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Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 15, 2018 2:34 am
by iambiguous

I have been canceled by Fox.

What's that all about?

I will be eligible to be a god in India as soon as I get my Aadhaar card.

What's that all about?

Now, more than ever, dogs.

Let us know if that works.

Retweet this in the next half-hour for a free admission to Heaven and 25% discount at Olive Garden.

Nope, nothing happened.

“52 Palestinians” rolls off the journalistic tongue in a way “52 human beings” just doesn’t.

God taking sides?

Do not believe in Me and I will never, ever let you down.

Not counting all the other Gods, of course.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 15, 2018 5:37 pm
by iambiguous
Tom Stoppard

The universe is deterministic all right, just like Newton said, I mean it's trying to be, but the only thing going wrong is people fancying people who aren't supposed to be in that part of the plan.

Yes, another attempt to untangle it.

Death followed by eternity the worst of both worlds.

Or for some the best.

We're better at predicting events at the edge of the galaxy or inside the nucleus of an atom than whether it'll rain on auntie's garden party three Sundays from now.

A hell of a lot better.

Are you talking about Lord Byron, the poet?
No, you fucking idiot, we're talking about Lord Byron, the chartered accountant.

There probably actually is one though.

When people discuss his plays, he says that he feels like he's standing at customs watching an official ransack his luggage. He cheerfully declares responsibility for a play about two people, and suddenly the officer is finding all manner of exotic contraband like the nature of God and identity, and while he can't deny that they're there, he can't for the life of him remember putting them there. In the end, a play is not the product of an idea; an idea is the product of a play.

Unless of course you've never written one.

We drift down time, clutching at straws. But what good's a brick to a drowning man?

Let's think of something.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 15, 2018 10:24 pm
by iambiguous
Existential Comics

Life is often disappointing. We must accept that most of us will never come up with a groundbreaking idea, find a great love, create a political reform, or get lost in the wilderness and become ensnared in a witch's cruel game.

But we've always got ILP, right?

It's easy to fool yourself into thinking that you are craving meaning in a bleak, meaningless world, when you are really just craving, like, a hug or something.

Or even a healthy bowel movement for some.

As Dostoevsky wisely taught us, always be spiteful all the time.

And not just underground.

The funniest thing about libertarians worshipping Elon Musk is that he's basically the villain from Atlas Shrugged. He makes all his money from government subsidies and contracts, and by wildly exaggerating production to pump up stock prices.

What say you, Mr. Ayn Randroid?

Dudes are always like "love is just a chemical in the brain". Why is it always "love"? Why not "ambition"? Or "masculinity"? Or "smugness"? Aren't those just brain chemicals too?

Among other things, he thought, no fucking way

Believing that technology will save us is like thinking that an escalator would have liberated Sisyphus.

On the other hand, let's ask Sisyphus.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 15, 2018 11:45 pm
by iambiguous
D.H. Lawrence

Everything seemed so different, so unreal. There seemed no reason why people should go along the street, and houses pile up in the daylight. There seemed no reason why these things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it empty. His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he answered. But why there should be the noise of speech he could not understand.

On the other hand, what's the point of bringing it up at all anymore?
Anyway, here's an antidote:

For my part, life is so many things I don’t care what it is. It’s not my affair to sum it up. Just now it’s a cup of tea. This morning it was wormwood and gall. Hand me the sugar.

Come on, it might work.

The least little bit o' money 'll really do... What have yer done ter yerselves, wi' the blasted work? Spoilt yerselves. No need to work that much. Take yer clothes off an' look at yourselves. Yer ought ter be alive an' beautiful, an' yer ugly an' half dead.

Some get it, some don't. And some even claim to know the difference.

Sex is really only touch, the closest of all touch. And it’s touch we’re afraid of. We’re only half-conscious, and half-alive. We’ve for to come alive and aware. Especially the English have got to get into touch with one another, a bit delicate and a bit tender. It’s our crying need.

Let's pin down where to draw the line.

