Problems aplenty and the world is covered in them. Who am I to fix these things, nobody, and therefor the problems will perpetuate -but not because I am the person to fix them! Oh. There will be something to be said about public reason here because that is the basis of it all- that stupid beginning. That means the ” What is Enlightenment” essay by Immanuel Kant! That ol essay that Foucault was obsessed with for his entire professional life. Though though and more so though- it is the place to start. That will be my homework.
However——- This will be the reprieve anddecidedly not the school-ish essay with Chicago styles and written dryly and bluntly. There will be the entry for the problem and it is the beginning of the whole freaking problem that is politics now dayS. I desperately want to avoid delving in to that domain and remain bright and sunny the best that I can but I cannot simply ignore it forever! Though, I could. There would be absences in the flow of myriad madness a blatant hole, withering fester hole. The delight would be silence for me and avoidance that would be bordering on sickness, but I have to be healthy and clean to tear asunder the first tag, the little paper holding the pages together to pour open the book, as it were, to fully embrace the timely moment for now. I have very few moments left.
Though the unpleasantness of opening very stiffly will not assure a good being nor a good beginning. What affect does this truly have let alone what effect this will yield? Is the comfort that there is likely no effect/affect pleasing? Am I the coward behind bizarre esoteric words trapped with in my own situation and thoughts? What use is writing and what voice for us to use? O if there were somebody there to speak clearly and boldly would that change a thing? What use is our conscience in these days if we merely type or say what we want and desire!? What are our timely desires? Is it not nice and serene to bask in the untimely meditation with out the ghastly stick of our politics, but what use is it? What is the purpose then to speak?
Next week -or never- I will get that cold Kantian stink, the man Königsberg set their clocks to, the man awoken from his dogmatic slumbers spending the twilight of his years writing about the most important faculty, but also so clear and so obvious to his readers! There shall be great admiration for Kant! That should be obvious and you should send the dead man his love -for he reigns supreme every where as a gentle schoolmaster, harsh and very fair- however he is so prevalent he has to be a target and a friend. We have to vacillate our feelings towards him. Love and hate, pain and joy linked with an idea of an external cause.
The promises to come must come- for my memory is long but I am scatter shot and buzzed brain, not buzzed but like a bee. There must be many more of me but I am already too much of me! That is hardly a paradox that is just a slippery axiom. Those horrible scientists do beautiful things but they hold a monopoly on language. They would say the axiom is a mathematical term and deny my use! However, it is far beyond their beautiful hands. Just because they enjoy the integrity of their important work does not mean I want to impinge on it with my terrible but delightfully fun non-work. Their fields are far protected like little guardians they have the multitudes with open knowledge to ensure one dirt bag does not drag their fields to the ground! I lack open access and the multitudes to keep my dirt bag words from disseminating broadly, the many limitations I have is what keeps me from properly being too destructive.
Do not build a statue of Nietzsche because it will crush you on its way down on your head. Do not build a statue of me because it will be really odd, seriously. Marx, build one for him because that man struggled long on his work. Look at the years spent refining his single thesis. There are multiple mutations of his work throughout his career. Foucault wrote five different Monographs in his professional lifetime all on different aspects! Nietzsche wrote a book in a few months over and over again. Deleuze, well, was always writing. Derrida wrote a thousand article, speeches, essays, and monographs on various topics. Not Marx! He refined his work with each iteration. His manifesto has a different notion of philosophy, politics, and economics than Capital. I wonder what he would have done if he nailed it the first time? Would we see art criticism from in his late life instead? Would his late life be filled with joy and fulfillment? Would those night-less writing sessions be filled with time with his family instead? Does it matter? Cannot change the past! Really would anybody take him so seriously if Capital were published in 1848? How far would he have been heard?! That ol essay that Foucault was obsessed with for his entire professional life. Though though and more so though- it is the place to start.