this is a manifesto denying the denial of Solipsism... and then turning tail and running back down Plato's cave... achingly wonderful reasons on my mind...

it’s also me taking a swing at Sophia… which is to say Maya… only it might turn out to be a hug…

hope you like it,

ryan =)

(snag a copy @ http://mayasecret.googlepages.com/home
or email me @ mayasecret@gmail.com
and I'll schmooze one on over thatta way... =)

can you post this as a text file?

Here's the Text:


el solipsisto manifesto...
(so far…)


quiddity
“1. essence: the real nature or essential character of something
2. trifling distinction: an unimportant or trifling distinction
[Mid-16th century. < medieval Latin quidditas < Latin quid "what"]”
(Encarta online)



“His brother-in-law, he said, owned twenty-eight trucks, and was President of the Pyramid Trucking Company.
‘Why did he name his company Pyramid?’ asked Trout. ‘I mean—this thing can go a hundred miles an hour, if it has to. It’s fast and useful and unornamental. It’s as up-to-date as a rocket ship. I never saw anything that was less like a pyramid than this truck.’

A pyramid was a sort of huge stone tomb which Egyptians had built thousands and thousands of years before. The Egyptians didn’t build them anymore. The tombs looked like this, and tourists would come from far away to gaze at them:



‘Why would anybody in the business of highspeed transportation name his business and his trucks after buildings which haven’t moved an eighth of an inch since Christ was born?’
The driver’s answer was prompt. It was peevish, too, as though he thought Trout was stupid to have to ask a question like that. ‘He liked the sound of it,’ he said. ‘Don’t you like the sound of it?’

Trout nodded in order to keep things friendly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s a very nice sound.’”
(Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions)



“In its origin language belongs to the age of the most rudimentary psychology. We enter a realm of crude fetishism when we summon before consciousness the basic presuppositions of the metaphysics of language — in plain talk, the presuppositions of reason. Everywhere reason sees a doer and doing; it believes in will as the cause; it believes in the ego, in the ego as being, in the ego as substance, and it projects this faith in the ego-substance upon all things — only thereby does it first create the concept of "thing." Everywhere "being" is projected by thought, pushed underneath, as the cause; the concept of being follows, and is a derivative of, the concept of ego. In the beginning there is that great calamity of an error that the will is something which is effective, that will is a capacity. Today we know that it is only a word.”
(Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, "REASON" IN PHILOSOPHY, s. 5, Walter Kaufmann and R.J. Hollingdale transl. )

See,
the thing with Solipsism?…
is that it’s extremely agitative for an extravagantly large number of people who are… well, let’s just go with ‘undowithoutable’ for now, and see if we can’t clear that up a little bit later on...
So, of self interest alone - social acceptance would be another fine motive - it'd be best for me to just avoid this pathology altogether...
Only, once one has been introduced to Solipsism… or Brahmanism, Zen, Dàoism, Parmenides, Heracleitus, really any such paradoxically foxy existential trigger men... while easily banished to the masses, such possibilities cling to a philosopher’s doorframe with fingertips reminding a soul touched with wonder that not only is behavior like this more difficult for us... but that this just isn’t what ought to be done with uncomfortable ideas at all...
Prevaricating, in a single breath, begs sincerity...

Of course viewing such traditions from across a reclining nose is doubtlessly effective should one wish to fly philosophical colors through one’s intellectual circles... only I’m bitter... and these hands aren’t going down w/ a ship drifting amid crumpled up charts tossed overboard by crumpled up captains on the same journey themselves… previous underpinnings swimmingly unsatisfactory... fated anchors hoisted amid the inevitable minority of agreement which a mass of disharmony ensures... mutiny ever never cliché...

Cast a glance over the stern however, and one soon sees that the curmudgeonly ivory tower behavior of not toeing this line has indeed found itself a crotchety frown raked across the faces of a few philosophical giants... not exactly either... Kierkegaard and Nietzsche immediately recognizable among the little band of Jolly Roger smarty-pants unwilling to play along… none too pleased in vain with having their little dinghy of malcontent dragged along upstream... despite their published thoughts… with, not surprisingly, a few seats to spare... creaking ivy halyards, a wink, and a sigh in spite of itself seducing the absurd poetry of ‘Man overboard’...

The thing is, that no matter how long we sourpuss our faces at them - which is what I imagine Polemarchus to have seen Socrates do - the satisfaction of watching that inquisitive ivory ark keel over’s sitting in the empty seat next to me… and it’s not going anywhere… not while philosophy’s coasting upon the intellectual loophole which we’ve come to call the ‘paradigm shift’(ty Kuhn)… denying not so much as precluding any obligation to jump ship so long as those on board continue to ride out their inclination to just plain not notice icebergs and lemons... philosophy - foundationally - thus in no way required to give up the ghost so long as it refuses to recognize any other traditions which the phantom of the ivory tower might otherwise haunt... the Ralphie losing lug nuts on a dark highway roundabout Christmas time of it all however, the realization that while philosophy refuses to acknowledge an alternative, those within its box are lavished with a poverty of thoughts alfresco... which is where I’m off to... having lost my faith in a tradition overly preoccupied with keelhauling skippers (and stopgapping these self-sprung leaks with illusions of progress) to be bothered with the possibility that it’s floating upon nothing but soaked corks and pages which have buckled...

And so this is where I begin... having jumped corks... or rather having walked out of the basement level mitosis? department of the ivory tower... which is where a normal reality was lost lovingly to the expansiveness of ancient minds gone genius... until it all came to an end the day my belief in language left me... the day my faith in an unsatisfied self-fulfilling prophecy slipped from my hands...

“From the time of the invention of the alphabet, if not before,
all technologies have originated in language.”
(Robbins, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates)

Including metaphysics... words still trying to push past themselves... just because they say they can… and thus apparently ought to... only can't… again, despite whatever they might have to say on the matter... though not for lack of trying... our ongoing misadventure of pigeonholing this Universe? still up and swinging... mythically, philosophically, and scientifically... Nobel prizes awarded, however, to only one of these categories... science contenting itself with stuff writ small?... which is everything it can get its hands on… and thus, with a virtual and continuing monopoly on everything it fancies, as far as chicanery’s concerned, when science gets its hands on things, pigeons get housed...

Philosophy, in contrast, finds itself to this day an entirely roofless enterprise... and before you tsk tsk, I’d remind you not to be too hasty in your judgment until you’ve walked that old stretch in their shoes... a philosophical mile of progress about two and a half millennia in the making... meaning that you’ll have to wait... which might explain all the hostility?... this professional unfriendliness explaining all nine yards... to no one’s satisfaction… a job well done…
Trot out any rational firepower you’d like - vintage on - but there’s no other path for philosophical thinkery than to jam in the hands of whatever certainty it’s about to regret campaigning for... or already does… adding yet another tomb to the ivory bone yard... strife partially interred upon a bookshelf near you...

And so how is it apparent philosophy’s any less wrong than it was millennia ago?
By its being implicitly oblivious of its being anything but...
And that’s it...