I know no greater delight than the sheer delight of being alone.

The trick though is in being that away around others.

Mr Hemingway does it extremely well. Nothing matters. Everything happens. One wants to keep oneself loose. Avoid one thing only: getting connected up. Don't get connected up. If you get held by anything, break it. Don't be held. Break it, and get away.

Or, as Neil once put it:

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Wed May 16, 2018 5:25 pm
by iambiguous
Svetlana Alexievich

In the center there is always this: how unbearable and unthinkable it is to die. And how much more unbearable and unthinkable it is to kill, because a woman gives life. Gives it. Bears it in herself for a long time, nurses it. I understood that it is more difficult for women to kill.

It's natural as it were. Not counting all the exceptions of course.

Today, people just want to live their lives, they don’t need some great Idea. This is entirely new for Russia; it’s unprecedented in Russian literature. At heart, we’re built for war. We were always either fighting or preparing to fight. We’ve never known anything else—hence our wartime psychology. Even in civilian life, everything was always militarized. The drums were beating, the banners flying, our hearts leaping out of our chests. People didn’t recognize their own slavery—they even liked being slaves.

It's natural as it were. Not counting all the exceptions of course.

There is no more pressing or torturous task for man, having found himself free, than to seek out someone to bow down to as soon as he can…someone on whom to bestow that gift of freedom with which this unhappy creature was born.

Didn't Erich Fromm write a book about that?

During the war, one out of every four Belarussians was killed; today, one out of every five Belarussians lives on contaminated land. This amounts to 2.1 million people, of whom 700,000 are children. Among the demographic factors responsible for the depopulation of Belarus, radiation is number one.

He thought: Just one more or less insignificant piece of history.

I asked everyone I met what 'freedom' meant. Fathers and children had very different answers. Those who were born in the USSR and those born after its collapse do not share a common experience -- it's like they're from different planets.

Ask me what I think that means.

I met this one man, he was saying that this is because we place a low value on human life. That it’s an Asiatic fatalism. A person who sacrifices himself doesn’t feel himself to be a unique individual. He experiences a longing for his role in life. Earlier he was a person without a text, a statistic. He had no theme, he served as the background. And now suddenly he’s the main protagonist. It’s a longing for meaning.

Let me ask you what you think that means.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Wed May 16, 2018 10:27 pm
by iambiguous
Philosophy Tweets

“The strongest intimidation, by the way, is the invention of a hereafter with a hell everlasting.” Friedrich Nietzsche

Didn't work on me though. But not from lack of trying.

“There are two different types of people in the world, those who want to know, and those who want to believe.” Friedrich Nietzsche

Then go figure those who long to know what to believe.

“He who cannot put his thoughts on ice should not enter into the heat of dispute.” Friedrich Nietzsche

He meant their ice not his.

“Nature does nothing without purpose or uselessly” Aristotle

On the other hand, what's unnatural about anything that what we do if we are just another manifestation of nature?

“A true revolutionary should be ready to perish in the process.” Maximilien Robespierre

I skipped that part myself.

“A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.” Albert Camus

And, if he's particularly lucky, the past and the present.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Wed May 16, 2018 11:16 pm
by iambiguous
Robert Musil

For a long time now a hint of aversion had lain on everything he did and experienced, a shadow of impotence and loneliness, an all-encompassing distaste for which he could not find the complementary inclination. He felt at times as though he had been born with a talent for which there was at present no objective.

Of course you all know my talent, don't you? You just haven't a clue about its objective.

To the mind (Geist), good and evil, above and below, are not skeptical, relative concepts, but terms of a function, values that depend on the context they find themselves in…. It regards nothing as fixed, no personality, no order of things: because our knowledge may change from day to day, it regards nothing as binding: everything has the value it has only until the next act of creation, as a face changes with the words we are speaking to it.

