Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Two Hundred and Sixty One

I watched the Trump/Biden debate last night, hoping it would be an amusing disaster.  Unfortunately neither said or did anything outrageous enough to stop the show.  After four years of Trump, what used to be considered outrageous is now the norm. 

He spouted his usual nonsense, making Biden sound almost reasonable by comparison.  It’s not that Trump can’t lie convincingly, but that he doesn’t even try because he knows his fans enjoy his antics.  

The pundits who followed their debate, and told the audience what we’d just watched, demonstrated that politicians aren’t the only ones who can no longer think or speak articulately.  Pundits used to be articulate, if not always honest, but now they're neither.    

What will happen when we no longer have this buffoon to distract us?  At first there will be the usual honeymoon period, during which the unrealistic expectations raised by the new president’s campaign promises are crushed by his refusal to keep them.  Then we'll be faced again with the same problems we faced before Trump blundered into the White House and distracted our attention from them with his antics.

I can’t believe anyone really expects things to change for the better when Biden becomes president, which they apparently did expect when Obama became president.  The differences between Obama and his Republican rivals were literally skin deep, but the differences between Biden and Trump are even more superficial, so we'll have to work harder than we usually do to ignore reality when Biden becomes president.     

Sunday, September 13, 2020

Two hundred and Sixty

We're children, dying young no matter how long we've lived because we never grow up.

We're orphans, survivors of the storm who’ve been cast away on the shore of that sea from which we came and to which we'll return.

We tell ourselves our parents will come one day to rescue us and take us home.  But they never do.

Eventually we forget from where we came and to where we’re going.  We spend our days playing with each other, and killing each other, because we're children and life is a game.

We also work, building castles out of sand on the sand.  And when the sea washes our castles away, we build them again.

But now we know no one’s coming to rescue us.  There is only the sea.  And after we’ve turned to dust, it will dry up.  Then the seabed, exposed at last when no one’s left to see it, will also turn to dust.

Friday, September 11, 2020

Two Hundred and Fifty Nine

She said if I died, she’d die with me.  Now she’s dead and I’m alive.  I thought of that as I watched Romeo and Juliet (Prokofiev's, not Shakespeare’s) earlier tonight.

It’s more difficult to translate a play into a ballet than into any other art, because a play is words and ballet's action.  But Prokofiev understood this play's about youth, and ballet is the ideal art in which to depict the physicality of youth.  Children act before they think, let alone speak.

The young love to live, and live to love.  For them, the end of love is death.  They die when they learn to imitate their quarreling elders. 

When I was young, some learned adult claimed children don’t know they’ll die one day.  Children understand death better than adults do because they’re closer to it, having just begun to live.  It’s life that’s a mystery to them.  Only after they’ve learned to love life do they fear losing it, and tell themselves some part of them lives on after they die.  The young have no need of religion.

When I was young, art was for some of us what religion used to be for most of us.  Now we worship the tribe, which is not religion but superstition.

I tried to kill myself after she died, but I won’t again.  She said she never wept because weeping is a display for others, a bid for their sympathy.  So is suicide.

Monday, August 31, 2020

Two Hundred and Fifty Eight

The mayor declared today a memorial day to honor all those who died during the pandemic.  Radio stations have been playing religious music all morning.  When they played Nearer, my God, to thee I thought of the Titanic.

Saturday, August 29, 2020

Two Hundred and Fifty Seven

The theme of the latest issue of the NYRB is language.  It’s also about Trump, as everything is now.

It contains an article about freedom of speech, in which the author says it’s a sham unless it also includes freedom of action, because speech is action and vice versa—-which has obvious relevance to the protests which Trump condemns.  Another article with obvious relevance to Trump is about 'disinformation' and ‘fake news’.

Tallyrand said we invented language in order to hide our thoughts from each other.  But it’s not only our thoughts we hide, and not only from each other.  The things we tell ourselves, as well as the things we tell each other, are usually attempts to hide the things we do, because we know they’re not the things we should do.

We’ve done so much of which we’re now ashamed.  But worse than remembering all the shameful things we’ve done, however hard we try to forget them, is not being able to remember the reasons why we once believed we had to do them.

The article I found most interesting is about animal language.

It begins by reviewing all the rôles talking animals have played in the human imagination, from Aesop’s fables to Hollywood cartoons.  The author says animals have always talked to us, but only recently have we begun to seriously listen.

We’ve always known that other animals speak to us, but we chose not to listen for the same reason adults choose not to listen to children, men choose not to listen to women and masters choose not to listen to slaves.  How could we go on exploiting them if we took them seriously?

We also knowand have always knownthat not only are all animals sentient, but they aren’t the only sentient beings.  

What we know is what all sentient beings know.  Humans differ not only from all other animals, but from all other sentient beings, in pretending we alone are sentient.  Otherwise how could we go on exploiting them?

We don’t know enough about the beings we call living and those we call nonliving to define the difference between them, so how can we define the difference between the living beings we call sentient those we call nonsentient?  But the difference between being and nonbeing seems more important from my perspective.  No mind without body.

I think we all know that all beings are sentient to some degree—no body without mind—but we’re told that’s just sentimental anthropomorphism by those we call logical.  The reductio ad absurdum of this logic is when we're told that even we are merely meat machines because only matter is real, and mind an illusion (but whose?).

Another article was about a current television show in which animals seem human, according to the author, because they're self-destructive and know it, but can’t help themselves.  That, more than their use of language, makes these animals seem human.  

Unlike most animal languages, the primary goal of human language is not the communication of what we know, but of what we learn.  Knowing what we knowwhat all sentient beings know—doesn't make us human.  The delusion that only we are sentient enables us to pretend we're human.  And in order to sustain that delusion we must be surrounded by other, equally deluded beings.  We learn their language, say what they say and pretend to believe what they pretend to believe.  All animals speak, but only we learn to speak as actors do, impersonating the people we pretend to be.

Monday, August 10, 2020

Two Hundred and Fifty Five

What we want is a safe place.  But there's no such place, no home for us in this world of change.  We wander through it a while, trying to find our way; but there is no way unless and until we make one.  Whether or not we do, all our journeys still end the same way, with all we were and all we've done gone as if we'd never been.

Two Hundred and Forty Four

Justin just emailed me a link to his new crush's FaceBook page.  She's as lovely as he said, but I told him her husband and children might be a problem for him.