Which leads me to question how words anywhere have improved upon Hesiod’s Theogony, quite likely the mythical means to have sparked the pre-Socratic search for cosmological answers more what + how than the who + why variety found in their day...(ty Prof. Louis Markos + ttc?) the rest of this story, as they say, philosophy and science... with perhaps the most conspicuous dissimilarity between these two groups of antitheogonists the distinction that when scientists are eclipsed (believed to have been surpassed by and large and for good, rather than by whichever philosophically charmed circle’s currently in flavor…), they tend to remain an absolutely essential stride strode along the flourishing of their tradition... a foundational brick within their modern-day tower of Babel... imagination today scraping sky unimaginably high while burrowing deeper than deep’s ever been known to dare…

The present sore thumb salience of this philosophically exotic elusiveness science is pleased to call progress, is, that its absence is a pickle yet to find itself a soggy metaphorical cucumber appreciated with any sincerity by the ivory tower… this embarrassment the whispering hiding behind a hand letting slip on how scientists have figured out how to redraw their limits a step forward... by actually having taken a step forward... gasp I know… progress not exactly happening within philosophy... big ideas paper-tigered as they are in the face of relativity... an origami roar p’shawing ellipses… wobbling words... highfalutin logic shaking in its boots... distastefully tubby circles bringing with them not only the realization that there will always be at least one other way of looking at things?, but as well the confession that a single logical focus will forever find itself denied capitalization… by way of the tugging of the pushing away of an inseparable presumption… which oughtn’t be there… much less noticed… despite its undowithoutableness... and we’ll see if we can’t clear this up a bit later on as well...

Suffice it to note that ivory ideas have been left long ago far behind... philosophy to this day unable to put one foot down in front of the other... obsessed instead with the employment of its free leg in kicking its only support out from under itself than with walking... this kung-fu yoga for one subtitled - for simplicity’s sake - ‘whack... thud’... ‘whack… thud…’ ad mitotic perplexium…

And yet, upon setting - supposedly - prescient gazes upon this ongoing inquisition, philosophers somehow manage to find progress... which is to say that these spin doctors are very good at what they do indeed… rarely ever suspected even to exist… least of all by themselves… almost all keen eyes yet to notice the ivory tower’s laurelled foundations... chipped and strewn bricks baring the abuse they’ve dished out and taken in turn... weapons and refuse collectively recycling a tradition unable to refrain from casting stones at itself long enough to build anything more eloquent than a wanting chronicle of eclipsed careers…

Scientific limits whimper at the sight of lab coats…
And it’s also worth mentioning that the people sporting these threads and chasing these intellectual horizons actually have a squeak at dying w/ an accomplishment which today might still be as universally tenable as universally tenable’s ever gonna get…
A philosopher - mutatis mutandis - upon being eclipsed, is usually seen as being just mistaken… the unfortunate though brilliant victim of a logical oversight which no one of note’s making anymore... or at least shouldn’t be… not with a new show in town… and it’s for this reason detergent commercials in the ivory tower don’t concern themselves with ring-around-the-collar; their expertise lies in removing conspicuous footprints from the back of whatever those foolish enough to publish originality happened to have been wearing at the time… which again begs - as well as begs off - the question: What then is progress in philosophy?

Thales’, Plato’s, Descartes’, or any philosopher’s successors haven’t helped end the great debate one jot or a single snippet… and thus it’s not a particularly easy particularly Herculean Labor defending the proposition that progress really has been made... unless the great debate of philosophy is supposed to go on forever(which - being a conversation - it is…)... and then(thus) I guess it’s been a good show by all...

Science avoids just this kind of slapstick fall-downery by not only pulling off a seemingly endless succession of small steps for humanity, accomplished amidst a preponderance of agreement that the dawn of a new horizon of human understanding has just indeed done so?… (again coming off much better than philosophy’s attempts at the same result by way of disagreement)... but also by putting together a tradition which builds on itself... in a direction which one might comfortably describe as ‘forward’... deflatingly precluding the possibility of the philosopher ever seeing eye to eye with the scientist... the more magniloquent of the 2 at first glance appearing to be sailing in the opposite direction... and on second rather not really at all...

See... it all begins and ends with limits... and I just can’t help but notice that while scientists daily grapple with misty extents suspected to lie just beyond their achievements behind them (lionized bricks which actually sometimes stay put?)... ever intent on progress... these curious creatures we call philosophers usually seem to have their limits - and often Limits - already figured out... pro tempore?... which is Latin for ‘the time being’… though ‘not really’ finds itself equally apt... philosophy thus appearing to me as a one stop treasure map… just one lonely ?… rubbed out and scribbled over in succession... the booty by the looks of it the eraser shavings… which is to say that Aristotle followed right after Plato… but you wouldn’t think so… and Raphael & Co. can paint until the cows come home in scant danger of ever having to brush the philosophical faux pas of 2 great minds pointing in the same direction…

Philosophers…
Decreasingly creative historians of philosophy might nowadays prevail as the more accurate job description - mitosis department, lower executive level - if not on account of the unconscious misgivings nagging one having to think original thoughts within a tradition typically if not wholly comprised of eclipsed careers - ‘eclipse’ a decadently innocuous term for the ripping of the torch from the unwilling hands of one’s predecessor - or groceries, then perhaps philosophers have simply wised up to the fact that our best minds for thousands of years have yet to wall the ivory tower with anything able to withstand the public stonings of the tower’s belligerent inhabitants themselves...

And what of the fate of the endangered handful of the per se variety inevitably still scratching around somewhere?
Well, they - like all who enter - must resign themselves to the fact that all light caught shining in the ivory tower eventually finds itself outshone… and that bricks of ivy inescapably support nothing more than shadows and opinions...

“What are man's truths ultimately?
Merely his irrefutable errors.”
(Nietzsche, The Gay Science, s.265, Walter Kaufmann transl.)

So I guess… not surprisingly… my favorite Dialogue of Plato is his Parmenides...
This refuted error is - if you can believe it - WP’s founding father gate crashing his own divine middle period... which is pretty much the mob of ideas continuing to predominate Western thought to this day...
Meaning, that apparently the word’s yet to get out...

Yup… the lines of the Parmenides - not to be turned away by a Pillow in the Night - are the sounds of dripping leaks and creaky hinges chez Plato... and circa this dialogue, had the inhabitants of his Republic listened carefully, they’d have also heard the horrible sounds of a bum’s rush shuffling up… this unsettling breeze most likely just more stink to embark from the newly arrived rabble of squatters… those detestable descendents of Parmenides… and the mountains of turtles which seemed to arrive with each new dawn…

So why the Parmenides?
I love Plato for writing the dialectic into Socrates’ ears… for facing the music of logos with sincerity… for throwing back his shot of hemlock? with a determination to get through it… for refusing to abandon that second step… and for not lying to me…
The Divided Line had to go… or at least had to be admitted to be the chicken scratches of turtle tails that it was and is...
Yes, there were(are) indeed turtles in the midst...
Jillions…

“What is the difference between someone who is convinced and one who is deceived?
None, if he is well deceived.”
(Nietzsche, Notebooks, Spring 1888 14 [159])

Either of which Plato apparently wasn’t after the Eleactics had huffed and puffed and, well, if you’re familiar with this dialogue then you know where this is going... the icky part of the Parmenides... the Third Man... a misleadingly innocent enough fellow standing diabolically in front of the fourth chap queuing within Aristotle’s infamous example... a commotion I’d’ve called the Turtle Kafuffle if it’d been up to me… as it always brings to mind Stephen Hawking’s retelling of the tale about the old woman telling (possibly) Bertrand Russell that his science was bunk, and that the world really rested upon the back of a turtle...
To which the good professor smiles, and inquires as to what it is that the turtle’s resting upon…
Hold on to your hats again...
“You're very clever young man, very clever,” replies the old woman, “but it's turtles all the way down!”(ty A Brief History of Time)

Mud.
The Form of Mudness
The Form of the Form of Mudness
The Form of the Form of the Form of Mudness
Etc.