And so the mind or spirit is the great opportunist, itself impossible to pin down, take hold of, anywhere: on is tempted to believe that of all its influence nothing is left but decay. Every advance is a gain in particular and a separation in general; it is an increase in power leading only to a progressive increase in impotence, but there is no way to quit. Ulrich thought of that body of facts and discoveries, growing almost by the hour, out of which the mind must peer today if it wishes to scrutinize any given problem closely. This body grows away from its inner life. Countless views, opinions, systems of ideas from every age and latitude, from all sorts of sick and sound, waking and dreaming brains run through it like thousands of small sensitive nerve strands, but the central nodal point tying them all together is missing. Man feels dangerously close to repeating the fate of those gigantic primeval species that perished because of their size; but he cannot stop himself.

To your credit though, at least some of you try.

All the knowledge that has led our species from wearing animal skins to people flying, complete with proofs, would fill a handful of reference books, but a bookcase the size of the earth would not suffice to hold all the rest, quite apart from the vast discussions that are conducted not with the pen but with the sword and chains.

Just out of curiosty, what do you suppose the rest is?

At last Hyacinth asked rather mournfully: "Why do you keep on pushing me away?" The note of unhappiness in that voice quite shocked him. How little one knows what one knows, or wants what one wants.

You know where I'll go with this. Just as I know why you won't.

Slowed down by a sense of hopelessness in all his decisions and movements, he suffered from bitter sadness, and his incapacity solidified into a pain that often sat like a nosebleed behind his forehead the moment he tried to make up his mind to do something.

You know, to be optimistic.

And after all, if stupidity did not, when seen from within, look so exactly like talent as to be mistaken for it, and if it could not, when seen from the outside, appear as progress, genius, hope, and improvement, doubtless no one would want to be stupid, and there would be no stupidity.

Let's decide: How stupid is that?

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Thu May 17, 2018 5:21 pm
by iambiguous
Jane Smiley

In this flirtation he was conducting, he had had to rely entirely on his personality, never a good idea.

In fact, it didn't worked for me either.

The plays he had liked were the one called Measure for Measure, and another one called Macbeth. They were easy to follow, and what happened in them was kind of like what happened in junior high school.

I never made that connection myself.

She said, “Some are born bossy, some achieve bossiness, and some have bossiness thrust upon them.”

Not much you can't say that about.

We drove in a kind of wholesome silence, carrying our whole long marriage, all the hope and kindness that it represented, with us. What it felt like was sitting in Sunday school singing "Jesus loves me," sitting in the little chairs, surrounded by sunlight and bright drawings, and having those first inklings of doubt, except that doubt presents itself simply as added knowledge, something new, for the moment, to set beside what is already known.

But then one day He doesn't.

I dream about standing in the lunch line naked. It's always the lunch line in ninth grade.
Nakedness dreams are very common.
I suppose they are.

Just not anymore, he thought.

It is hard to know whether an air of self-confidence precedes or follows success.

It never seemed more clear to me. If only following it.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Thu May 17, 2018 8:36 pm
by iambiguous
Existential Comics

How to be a free thinker 101:
1. Stare of into space a lot.
2. Buy a bunch of books you don't read.
3. Complain that you can't make friends because you are too smart.
4. Have the same totally original thoughts as everyone else.
5. Talk over women.

Which one is actually true?

Philosopher's biggest regrets:
Descartes: failure to explain how mind and body interact.
Russell: failure to ground math in logic.
Sartre: failure to reconcile existentialism with marxism.
Nietzsche: failure to get laid even a single time.

Which one is the least untrue?

Karl Marx was born on this day, 200 years ago. In those 200 years since, everything has been shit. Sorry Karl.

Really, really sorry.

Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man Who Was Extremely Mad Online.

Let's call him, say, a troll.

You see, a communist is someone who loves humanity but hates humans, whereas a capitalist is someone who brutally exploits his fellow man through violently enforced property relations which make the bulk of humanity labor to enrich the capitalist class or starve.

Let's run this by Phyllo.

The high point of philosophy was Diogenes telling Alexander the Great to fuck off. It's been all pretty much downhill since then.

Any truth to this?

