. But for those of us who suffer, and that means (most) everyone according to SK, I’m sure there will be an interest in the answer. Stay tuned!