Each Form must logically be participating in a Form preceding itself for it to have its existence as a Form… et cetera… et cetera… and so on… dividing any single thing up into an infinite wisp of things... instead of lower- and Uppercase accounts case closed… which was kind of the point of the whole project… which is logic for you... turtles all the way down... all the way up…

‘Ah yes, Socrates, you’re the one who believes in those Forms of yours, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, that was me’ sighs Plato...

"To what extent can truth endure incorporation?
That is the question; that is the experiment."
(Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Sec. 110)

Solipsism’s not about an ego-trip gone too far; it’s about distinctions riding the coattails of insincerity... bringing us to your fair warning… as this absurdity of an ankle boogie I’m heel-and-toeing might quite possibly turn out to be the Truth’s last childproof safety cap... and trust me you don’t want to play with this one... for the reason that the Lack-Of-Contents which ought be inside, only, looked at from this (the only) side somehow Aren’t, is a big ol’ can of Hamartia? if there ever was One... so… if you’re coming… as I ditch my little ivory corner... toss Solipsism... and head back down Plato’s cave… dreamy, smoky, and shadow-filled eyes winking this time… don’t fiddle with the lid…

And I guess perhaps I should apologize in advance, as this isn’t going to be very good philosophy at all… in no way an organized progression of thought… these ideas instead more interested in raising Cain with: ‘We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re a parade of paradox!’ than in saying anything they don’t immediately or haven’t already deemed nonsense… preferring to swagger, stagger, and skip than point themselves in any direction that’s going anywhere… and they’re going to get rather Singular… or at least they’ll going to try very hard To… until they try even harder not to… and thus - if you’re gonna stick with me on this mystical yarn I’ll soon be spinning - you few cursed souls with a sincerity shunned by other adjectives as long as pathological’s on the scene, you ought be wary... for yet another Ariadne I may yet be... only you best not follow this string to the End...

Honest…
We can have meaning, or we can have Truth, but we can’t have both...

"when you gaze long into an abyss,
the abyss gazes also into you."
(Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 146)

Ok, now what we’ve got to keep in mind when it comes to existential trigger men is: metaphysics isn’t exactly everything It’s all cracked up to be… and I’ll get around to explaining exactly why Stuff like?(Chán/Zen)-Buddhism isn’t whatever you think It is... suffice it for now to jot down the bit about Zen surely being the sincere search for the fundamental stuff of the Universe?... only More… which is the Hamartia… and notice that while Zen’s nodding its head to this, It’s also rolling its eyes and licking its cheek...

Zen’s also whispering in a kinky kind of smile that It’s really not Nowhere from which there’s any recognizable coming back from... so you don’t have to worry about That… and that It’s only occasionally deeply concerned with words like: ‘emptiness,’ ‘nothing,’ and ‘fundamental Buddha nature’…
but trust me…
Zen-Buddhism is what silence finds disturbingly quiet...
And, as far as ?(Dào)’s concerned, That’s just a speck of an idea too… finally/instantaneously losing even that last little piece of pepper… which is you… within a shoreless ocean of you…

“And all the information we received about the planet we were on
indicated that idiots were lovely things to be.”
(Vonnegut, Slapstick)

Idiots are indeed lovely things to be, because when it comes to Soggy-Pepper?, I always find it best to remember that the Buddha’s path was also walked by an abandoned wife and child… and that while a perhaps equally sincere Socrates may indeed have been a wonderfully daimonic bumpkin of a philosopher(ty Prof. Sugrue + ttc), he was apparently a lousy dad, and a poor example of a husband as well...
Depressing sub-carpet secrets indeed... though reasons to abandon sincerity not exactly shabby...

“Mystical explanations are considered deep.
The truth is that they are not even superficial.”
(Nietzsche, The Gay Science, s.126, Walter Kaufmann transl.)

Except Soggy-Pepper’s also both… and everything in between… especially the Nothing… which is, trust me, most definitely Nothing to be scared of… as It was, for me, the last thing I remember before noticing that Al had gotten his fingers through the 4 lids folded in through themselves… right before my box cracked a smile… and Truth Cracked a me?…

Of course the snafu when it comes to Truth is: that It’s not something that’s not… because that’s something… which is meaning… and It’s not something that is either… because that’s meaning too… and It’s certainly not a ‘that’… and definitely not an ‘It’… and never does It ‘is’… and never will It find Itself being read, discussed, or written about by anyone… for words are divisions… distinctions… or at least they’re supposed to be… and Truth has no limits… or at least It’s not supposed to… philosophical progress thus measured w/ terms of significance… and Satori with nonsense…
“A mind to search elsewhere
For the Buddha,
Is foolishness
In the very centre of foolishness.”
Ikkyu(Watts, The Way of Zen, 164)

… described only with nonsense, for Satori walking a mile in the shoes of a sentence object is precisely where you’re not going to find It… for you can’t think One… 0… 8… Etc.… unless of course Maya?’s lending a hand… which - if you’re reading this - she is…

To renounce belief in one's ego, to deny one's own ‘reality’ -- what a triumph! not merely over the senses, over appearance, but a much higher kind of triumph, a violation and cruelty against reason -- a voluptuous pleasure that reaches its height when the ascetic self-contempt and self-mockery of reason declares: "there is a realm of truth and being, but reason is excluded from it!
(Nietzsche, Genealogy of Morals, s III.12, Walter Kaufmann transl.)

Nietzsche might not have had Satori on the mind around the time he wrote that… but you never know…

“What then is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms -- in short, a sum of human relations, which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellished poetically and rhetorically, and which after long use seem firm, canonical, and obligatory to a people: truths are illusions about which one has forgotten that is what they are; metaphors which are worn out and without sensuous power; coins which have lost their pictures and now matter only as metal, no longer as coins.
We still do not know where the urge for truth comes from; for as yet we have heard only of the obligation imposed by society that it should exist: to be truthful means using the customary metaphors - in moral terms, the obligation to lie according to fixed convention, to lie herd-like in a style obligatory for all...”
(Nietzsche, On truth and lie in an extra-moral sense, The Viking Portable Nietzsche, p.46-7, Walter Kaufmann transl.)

Truth - and this is the Real-Skinny, perhaps more “violation and cruelty against reason” than one might reasonably expect on any given afternoon, regardless - isn’t any combination or arrangement of words anywhere, -time, or -how…
Truth is the Cessation of the denial of separateness... the Abandonment of objectification... the End of locating things anywhere… or at least the Realization that It’d be an Honest-Idea...

(Ok, I’ve got to get this in before I go any further…)
Mynas are a ‘gregarious’ bird occurring naturally only in Eastern Asia, though they’ve been introduced to North America, New Zealand, as well as Australia, where they’re particularly viewed as a pest…(ty Wikipedia)
They’ve also become known for their imitative vocal skills, and in the past have tipped off at least one Chinese wife as to her husband’s infidelity… I shit you not(ty BBC + Mr. Vonnegut)…
Shiverin’ me timbers atop Alan’s shoulder… I myself may not entirely escape this same fate… the pest one that is... though those in the know as far as Alan’s concerned will wink with the understanding that once the Message which he found himself a part of begins to become you... you’re It...