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Thu May 17, 2018 11:32 pm
by iambiguous
Nora Ephron

Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it's a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it's a way of making contact with someone else's imagination after a day that's all too real.

Writing too.

When I buy a new book, I always read the last page first, that way in case I die before I finish, I know how it ends. That, my friend, is a dark side.

You know, for a Yuppie.

The desire to get married is a basic and primal instinct in women. It's followed by another basic and primal instinct: the desire to be single again.

They learned that from men.

And then the dreams break into a million tiny pieces. The dream dies. Which leaves you with a choice: you can settle for reality, or you can go off, like a fool, and dream another dream.

Flip a coin?

So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?

Flip a coin?

I married him against all evidence. I married him believing that marriage doesn't work, that love dies, that passion fades, and in so doing I became the kind of romantic only a cynic is truly capable of being.

Is there any other kind?

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Fri May 18, 2018 7:07 pm
by iambiguous
Han Kang

Yells and howls, threaded together layer upon layer, are enmeshed to form that lump. Because of meat. I ate too much meat. The lives of the animals I ate have all lodged there. Blood and flesh, all those butchered bodies are scattered in every nook and cranny, and though the physical remnants were excreted, their lives still stick stubbornly to my insides.

Imagine actually believing this.

Or perhaps it was simply that things were happening inside her, terrible things, which no one else could even guess at, and thus it was impossible for her to engage with everyday life at the same time. If so, she would naturally have no energy left, not just for curiosity or interest but indeed for any meaningful response to all the humdrum minutiae that went on on the surface.

Grimly enough [for some] that might be an improvement.

I still remember the moment when my gaze fell upon the mutilated face of a young woman, her features slashed through with a bayonet. Soundlessly, and without fuss, some tender thing deep inside me broke. Something that, until then, I hadn't realised was there.

And, let's face facts, it's not inside everyone.

Conscience, the most terrifying thing in the world.

If you're follish enough to have one, he thought.

Her life was no more than a ghostly pageant of exhausted endurance, no more real than a television drama. Death, who now stood by her side, was as familiar to her as a family member, missing for a long time but now returned.

Perhaps even to stay this time.

The day I stood shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of thousands of my fellow civilians, staring down the barrels of the soldiers' guns, the day the bodies of those first two slaughtered were placed in a handcart and pushed at the head of the column, I was startled to discover an absence in side myself: the absence of fear. I remember feeling that it was all right to die; I felt the blood of a hundred thousand hearts surging together into one enormous artery, fresh and clean...the sublime enormity of a single heart, pulsing blood through that vessel and into my own. I dared to feel a part of it.

Truth be told [and try as I might] I never really even came close.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Fri May 18, 2018 11:17 pm
by iambiguous
Max Tegmark

Some ancients speculated that the stars were small holes in a black sphere through which distant light shone through. The Italian astronomer Giordano Bruno suggested that they were instead objects like our Sun, just much farther away, perhaps with their own planets and civilizations—this didn’t go down too well with the Catholic Church, which had him burned at the stake in 1600.

Let's try to put this in perspective.

Getting more tech-savvy people into law schools and governments is probably a smart move for society.

Perhaps even into philosophy departments. Or would that be entirely irrelevant?

Again Einstein comes to the rescue with a loophole, this time from his general relativity theory, which says that gravity is caused not only by mass, but also by pressure. Since mass can’t be negative, the gravity from mass is always attractive. But positive pressure also causes attractive gravity, which means that negative pressure causes repulsive gravity!

Dasein once again being largely irrelevant. Mine anyway.

If you increase the number of space dimensions beyond three, there can be neither stable solar systems nor stable atoms. For instance, going to a four-dimensional space changes Newton’s inverse-square law for the gravitational force to an inverse-cube law, for which there are no stable orbits whatsoever.

Three dimensions work fine for me.

...some concepts such as symmetries retain their central status. In contrast, other concepts, such as initial conditions, complexity and randomness, get reinterpreted as mere illusions, existing only in the mind of the beholder and not in the external physical reality.

