song of the week: pearl jam, yellow bedletter
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hs8y3kneqrs
going through my old stuff, there were at least four things which weighed heavily with me. one was for love past. one was for a mistreated friend. i'll carry those a bit longer.
one was for an old photo of me, as a little boy. i knew it, but i hardly recognised it. i had no doubt that it was me, in fact, i was convinced that it was me. you could pull out any photo of me as a boy and i'd know it was me. but i didn't recognise the look in my eyes; a look of utter vulnerability. i felt like hugging the little boy there. but i'm old now. maybe my mum still sees me like that.
the other was my old journal stuff. some of it was angsty, some of it was about what the younger me thought were really cool dreams, or memorable encounters. but what made more of an impression on me was the idealist, purist christian stuff i wrote. and i didn't reject it, even though i know more clearly the kind of christian i am now, i.e. not so naively purist. i know that i am purist at one level, but i've come to be kinder to the world, for the most part.
and that's been at the back of my mind for awhile. what is the standard i hold myself to? i do think it's a Godly standard at one level, but it's more humanly now, to be precise, it's my standard. i hold myself to a standard which allows me to be fully who i am - an alive human being, trying to do something for this world.
and that contradicts the word. it says, if anyone wants to follow me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily. and the purist me believes in this denying. whoever seeks his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. i believe it, yes i do. but here's this: how can you deny that which you don't know?
and that's the whammy of it. the more fully i know what life is, the more fully i can choose what to believe in and what to do. and nevermind my inherent interest in freedom and self-fulfilment, i don't think that denying what i don't know is worth more than denying what i do know about life and what i love about it. and i do believe i can do it, that i can lead a Godly life in my own image. the sentence sounds awful, but accept it on the reasons i've given. i do believe i can be my own man, a Godly one at that.
the first and greatest commandment is this: love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul and with all your strength. nevermind the second commandment, i got that down pat. back to the first, observe this, only the soul is not of this realm. and that tells me - i must know what my heart and mind and strength is before i can love God with them. and now is the only chance i have. and for the record, only my soul fully loves God right now, i can't explain it besides saying that it's how my soul feels to me.
this is too confounded. let's just say that i believe in the good of many things right now.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
LXXXI - clearing space
song of the week: barenaked ladies, call and answer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS8XLMxeWLk
there are so many things in life that we carry with us. and so many things besides which slip out of our fingers.
i was doing today what i always wondered why people do, when they burn their old letters, old things. i was just doing it, and i eventually realised it. it had to do with mental classifications - obviously, most of those things i'd kept were stuff i'd once decided to keep. but i'd shifted the mental classifications, or to be more precise, i'd shifted. those were things a younger me would have kept. but i wasn't young anymore.
and it didn't really matter what those things meant, because i wasn't young anymore. it's just, the finality of it is quite sad.
and i realised that i regretted some of the things the younger me did. and i wished that i could go back and be in those moments, saving myself, saving those moments, fixing them, doing right, doing right by people.
if this is what it means to grow old, i'm not sure it's very fun at all.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS8XLMxeWLk
there are so many things in life that we carry with us. and so many things besides which slip out of our fingers.
i was doing today what i always wondered why people do, when they burn their old letters, old things. i was just doing it, and i eventually realised it. it had to do with mental classifications - obviously, most of those things i'd kept were stuff i'd once decided to keep. but i'd shifted the mental classifications, or to be more precise, i'd shifted. those were things a younger me would have kept. but i wasn't young anymore.
and it didn't really matter what those things meant, because i wasn't young anymore. it's just, the finality of it is quite sad.
and i realised that i regretted some of the things the younger me did. and i wished that i could go back and be in those moments, saving myself, saving those moments, fixing them, doing right, doing right by people.
if this is what it means to grow old, i'm not sure it's very fun at all.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
LXXX - an exposition on play
what is play?