“

Trout plundered his pockets for a pen or pencil.
He had an answer to the question.
But he had nothing to write with, not even a burnt match.
So he left the question unanswered, but here is what he would have written,
if he had found anything to write with:

To be
the eyes
and ears
and conscience
of the Creator of the Universe,
you fool.”
(Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions)

Ok… get a good ‘guffaw’ ready to fly, because I’ve already begun telling you that your 5 senses don’t bring you into contact with the physical world sane people locate ‘out there’; they separate you from it… and there’s no turning back now… eyes and ears and the other usual suspects not so much windows to the Universe… as the Universe… Maya… whistling while she works… flowing seamlessly into what I also think to be me... stitchy words and all...

really…

Never is the other never us...
Meaning, that while this may come as a shock… while you’re doing what we call ‘seeing,’ you’re not looking out… in no honest way having a little look-see past your nose… but rather you’re putting an entire Universe ‘out there’… behind your eyes… things the other side of you not really there as much as they’re you throwing some of yourself outside of yourself… never suspecting that that’s what’s happening… light a hop, skip, and a jump away from your eyes not exactly doing a very decent job of existing out there all by itself... honest… electromagnetic radiation not yet touching you a hypothetical think located within your mind… rather behind your eyes than in front of them... an inch away from you a venue occurring within your thoughts... which is where stars explode... exclusively...

When you get around to understanding Alan Watts’ think of a ‘think’, this all falls into place a little more than it might not be presently… so let’s just say for now that reality is your 5 senses… both sides… both ways… Maya blowing into a pinwheel… a Universe sighing itself…

So what’s a ‘think’?... it’s a unit of thought… which is a mind sucker-punching itself if you just let it sink in… and if this think - this piece of you - hasn’t knocked you off your chair yet, don’t worry, it’s going to underlie everything I’ve got to say here… and I’ll see if I just can’t sock that think-box of yours in the gut for you…

So what is happening when I see all that stuff out there that’s not me?
Pretty much the opposite of what it looks like… not so much light streaming in… as it is stuff streaming out…

“Why was C selected to symbolize the speed of light
when Z was obviously the fastest letter in the alphabet?”
(Robbins, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates)

Now of course light and other such abstractions seem to have existence independent of my mind… seem to be on the side of my eyes that I’m not… only to this I’ve just shared my opinion that they only do this within the part(think) of (the think of) my mind that’s supposed to be ‘out there’ but isn’t... and thus it should come as no great surprise as I let you in on the anticlimax of the speed of light running the gauntlet of the Universe and coming forth as speeding gold each time (186,282.4 miles per second for all you imperialists ‘out there’) astonishing me much less than it used to...
I mean if you can agree with Kant?, then it’s rather the human mind which runs through the speed of light each and every time we open our eyes...
And thus, when we finally did get around to clocking light for the first time... even before the final digits were in... while the bets were still on the table and the proverbial horses yet to break from the gate… those in the know already knew a guy who erewhile had the winning number... and it was a big one... and quite similar to the velocity we had no choice but to assign to a speeding wavicle(ty Alan) of light... meaning that light travels that fast because the matrix we use to grid and decorate our Universe won’t allow it to go any other pace… which, miraculously, is just the speed it travels at…

Light also dashes @ close to 300 million meters per second (±299,792,458), & yet its head-on collisions with the soft tissue of my eyeballs for the most part cause no discomfort at all… though ultraviolet and beyond does begin the onset of uneasiness... cellular and otherwise... as - depending on when, how, and where It hits you - Bright-Light has lead to such unpleasantness as hemlock, bullets, and crucifixion...

“Weeds only grow when we dislike them”
(Eihei Dogen, Genjokoan)

Discomfort…
A deviated optimum reality having its way with you…
Only there is no deviated optimum reality not out there somewhere... things unable to be other than how they are?... said Parmenides; says me... unless we allow ourselves to bewitch ourselves(ty Wittgenstein)... chatter chatter chatter... and then shall lives find themselves filled with the all too familiar fretting over bad drivers, the duplicity of language... which is to say the Universe… and even the nothing which can’t help finding itself a grammatical object in this ol’ Everything Festival…

“One cannot arrive at no-mind unless one has a mind to start from.
The brighter the mind gleams, the softer the silence of the eventual no-mind,
just as the overturned bucket that was once brimming seems so much emptier
than the bucket that never held milk in the first place.
Thanks for filling my little pail.”
(Robbins, Villa Incognito)

For proof of an external world Cambridge professor G.E. Moore held up his own and said: ‘Here is one hand, and here is another’…

This of course begged the ignorance of his audience... all the while awash in it... Maya already there incognito... everything under control... and she’s as busy these days as when she watched the good professor lift his shadowy paws onto a smoky wall of rock... in no danger at all of being laughed off of the stage... for the simple reason that no one noticed that when Moore held up his hands, not only did one plural word make the journey, but skin, fingernails, blood, tendons, metacarpi, and a mite amount more than a little bacteria all came up with it/them... among other things… naturally unnoticed by all... as Moore wasn’t talking about thumbs and digital bones… he was talking about hands... this kind of understanding not so much selective ecology as inherent ignorance... Moore, after all, a human being…

What I’m spelling out here, is that in order to play poker you’ve gotta know the rules, and you have to follow them… or you can’t play... unless you’re really good at cheating... and the same's true if you want to play the game of philosophy...

I would have loved to have attended that lecture… to have found out whether Professor Moore was indeed in possession of the arcane knowledge of exactly where these hands of his changed into their ‘wrist’ work clothes(ty Alan)... and where exactly ‘elbows’ might have fit into the scheme… and then no longer... simply some among an infinite number of divided lines he might have shown me... dividing one think from another... objective things from subjective things... perhaps one raised hand ahead of an equally imaginative Marx just about to stand up and let fly on what he thought about hands and what they ought rather be doing instead of modeling for an idea which just isn’t very persuasive…

“We are each of us fish, and we are water to one another”
(Vigorito, Just a couple of days)

Now again, I can’t deny that it’s fantastical that abstractions seem to exist where they’re supposed to - and quixotic until they actually do - only an abstraction’s simply an idea of something happening outside of my mind, within my mind... myself mitoticizing myself?… until I stop… which we call ‘dying’… this self-division the beginning of Solipsism… and the awareness of it possibly the End of it as well…

Abstractions trail turtles... and so do I… and the kicker is - that uncomfortable an idea as it may be - even ordinary everyday divided lines (chairs, yous, and… um… everything…) string along stuff as well… stuff which always winds its way into other stuff… always… unless this is starting to stretch your sincerity... in which case a leap of faith’ll get you where you want to go in a jiffy?...