For example, out in the world that we actually live in.

Perhaps life will spread throughout our cosmos and flourish for billions or trillions of years—and perhaps this will be because of decisions that we make here on our little planet during our lifetime.

Right, it all comes down to us.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Sat May 19, 2018 7:12 pm
by iambiguous
Ralph Waldo Emerson

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

You might well imagine my own reaction here.

For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness.

Not counting the times when it's well worth it.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

What does that even mean though?

Always do what you are afraid to do.

Trust me: Don't.

Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.

Not counting me of course.

All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen.

Maybe, but what does he see now?

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Sat May 19, 2018 11:20 pm
by iambiguous
Neil Gaiman

Death: Mostly they aren't too keen to see me. They fear the sunless lands. But they enter your realm each night without fear.
Morpheus: And I am far more terrible than you, sister.

Note to Morpheus: Define "terrible".

You got to understand the God thing. It’s not magic. It’s about being you, but the you that people believe in. It’s about being the concentrated, magnified, essence of you. It’s about becoming thunder, or the power of a running horse, or wisdom. You take all the belief and become bigger, cooler, more than human. You crystallize. He paused. And then one day they forget about you, and they don’t believe in you, and they don’t sacrifice, and they don’t care, and the next thing you know you’re running a three-card monte game on the corner of Broadway and Forty-third.

He means their God of course.

It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.

Has anyone actually documented this? Or filmed and put it on youtube?

Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.

If only [in the end] to be replaced by others. For example, theirs and not yours.

Work. Home. The pub. Meeting girls. Living in the city. Life. Is that all there is?

And that's before we get to eternal return. Or just plain old oblivion.

Young man, he said, understand this: there are two Londons. There's London Above―that's where you lived―and then there's London Below―the Underside―inhabited by the people who fell through the cracks in the world.

Okay, but what fucking city isn't that applicable to?

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Sun May 20, 2018 1:33 am
by iambiguous
The Dead Author

Philosophy is thinking you've left the cave when you're still inside and everyone else is outside having fun.

In other words, what they call fun.

The paradox of death is that it stresses you out while making whatever you do seem meaningless.

And, for some of us, the paradox of life too.

Salvador Dalí was born 114 years ago today, if you still believe in linear time.

Or in linear oblivion.

History teaches that you can't change the world, psychology that you can't change your life, and philosophy that you should try anway.

And, even more incredibly, succeed.
For example, in your head.

Shamelessness is the postmodern form of courage.

And there's no stopping them now.

Neoliberalism is when you're asked to be flexible in everything you do, except when it comes to imagining the world.

That's the old neoliberalism of course.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Sun May 20, 2018 7:18 pm
by iambiguous
Edgar Allan Poe

No thinking being lives who, at some luminous point of his life of thought, has not felt himself lost amid the surges of futile efforts at understanding, or believing, that anything exists greater than his own soul.

Nope, never had a luminous point in my life, he thought.

There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a Plunge.

I think I know what he means. I just can't explain it.

As a poet and as a mathematician, he would reason well; as a mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all.

We'll need a context of course.

That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.

We'll need a context of course.

For my own part, I have never had a thought which I could not set down in words, with even more distinctness than that with which I conceived it.

I know bullshit when I hear it.

Thank Heaven! The crisis
The danger is past, and the lingering illness, is over at last
and the fever called ''Living'' is conquered at last.

Come on, he thought, you don't conquer it, it conquers you.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Sun May 20, 2018 11:22 pm
by iambiguous
Jeff VanderMeer

I’m not an answer, she said. I’m a question. She might also be a message incarnate, a signal in the flesh, even if she hadn’t yet figured out what story she was supposed to tell.

And here we are with so much at stake in finding that out.

But minds find ways to protect themselves, build fortifications, and some of those walls become traps.

But not your walls, right Mr. Objectivist?

It’s not superstition, she said. They all turned to her, swiveling on their stools. It is superstition, she admitted. But it might be true.