i didn't start thinking about play with a question like this. i do read the philosophers, but no, i don't like to ask, much less answer, questions that begin like this. what is law? eesh, legal theory. what is property? now that was interesting. but let me tell you how i got started - it began with a warped, a detached, a meta-play sort of pride. and i love the word "meta". metaphysics, metaheuristics, metarealism. metta world peace. let me copy out the first line in its wiki article: Meta ... is a prefix ... used to indicate a concept which is an abstraction from another concept, used to complete or add to the latter. now that is beautiful.
i felt proud that i've never truly been addicted to any game. games were, in the past, distractions for me, and not serious ones. i never dota-ed that hard, partly because i knew that it cost too much, and partly because i got tired of it at its highest. well, i never reached its highest, but i knew that the micro (by micro, i refer to the skill) i needed to get there was not worth the effort, nor would it give me satisfaction. i played dota for its teamwork. dota is only one example, the other large one being cs, but eventually i thought that cs too was individualistic. anyway, my point is that computer games were never more than hobbies for me. yes, i did play them a lot, but they were never a lifestyle.
so, what is play? play to me is activity which is chiefly fun. however, i think that true play tends also to be in large parts both educational and enlightening, with regards to the self and with regards to reality. if there is a commonly held view that work is the opposite of play, i would say rather that work is income earning activity, and therefore play is neither necessarily nor sufficiently definitionally excluded from work. woo, big words.
so why did i think about play? this essay began with a feeling that i knew play, that i knew both the very attraction and detraction of games, that i knew the time-efficiency of play, that i could break down into distinct sequences the relationship that i had with play. and i knew that i often went into crusty play very quickly. but before i explain that word, crusty, let me show you my play development observations.
Pagan
i didn't start thinking about play with a question like this. i do read the philosophers, but no, i don't like to ask, much less answer, questions that begin like this. what is law? eesh, legal theory. what is property? now that was interesting. but let me tell you how i got started - it began with a warped, a detached, a meta-play sort of pride. and i love the word "meta". metaphysics, metaheuristics, metarealism. metta world peace. let me copy out the first line in its wiki article: Meta ... is a prefix ... used to indicate a concept which is an abstraction from another concept, used to complete or add to the latter. now that is beautiful.
i felt proud that i've never truly been addicted to any game. games were, in the past, distractions for me, and not serious ones. i never dota-ed that hard, partly because i knew that it cost too much, and partly because i got tired of it at its highest. well, i never reached its highest, but i knew that the micro (by micro, i refer to the skill) i needed to get there was not worth the effort, nor would it give me satisfaction. i played dota for its teamwork. dota is only one example, the other large one being cs, but eventually i thought that cs too was individualistic. anyway, my point is that computer games were never more than hobbies for me. yes, i did play them a lot, but they were never a lifestyle.
so, what is play? play to me is activity which is chiefly fun. however, i think that true play tends also to be in large parts both educational and enlightening, with regards to the self and with regards to reality. if there is a commonly held view that work is the opposite of play, i would say rather that work is income earning activity, and therefore play is neither necessarily nor sufficiently definitionally excluded from work. woo, big words.
so why did i think about play? this essay began with a feeling that i knew play, that i knew both the very attraction and detraction of games, that i knew the time-efficiency of play, that i could break down into distinct sequences the relationship that i had with play. and i knew that i often went into crusty play very quickly. but before i explain that word, crusty, let me show you my play development observations.
Pagan
Skeptic
Noobie play
Experienced play
Pro play
Appreciative play
Crusty play
Jaded play
Reawakened play
Retro play
as a Pagan, you think play is rubbish. you think games are for kids, a waste of time, unimportant to the self. you think kids play too much computer (which i actually agree with) and would have yours do crosswords to unwind.
a Skeptic thinks that most games are silly, basically allure only through flash and gimmickry, and teach bad values. he thinks Poker is cheating but Snakes and Ladders is safe. he is basically not a Pagan but not a Believer either.
a Newbie is one of those short lived personas who don't know how lucky they are. as robbie williams sings, youth is wasted on the young. noobie fun is the most innocent of fun - the world is brand new after a rain, the birds are singing and every click and spin brings treasure and new, unexplored possibilities. mistakes do not exist in a noobie's consciousness. if a noobie wonders if he is one, he instantly ceases to be a noobie.