Verily I say unto you: Any divided line - any! - takes you one step further from the Truth that’s as much you as your spleen - Itself just yet more distinction you’ve cracked yourself into - unless you come to a tear which trips you up just enough to Disappear... which is Satori... which, as far as existing’s concerned, is kind of like a sneeze disappearing mid a-choo... only it’s you who never choos...
Ontological like a fox…

Here’s a good story - from among the heaps of them - to help get this Empty idea across: One day a samurai misplaces a teapot - as priceless as it was ancient - on the edge of a table, and almost pops both eyes out of his head as he watches the thing begin to fall...
Now he catches it... but in that moment Satories... letting his treasure gone One-less-than-One continuing its journey south...(ty ??? Tsai Chih Chung)

Yet, before Satori Nabs you, distinctions - besides being fantastically useful and absolutely necessary - take you step after step deeper into your self?... hand in hand with Maya… strolling down into the depths of what your best guess ventures to be a cave... right past some Greek guy (nose big, toga dirty)… who… by the sounds of it… seems to be coming back down for you…

‘You’re just a drop in the ocean of me…’
muses Narcissus’ better half…

Should distinctions occur solely within the mind… if abstractions are all liars… then ipso facto my friend … we’re It...
As in Everything… wonderfully terrible and the other way around too…

You don’t have to agree with me, but I am curious, how is the air in front of your eyes in a dream more not you than the air in front of your eyes right now?
Air obviously not you… entirely you…

“There in the cocktail lounge, peering out through my leaks at a world of my own invention, I mouthed this world: schizophrenia.
The sound and appearance of the word had fascinated me for many years. It sounded and looked to me like a human being sneezing in a blizzard of soapflakes.
I did not and do not know for certain that I have that disease. This much I knew and know: I was making myself hideously uncomfortable by not narrowing my attention to details which were immediately important, and by refusing to believe what my neighbors believed.”
(Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions)

Tautologies - in case you were wondering - are as real as chairs, fairy dust, and a reality that never happened…
Propositions too... unless you make an absurd(ly rational) leap of bewitchery… and you can pull your own leg if you want to - I both commend and recommend this idea - but the truth is, you’ve probably already had your mind made up for you as an infant... which is the fate befalling baby moms and dads as you read this...

I used to fit into this whole scheme of things with promise...
Now however, disheartened hippies are pacing within this fairly dilapidatedly mystical double-decker-flower-jalopy I try to think well with... somewhat uneasily aware of the Zen monks gawking serenely at the steering wheel below... behind whom sits I… asking for some direction... and when Ikkyu finally gets around to turning around to give me his 2¢, this is the comfort two Zennish pennies’ll get you:
‘I'd like to offer something to help you,
but in the Zen school we don't have a single thing!’
This followed by some seriously childish belly laughter... until, eyes twinkling with giggle-tears, Basho winks and wonders aloud over my direction: “So… any idea how we start this thing?”

Years ago... as my fanny began to face westward with evermore sincerity... little did the far out swingers up top know what they were in for… little did I… and Nothing did the cute little floor flowers up front… who didn’t have anywhere to go... and weren’t worried at all...

“We have arranged for ourselves a world in which we can live - by positing bodies, lines, planes, causes and effects, motion and rest, form and content; without these articles of faith nobody could now endure life. But that does not prove them. Life is no argument. The conditions of life might include error.”
(Nietzsche, The Gay Science, s.121, Walter Kaufmann transl.)

Philosophy began looking for the answers to its questions ages ago...
Ages ago, mystics had already found the One which Answers them all?…
And It’s still around...
Though you ought be wary of this Pilgrimage...
For the idea that All-is-One is scary...
Or at least it should be… self-help sections my ass...
All you are is distinction...

“It is quite impossible for a proposition to state that it itself is true.”
(Wittgenstein, Tractatus, 4.442)

Now forget about the fact that we work off of pretty much the exact opposite of this idea every day of the week, and under no circumstances entertain the equally socks-knocked-offingly possible state of affairs that a proposition is however, able to deny itself(ty Gödel?)… which - if you’d care to dare - leaves it increasingly difficult for one to work up anything more than pulp fiction sincerity when faced with the genius of language’s inability to resolve the questions which it demands of itself?... revealing the sneakiest delicious evils to steal away from Pandora’s box neurons with options... which is a problem… academia? not entirely innocuous… as within this vociferous coliseum... while bespectacled sticks and lettered stones may break no bones... around here words always get the last laugh...

“That faith makes blessed under certain circumstances,
that blessedness does not make of a fixed idea a true idea,
that faith moves no mountains but puts mountains where there are none:
a quick walk through a madhouse enlightens one sufficiently about this.”
(Nietzsche, The Antichrist, Sec. 51)

Just listen to a lecture on Descartes… or rather don’t...
But if you do for some reason (a degree perhaps), forget that this big green cheese didn’t end the Great Debate a chip or a chunk...
But rather modernized it…
Like that’s helped...

Don’t wonder whether he created more lasting problems than solutions…
Don’t try to figure out how exactly it is that the ghost and the machine actually get their hands on each other…
And never, ever suspect the possibility of Sophia herself sporting a Muse...

Or rather dig in and do; if you’re not bricking someone around here you’re just taking up space…

DAUPHIN
‘Self-love, my liege,
is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.’
(Shakespeare, Henry V, act 2, sc. 4, l. 74-5.)

Descartes… Cartesius…
How could he have not doubted language?
He doubts like no other stuffy Western philosopher had ever yet, only refuses to admit that a perfectly Evil Genius might possibly have dominion over dictionaries and grammars...
Mystics doubt...
Descartes had other things in mind...
Meaning that language was already ringside for this Don King moment in philosophy.

Pondering Descartes pondering Descartes... I’m rather left with the feeling that he was further a man of faith... in words... numbers... and grammar… than of doubt... as, once modern philosophy’s foundering father decides(predominantly in French) that he exists - by way of thinking - the logic which had already snuck back in through the back door - or rather hadn’t even been kicked out - blows even its mom’s ‘That’s my boy!’ out of her mouth as it proceeds to build a Perfect Being out of nothing more than bits and pieces of other words and the syntactic agent which seals all of its deals, tells itself that it’s destroyed an infinitely powerful Evil Genius, separates the mind from the body, and assures humanity true knowledge to boot...
And why not? Why would res cogitans ever cast a doubtful glance upon language when you can do so many fantastical things with it... thinks like Perfect Beings and res cogitans!?
And… let’s face it... who was he going to impress with a silent meditation?
René was playing the game… all he doubted were some words… and while he might possibly have pointed himself in the right direction… he walked backwards… which is both here and there... as well as dashing as far as what you’re reading’s concerned... in that not only was modern philosophy’s father cups and saucers incapable of burrowing past a think... but so too was its grandfather...

Here’s what Ambrose Bierce has to say about the Cartesian ghost haunting Vonnegut’s dog’s breakfast?:

Mind, n.
A mysterious form of matter secreted by the brain.
Its chief activity consists in the endeavor to ascertain its own nature,
the futility of the attempt being due to the fact that it has nothing but itself to know itself with.
(The Devil's Dictionary)

I’m not sure whether Tom Robbins had Descartes in mind when he wrote:
“A successful external reality depends on an internal vision that is left intact”
(Still Life with Woodpecker)
... but I know that I do...
Descartes should have doubted presuppositions, should be shown the door, and should never again find himself starring in a philosophical lecture hall as anything other than yet another mistaken(ly) laurelled brick which ought either be tossed away for good, or at least withheld from undergrads until they’re prepared to deal with such obesely momentous red herrings...
Unless you’re working within the Western tradition… in which case teach him first year...