Cue, among other things, the proverbial kernal of truth.

If I were you, I would never tell ugly stories about ingenious ways of killing people, for you never can tell but that someone at the table may be tired of his or her nearest and dearest.

Or, so much more to the point, tired of you.

That’s how the madness of the world tries to colonize you: from the outside in, forcing you to live in its reality.

More or less than you are willing.

Observation had always meant more to me than interaction.

From a distance preferably.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2018 3:42 am
by iambiguous
tiny nietzsche

painfully unaware

You wouldn't think so, would you?

reach out, fuckface

So, if you were a fuckface, would you?

I trust my lying eyes.

Connected no doubt to his lying brain.

I hope I get killed by a tree.

A huge motherfucking redwood.

the ocean doesn't know your name

Anywhere here expect it to?

probably fuck up again later

Probably let you.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2018 5:49 pm
by iambiguous
Robert Crumb

The comics are where all the crazy subconscious stuff comes out.

Not that you'll ever know it.

The work itself is what motivates me. I like my own stuff, you know? I like the way it looks. I do it to please myself first.

Now that's one lucky son of a bitch.

I still can't spend a lot of money on records at collector prices. There's something in me that just won't allow me to do that. But I will trade my artwork, which I know is worth thousands of dollars.

Go figure?

Throwaway pens are no good - I never liked them. I've tried them all.

Must be a cartoonist thing.

They can buy talent. You can't buy it for yourself, but you can buy other people's talent to serve your purposes. And once an artist does that, he becomes like a plaything of the rich.

And worst of all [for me] are the fucking celebrities who shill for corporate bucks.

Killing yourself is a major commitment, it takes a kind of courage. Most people just lead lives of cowardly desperation. It's kinda half suicide where you just dull yourself with substances.

If only I could, he thought.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2018 7:52 pm
by iambiguous
so sad today

the dopamine giveth and the dopamine taketh away

I wonder if mine does that.

it doesn't matter that yesterday i felt like i was dying and didn't die, today i'm definitely dying

You can go on like this for years.

i'm annoyed, therefore i am

Not to be confused with I'm pissed off.

my daily affirmations:
1. uh oh
2. oh shit
3. oh fuck
4. hell no

Aren't they everyone's?

me: can i live?
anxiety: i don't know, can you?

Let's file this one under, "touché".

i'm a self-made mess

And loving it, he thought.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Mon May 21, 2018 11:20 pm
by iambiguous
Carl Jung

What did you do as a child that made the hours pass like minutes? Herein lies the key to your earthly pursuits.

Let's swap stories.

Were it not for the leaping and twinkling of the soul, man would rot away in his greatest passion, idleness.

Sure, if this makes sense to you, explain why.

The infantile dream-state of the mass man is so unrealistic that he never thinks to ask who is paying for this paradise. The balancing of accounts is left to a higher political or social authority, which welcomes the task, for its power is thereby increased; and the more power it has, the weaker and more helpless the individual becomes.

A far cry from, among other things, Plato's Republic. Not to mention The Communist Manifesto.

Nobody can spare themselves the waiting and most will be unable to bear this torment, but will throw themselves with greed back at men, things, and thoughts, whose slaves they will become from then on. Since then it will have been clearly proved that this man is incapable of enduring beyond things, men, and thoughts, and they will hence become his master and he will become their fool, since he cannot be without them, not until even his soul has become a fruitful field. Also he whose soul is a garden, needs things, men, and thoughts, but he is their friend and not their slave and fool.

On a scale from 1 to 10, how close is this to the real world? Your own, for example.

Ultimately everything depends on the quality of the individual, but our fatally short-sighted age thinks only in terms of large numbers and mass organizations...

Ultimately these observations go nowhere fast.

What is not brought to consciousness, comes to us as fate.

And, for some, that's practically everything.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 22, 2018 5:23 pm
by iambiguous
Edward St. Aubyn

People never remember happiness with the care that they lavish on preserving every detail of their suffering.