Poor Descartes... this armchair philosopher was his own evil genius... remains many an undergrad’s... and to this day continues to induce many older and wiser people who could know better to dash progresslessly upon the scuffy spot of ivory delineating the philosopher’s fool’s errand... rosy spectacles somewhat fishy... inclined to be blind to the fact that had René been truthful - had he really been after the wizard behind the curtain - he would have doubted his abc’s... and so might we... though, of course, like Cartesius and Professor Moore, coward dogs? doth we best be...

Semiotics
“the study of signs and symbols of all kinds, what they mean,
and how they relate to the things or ideas they refer to”
(Encarta Online)

Which is… somewhat circular, no?
Regardless, what’s the first thing you teach a baby?
A think...
You semiotitize it?… by somehow hogtying oodles of turtles... and eventually it just gets ridiculous how children - like me - can throw around words like ‘Universe,’ ‘mysteriously,’ and ‘air’ like we’ve got any comprehensive(sincere) idea of whatever it(or It) is(or Is) we’re talking about...
You know Wittgenstein used to interrupt people and ask them what they meant by a particular word or few, when the crowd around him were following what was being said perfectly well, unless Wittgenstein asked them exactly what that person was in the process of meaning - or at least trying to - whereupon the ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’ would begin anew.

The thing is, that once you stop playing along and question - in a necessarily ornery kind of way - what it is that we’re doing with all this thinking(thinging), the situation gets rather daffy in a hurry... and this is because speech is simply incapable of functioning with any practicality within an environment demanding sincere rather than agreeable comprehensiveness... because it’s inconvenient... and thus not worth the bother...
And thus the mob doesn’t...

“The door to novelty is always slightly ajar: many pass it by with barely a glance, some peek inside but choose not to enter, others dash in and dash out again; while a few, drawn by curiosity, boredom, rebellion, or circumstance, venture in so deep or wander around in there so long that they can never find their way back out.”
(Robbins, Villa Incognito)

So what does one do finding oneself caught in front of words with the knowledge of them all being turtle-tiled rabbit holes...
Scooch on in or pass on by?
Well, I’ve already said that as far as the Game goes I’m back in... (thank you but no Socrates, Làozi, Gautama, et al., I’ll be down there if you need me)… I’ll play along… I will... just as soon as I can once again become contentedly unaware of the fallacy that the limits of the words in our language actually do just that, and that it’s clever to simply accept - though best not even find yourself attentive to the fact - that this is just what we do, and that it’s going to work, or rather it does work, so don’t ask questions, because rabbit holes are for children’s stories and furry little animals, and that’s it...
I will...
Only I’ve Been-Somewhere I wasn’t supposed to Go... and I’ve brought some dodgy swag back with me...
One rabbit hole was enough… and really any one’ll do... with the right amount of sincerity...
Absolutely-None.
One existentially grouchy evening I came to a divided line... pushed it down on the job... Nipped-Out-For-No-Amount-Of-Time... and, upon my return, discovered that while wonderfully meaningful illusions were still finding themselves spun over here… Betwixt a divided line on a Union-Break... well... let’s just say that Satori doesn’t fool around... and most certainly does not play any games?...
I did whatever ‘poof’ Doesn’t right before and right after it’s done poofing… snuck a misty memory of what It-Isn’t back with me… and now this haunting suspicion’s the key to my great ivory escape...

"People who comprehend a thing to its very depths rarely stay faithful to it forever.
For they have brought its depths into the light of day:
and in the depths there is always much that is unpleasant to see."
(Nietzsche, Human, all too Human, s.489, R.J. Hollingdale transl.)

Make no mistake: I’m running away from Solipsism, back down to my sooty loved ones, and you’re spending time with my dear john...
Thought this was going to be a manifesto for Solipsism huh?
Nay(ty Prof. Sugre + ttc)...
But neither is it going to be systematic ivory pomposity... the logic chopping we all know and love as philosophy for me now rather closer to aspiration than conviction(ty Prof. Robert H. Kane + ttc)... devoid of any expectation of propositions someday never not deserving a brick in response... which is very little faith in the notion of philosophical progress indeed... which is to say philosophy... which is all to say that while I may be showing René the door, I’m doing so hand in hand with Maya... whose veils - believe you me - best stay where they are...

“Like everything metaphysical
the harmony between thought and reality
is to be found in the grammar of the language.”
(Wittgenstein, Zettel, sct. 55 (1967)

Now, even though it looks like the Sun orbits the Earth, it’s not true…
However... if that’s so, then it’s true that it’s not true that the Sun orbits the Earth...
I know, I know... but what I’m getting at is this: that belief in the untrue... or the true... in fact in anything... or Anything… requires a leap of faith... which is a muffling of the Third man... and many, many floored turtles... though realistically it’s nothing more than a presupposition you’re most likely not even aware of...
You can reduce the untrue to truth, and the other way around, capitalized or writ small, and both to Absurdity, but we don’t… bless our little hearts... and all of their fixed ideas...

As far a true proposition is concerned, it’s only true as long as we say(think/believe) that it’s so… and for only as long as we agree not to wonder… which we do all the time - nitwittingly - with perfunctory leaps of faith that imaginary lines really do somehow dismantle the ‘Universe’ down into things(names/stuff)... which can and cannot be(Be)… are and are not true(True)… with the primary benefit being ideas free from the constraints of comprehensiveness...
This facilitates communication between the mob immensely...

It also gives God Somewhere to hang His Hat...

The wrinkle… is that I’ve disappeared… Mystical-Popcorn style... which is to say that I’ve appeared a second time…
I’ve also been to speech therapy (I had to have tubes put into my ears as a toddler), and speech therapy isn’t entirely unlike Mystical-One-less-than-Mystical-Oneness, in that once they’re done w/ you, you just don’t talk the same way you used to…

Were I more sociable, perhaps Disappearing’d be a profound(ly attention craving) confession told to dent the normality of certain cocktail parties just getting their feet wet - a neat story at the very least - only I used to be philosopher… meaning I’ve committed the ultimate philosophical sin... having cheated on Sophia... Greek for wisdom… and not Truth...

But is all this apropos??
À propos!
The Third Man is alive and criminally active!
‘More metaphysics huh? I’ll be taking That/Those…’
God help us!

And God help me write a better manifesto!
This is turning out to be more of a squirting flower in one hand and a Gun in the other... and get ready for another twist... because I’m finished going on about true and equally true untrue sentences... there being oh so many Meta-axes out there just begging to be ground...

Plato hasn’t been, isn’t now, and never will be the only one forced to give up his further-than-phusis; there is/are no metaphysics to begin with!
What Plato really had to set free and see if It/They loved him was his belief that there Was/Were…
Meaning: the Republic wasn’t built on faulty metaphysical foundations; it was built on subjective imaginary ones…
Which is to say that the Republic was built on faulty metaphysical foundations, because it was built on subjective imaginary ones…

“Popper’s own philosophy of science had this element of paranoia in it.
Because what he used to teach us is that the nearest thing to a true theory is one that hasn’t betrayed you yet.
Any proposition is bound to let you down finally, but we cling to the one’s that haven’t let us down yet.”
(Stephen Toulmin, from Wittgenstein’s Poker, 229)

Now, in case you’ve been loading the flare gun rather than paddling backwards alongside my cranky comrades and I, let me just rehash what’s going on here and see if I can’t get that gun out of your hands… or at least pointed somewhere a little less nerve-racking…
This good riddance to mutiny mutiny is an exposé… a luridly honest look at the anciently modern footprint of supposed philosophical progress upon which ivory tower laundromats make their living... their owners’ patient eyes beyond the windows behind their eyes... scrub brushes in hand... surrounded by dignified though trouserless men and women of genius... all eyes staring at that spot... with pity, longing, and with reminiscence... oblivious to the problem(embarrassment) of it being a single spot... footprint of progress to the number of one… yet to be filled with satisfaction... yet to be filled to the number of two...

Half a step in total... progress in the making... unless you consider displacing erroneous thought improvement... which sounds right... though loses considerable appeal once one notices that the replacements have each turned out to be slightly more recently unsatisfactory though somewhat less pedestalized erroneous-ish thought themselves…

“Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent.
It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction.”
(Einstein, Attributed -> Wikiquote)

Now before I skedaddle back on down to the chair that a deviated optimum reality never would have had me leave in the first place - just for kicks - I’m tossing Plato out of the cave with a rope around his waist (and Descartes without one), giving the man formerly known as Aristocles the aspirin which is just waiting for me to yank him back in, and then we’re going back home... down to see what life holds beyond mining language for Ineffability...
I apologize for any confusion, but the truth is, that as far as Solipsism/Truth/Satori/Etc.’s concerned, this manifesto’s a double agent… a mole in a rabbit hole… defending exactly what it’s warning you away from… proposed as this is where an Empty memory has lead me... and eschewed for the same Reason... there not being a single angelic smile or wrenching sob flourishing outside of this fuliginous magic...

Surreptitious
“trying to avoid being noticed: done in a concealed or underhand way
to escape notice, especially disapproval”
(Encarta Online)

Now, if it was news to you that Plato - in his own lifetime - had had a very good Rug yanked out from under him, don’t worry, because apparently very few people are actually taking this seriously... as in going home having lost objectivity would be a very bad day indeed for philosophers... and, fortunately for them, they apparently just don’t have to so long as they’re disinclined to give it up... as, until you actually shift paradigms - by way of the acknowledgement of an alternative - you get to keep the one you have...
(Thus, despite my thoughts on the subject, Descartes’ throwing a ghost in my machine and Hegel’s throwing one into history wasn’t and hasn’t been nonsensical enough to exclude either one of them from an ivory executive office with a view...
And Kant... well he’s always going to be for the most part nonsensical - ‘Most true?’ - though probably not on account of the intellectual turtle tails sticking out from under his logical landscaping - that is, illogical on account of his use of abstraction at all - but rather for the ridiculously high level of it that he’s working upon...)

Eternity is only 8 letters long...

Teleology... with its tapering finger... is pointing to an end... implying progress to that end... this tip of this tip - never quite - completing the priceless other half of the frame within which the depiction of progress snuggles… the ‘oh crap’ of it all the notion that if there is no end… and exceedingly shy beginning... then there’s precious little progress… only you’ll have to take my word for it...

Judge: ‘Now see here Defense, it is you who must bear the burden of proof.
You must either show us this nonexistent end you’re denying, or simply accept that there is one.’

“Every word is a prejudice.”
(Nietzsche, The Wanderer and his Shadow, s. 55, R.J. Hollingdale transl.)

And why am I wearing my cranky-pants with the idea progress tucked uncomfortably into the seat yet again?
Because progress implies improvement... from imaginary dot to imaginary dot... somewhere along the storyline of the ‘past,’ ‘present,’ and ‘future’… describing how somethink or another has gotten better... raising an interesting question:
Why?
Why make things ___er?
Because we’re bored easily? Competition? Money?

And our intellectual consumer products?
God doesn’t get billed as an Idea that’s getting Better every day, the Truth isn’t supposed to shine brighter tomorrow than it did yesterday, and metaphysics as a growth industry probably doesn’t sit well with most intellectuals... though I might be surprised...
Fortunately, this problem (that either A we are in possession of the answers to our deepest questions only we just can’t agree on them, or Them, or It, or B we’re not there yet... but it can’t be much longer… further... maybe... I mean this problem was hatched by people who believed the atom to be just that - at their finest - so surely we’re almost there... fingers crossed...) can be resolved quickly, easily, and comfortably: all you have to do is believe that there’s a there to which we’re almost there, or is now here... which is perfectly facile... as, within language, you can’t help but...

Now either scenario, that there is an end(End) but it’s still (after oodles of time) spewing turtles, or we’ve got it(It) - don’t worry; we’re there - we’re just still in the process of improving here until it’s a little more cachet... well - outside of writing manifestos - neither inspire me much anymore...

“’You know what truth is?’ said Karabekian. ‘It’s some crazy thing my neighbor believes.
If I want to make friends with him, I ask him what be believes.
He tells me, and I say, ‘yeah, yeah-ain’t it the truth?’”
(Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions)

Now I doubt that you’ve been reading this with ‘Yeah, yeah-ain’t it the truth’ nodding your head for you…
And even if you have?, dealing with ideas so counterintuitive, how can I be sure that I’m being straight with us?
When will I know if I’m a yappy hypocrite who’s also barking up the wrong tree(Tree)?
Roundabout the time the other sashays on by...
And what’s that gonna look like, Moore showing me his friend’s hands?
No…
Independent thoughts…
Liberty from my mind…
An idea’s going to have to exist outside of me... for then and only then will Solipsism reveal itself to have lost its monopoly...
And how am I going to recognize freedom from my mind... implying something not in there?
Most likely the same way I’ve never not...

“This book will perhaps only be understood by those who have themselves already thought the thoughts which are expressed in it – or similar thoughts. It is therefore not a text-book. Its object would be attained if it afforded pleasure to one who read it with understanding.
The book deals with the problems of philosophy and shows, as I believe, that the method of formulating these problems rests on the misunderstanding of the logic of our language. Its whole meaning could be summed up somewhat as follows: What can be said at all can be said clearly; and whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent.
The book will, therefore, draw a limit to thinking, or rather – not to thinking, but to the expression of thoughts; for, in order to draw a limit to thinking we should have to be able to think both sides of this limit (we should therefore have to be able to think what cannot be thought).
The limit can, therefore, only be drawn in language and what lies on the other side of the limit will be simply nonsense.
How far my efforts agree with those of other philosophers I will not decide. Indeed what I have here written makes no claim to novelty in points of detail; and therefore I give no sources, because it is indifferent to me whether what I have thought has already been thought before me by another.
I will only mention that to the great works of Frege and the writings of my friend Bertrand Russell I owe in large measure the stimulation of my thoughts.
If this work has a value it consists in two things. First that in it thoughts are expressed, and this value will be the greater the better the thoughts are expressed. The more the nail has been hit on the head. – Here I am conscious that I have fallen far short of the possible. Simply because my powers are insufficient to cope with the task. – May others come and do it better.
On the other hand the truth of the thoughts communicated here seems to me unassailable and definitive. I am, therefore, of the opinion that the problems have in essentials been finally solved. And if I am not mistaken in this, then the value of this work secondly consists in the fact that it shows how little has been done when these problems have been solved.
L. W.”(Wittgenstein, Preface to the Tractatus)

What’s language’s most salubrious function?
It lays down the lines over which comprehensiveness - a.k.a. the 3rd man and all of his turtles - isn’t welcome... which is to say every one of them...
Every single word...
Meaning that I should get with the program and discontinue noticing that nonsense never makes it over there...