I know that I don't.

No pain is too small if it hurts, but any pain is too big if it's cherished.

Applicable to everyone of course.

Surely: the adverb of a man without an argument.

Let's count ours up.

Looking after children can be a subtle way of giving up... They become the whole ones, the well ones, the postponement of happiness, the ones who won't drink too much, give up, get divorced, become mentally ill. The part of oneself that's fighting against decay and depression is transferred to guarding them from decay and depression. In the meantime one decays and gets depressed.

Yes, it does get grueling.

The best way to contradict him is to let him talk.

Repetitiously as it were.

The idea that an afterlife had been invented to reassure people who couldn't face the finality of death was no more plausible than the idea that the finality of death had been invented to reassure people who couldn't face the nightmare of endless experience.


Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 22, 2018 8:23 pm
by iambiguous
Philosophy Tweets

“The enjoyment itself is not in the thing we enjoy, but the idea of it.” Soren Kierkegaard

Among other things, I beg to differ.

“The more one thinks about it objectively, there is less.” Soren Kierkegaard

We'll have to know what it is first of course.

“Every revolution has its corollary the massacre of the innocents.” Charles Baudelaire

Well, surely all the ones so far.

“To know oneself, one should assert oneself.” Albert Camus

If only to discover how others know you.

“One recognizes one's course by discovering the paths that stray from it." Albert Camus

Wow, there must be hundreds of them that stray from mine. And that's just here.

“You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.” Albert Camus

Come on, one way or another, you are either living or you're not.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Tue May 22, 2018 11:14 pm
by iambiguous
Meg Wolitzer

You didn't always need to be the dazzler, the firecracker, the one who cracked everyone up, or made everyone want to sleep with you, or be the one who wrote and starred in the play that got the standing ovation. You could cease to be obsessed with the idea of being interesting.

Even if you never really were.

It's funny how you can go for a long time in life not needing someone, and then you meet them and you suddenly need them all the time.

Hasn't happened yet but point taken.

But now the world, he thought, had taken them. He knew that this could suddenly happen. One day you just woke up, and there was somewhere that you needed to be.

Hasn't happened yet but point taken.

You know, I sometimes think that the most effective people in the world are introverts who taught themselves how to be extroverts.

Is that even possible?

...fawn face, the expression a deer makes not when it's caught in headlights but when it catches a human looking at it in wonder. The deer looks back, acknowledging not only its own terror but its own grace, and it shows off for a moment in front of the human. It flirts.

I'll just assume that this is made up.

You're telling me that because of the Internet, and the availability of every experience, every whim, every tool, sudden everyone's an artist? But here's the thing: if everyone's an artist, then no one is.

Or: You're telling me that because of the Internet, and the availability of every experience, every whim, every tool, sudden everyone's a philosopher? But here's the thing: if everyone's a philosopher, then no one is.

Re: a thread for mundane ironists

PostPosted: Wed May 23, 2018 5:24 pm
by iambiguous
Jim Carroll

Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us.

You know, if we're listening.

I'll Die For Your Sins If You Live For mine.

Sounds like a dopey song lyric, doesn't it?

That, I realized, is the great beauty of dreams: the devil may inevitably find a way to jerk you off, but you can always wake up before he makes you cum.

Never even came close in fact. But that's just me.

You see, you just don't know
I'm here to give you my heart
And you want some fashion show

What did he expect in the world today?

Violence is so terribly fast . . . the most perverse thing about the movies is the way they portray it in slow motion, allowing it to be something sensuous . . . the viewer's lips slightly wet as the scene plays out. Violence is nothing like that. It is lightning fast, chaotic, and totally intangible.

As God meant it to be.

On a whim, he stopped and bought a watch from a sidewalk vendor. Normally, Billy could not abide keeping time, especially when it was attached to one’s body. Time was like a relentlessly needy lapdog one had to haul around. It barked too much and had no sense of loyalty.

Of course he's just paraphrasing Stephen Hawkings