Subjunctive
“1. adj. 2. in grammar, designating or of that mood of a verb used to express condition, hypothesis, contingency,
possibility, etc., rather than to state an actual fact: distinguished from imperative, indicative.
2. n. a verb in the subjunctive mood; specifically, the subjunctive mood.”
(Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary)

‘Would’ and ‘could’ are curious words...
Or rather they’re verbs in a very curious mood…
‘Should’ however, sits in its own cup of tea… between sips implying a reality that doesn’t exist(per se), but ought to… past, present, or future...
In order to draw a limit... any limit… within language or within language… we shall have to think turtleless dividing lines... if only we could… for philosophy’s sake I suppose...
And if I’m unable to do this, what then lies on the indispensably absent other side of language(everything)?
Well I guess it depends on whether you’re referring to the ‘think’ of the other side of thinking... nothing more than an idea... which doesn’t help much... or the leap of faith/never gave it much suspicion idea of that which is beyond all... and then it’s just the hokum that there aren’t any words(thinks) over there... ‘over there’ itself yet another domestic thought… should one fail to ignore where object

mayasecret, you could have taken the time to make your manifesto more concise and to the point. It's needlessly verbose.

how much did I overshoot playfully verbose by?
=)

Its totally out of control. You clearly have a lot of enthusiasm, which is a very good thing. You just need to be grounded. If you really feel you have something worthwhile to share with people you need to take a few huge steps away from over-enthused stream-of-consciousness towards consise, ergonomic systemization. Speak in plain language as much as possible; overuse of jargon is long out of style. Then when you do become more playfull if will have more impact and be more interesting.

You don't need quotations and excerpts. You want your system to be so radical and essential that referencing anybody else would be needless at best, or a step back at worst. You have ambition, so live up to it! Instead of starting with a definition and an excerpt etc. etc. ad nauseum, start with the most basic, essential statement of your central revelation. You want the reader to, within the first sentance, realize they are reading something totally different and more compelling than anything they've ever read before. You want to hook them so deep they read every carefully chosen and placed word with all the force of their attention.

Hey, thanks for the advice! I really appreciate someone sitting down and giving me some time. I know my paper’s unsolicited from beginning to end, and I appreciate your attention; truly.
Also, you’re probably right…
... thing is, these last 2 years, philosophically, I’ve been totally out of control…
I guess this paper’s kind of a collection of 4 in the morning holy crap Aha moments… strung together as they happened… and then edited over and over again… never not out of control…
That said, none of the great philosophy/literature that I love has ever been written in the traditional/en vogue variety… which doesn’t elevate me by default; only makes a point…
however... my pseudo-manifesto hasn’t lit anyone on fire yet... and the comments so far have mostly been on style rather than content…
So, to conclude, you’re right; but I’m incorrigible…
=)
Thanks again,
ryan.

ps - truly bang-on comments... if I ever do rewrite, I'll be thinking of you...

ok, let's try this again...

I’m not sure how one goes about asking complete strangers to noodle through 60+ pages of one’s own thoughts… ideas here better resembling alphabet soup gone insane than an organized progression of thinkery… sentences completely unsolicited… though I am, I must say, increasingly confident that this most likely isn’t…

Now, to be perfectly honest: I’d like very much for this to become a thread… only… there’s a hitch…
It’s not that I think that Ann Landers/Dear Abbey-size hunks of philosophy are incapable of communicating meaningful musings - even though in my experience around these kinds of places they as often as not don't - it’s just that my original post’s way too long… (and it’s also got a background I’ve kind of grown partial to… and, in the Word version, endnote links which are really quite convenient… just hold the cursor over the green flower thingy and the endnote pops up… =)

So, while this is a link to a paper I’ve written, it’s more importantly the beginning of a thread of discussion… just somewhat unconventional…

Thus, if you’ve the audacity to actually give this train wreck of a swan song – actually it’s more of a croak - a shot, then this is what you’re getting yourself into:
This half of a manifesto is the last breath of my faith in philosophy… brought on – or rather carried off – by the discovery/admission/belief that philosophy is in fact nothing more than language… indoctrination one-year-olds gets kisses and other kinds of attention for… and that’s it… and disagree if you’d like… tell me how you or your artist friend think without words… only, for your own self esteem, please don’t notice that you’re telling me all about how you/she/he do what you do wordlessly…

You’re also going to hear a denial of there being any philosophical progress to speak of to date… in that the replacements haven’t exactly done just that… as in, if you’ve yet to make it off of the drawing board, it takes faith – or rather ignorance and presuppositions – to believe yourself to be anywhere else…

Essential to this paper is Alan Watts’ idea of a ‘think,’ a ‘unit of thought’… which is to say something… something that’s certainly this and not that… leading me back to the notion that human minds work within a system of dichotomy… giving metaphysics not so much the boot as it does 2 of them… sorry… however, whether you were aware of it or not, Plato indeed lost his forms in his own lifetime... and he knew it… and no one’s propped them back up since then…

Lastly, this paper is written with its nose as well as well as its middle finger way up at the idea that philosophy – or rather whatever/Whatever philosophy’s chasing – is only to be found within page limits… within convention… and chained to the MLA citation format…

That said, if you don’t want to suffer through the whole thing, we can get this started simply with your refutation/agreement that there has, in fact, been no real progress in philosophy…

Thanks in advance for any and all of your time… it’s sincerely appreciated much more than much…
=)
ryan

http://mayasecret.googlepages.com/home
mayasecret@gmail.com

Well Ryan I am sure that a discussion will follow. I have only now stumbled across this glossolia of yours. I will read it during the course of today. I do not want to simply echo the advice already given. I would however like to point out that in order for your topic to generate replies, the sequencing of your thoughts (words) onto paper will be best appreciated if there is a path you are following (taking the reader on)

mmmm...interesting, I agree with you, but I don't disagree with Wittgenstein. Noting that
logic has its limits doesn't mean having to believe in nothing. Logic is
very useful to get from given premises to a conclusion. But logic alone
cannot establish the truth or falsity of the premises. Therefore, logic
is insufficient to explain the totality of "the world". You have to
accept at least some premises based on empirical evidence, faith, or
whatever other basis seems reasonable. A purist will therefore say, "we
can know nothing".

I, for oneam at a stage where knowing nothing doesn't make me
happy anymore. So, knowing that purist attempts to establish first
principles from thin air have pretty much failed, I accept certain
principles and evaluate certain facts on weight of empirical evidence or
balance of probability (rather than on some notion of absolute truth).
Then one can base logical argument on top of this foundation.

Alternatively one could say Nothing has to exist for something to exist. Conceptual Zero in order to
conceive the logic required for {} + 1 which leads to Pure reason which in turn will lead you nowhere but the very depthsof nihilism which is the only possible expression of absolute truthachievable from the position of any consciousness other than that of God/Deity. Any other truth requires faith and belief in something which
logic dictates must be a falsehood.

I'm still not sure about limits... though I have my doubts of them existing as anything other than illusions... which is what I believe everthing to be... in a dreamy sort of way (if you're a Hindu and know what I'm talking about)...

As per the rest... while I'm unable to argue myself out of Solipsism... I'm unable to accept It... being a human being... and so, as the tail-end of my paper attempts to relate, back to being human...
=)