an Experienced player is one who decides not to be a noobie. he understands that the game wants to teach him things, and he in turn wants to learn them, although he does not yet necessarily know whether these are good or bad things. he knows only that he is improving at the game. this is fun if the player likes to get better, and thinks that as a pro he will derive utmost satisfaction from the game - this latter point is especially important. if not, he will at this point realise that he never wants to be a pro, and simply becomes a sometime gamer. where the game is not a good game, it is also possible that the gamer sees it for what it is, and decides that pro play of that game is not desirable. but this scenario is uninteresting.
it is not impossible for an experienced gamer to skip pro play and still become an appreciative gamer or a crusty gamer, but in truth i believe that he cannot truly judge a game without being pro at it at one point or another.
a Pro gamer is simply one who owns Experienced gamers. pro gamers only desire to play balanced instances of games, i.e. against other pro gamers. it is hard, lonely work becoming a pro gamer. it is harder, lonelier, staying there.
an Appreciative player is something that i wish more of us would become - yes, the graphics are nice, the levels are well designed, the gameplay and timing is rhythmic and symphonious, but more importantly, that the creative design, art direction and cultural standard of the game are good at both high and regular levels of abstraction. an appreciative player is both a gamer's gamer and a game-designer's gamer. he sees things that developers want him to see, laughs at the inane things that make designers laugh, and cries when little tragedies occur in a game. he knows that the game teaches good things, that it acts as a mirror of life, and that in each player's gameplay much can be observed about their belief systems and lifestyles. in other words, he is a Believer.
Crusty - now we're getting warm. merriam-webster.com gives crusty as being of surly incivility in address or disposition. and i do believe that many gamers are crusty in the broader sense of being bad-mannered to other gamers, because of the isolated gaming environment we find ourselves in, but possibly also (if less likely) in the narrower sense of seeing ourselves as having grown past the game. we've learnt all that we wanted from a game, or it has taught us all that it could teach us. we play like old uncles play checkers - cynically, sarcastically and insensitively. we shrug when we win and chuckle blithely when we lose. we're like old sea dogs - crusty.
a man may or may not become crusty, and he may or may not become appreciative. in other words, these are optional, advanced phases. many men are happy to be noobs all their lives, many are happy to be hobbyists, enthusiasts, avids, fanatics, sharks, or facilitators. many don't care, it's true. but these things you say about gaming, you could also say about life.
Jaded players have a common understanding - that they have spent way too long playing something. maybe they were too ignorant. maybe they were too weak. maybe they were having a rough time elsewhere. they're not unlike ex-alcoholics; they're bitter. there is a way not to feel jaded - and that is to understand gaming relationships better.
Reawakened play is a sweeping term used to refer to gamers who rediscover the joys of a certain game after a hiatus. few games have true replay value, in that new things can be learnt (or new fun had) after the third or fourth play through, and that includes after having read walkthroughs and guides. few games indeed. but many a time gamers link up and play through stuff together, if only to walk again through their old corridors of power, and revisit their old haunts. a shining example would be MUD, text-based games. these are also old enough to be Retro, but a game (or indeed, anything) has to meet another requirement to be retro. Reawakened play is often closely linked to appreciative play, but it does of course require a good game to encourage appreciation.
Retro play has a requirement written in solid, typeface, bold and underlined font, which is that it must be of a game which was well played in the gamer's past. that's what retro is - that once upon a time your daddy played this game, although to you it would only be old school; that is, only your dad can claim that it is retro. a retro game (following this classification) would be FF7. retro play is fun if and only if it is the kind of game that is fun fifteen years into the future, when it can barely run, requiring 16-bit greek that requires emulators. oh shit i just thought of a truly retro game i will never have back - strike commander. if there is a god, he would someday deign to let me play that game. c:/. cd/sc. sccd.
something intrinsically important is left to be explained, something which underlies and resonates through everything i have just mentioned, a single question - what is a good game? and here i hesitate, this i find inherently difficult to answer. what is good is subjective but can also be rationally and reasonably discovered; of what is good, i do not fear to answer. but what is a good game? for i feel that games are often misunderstood, being children of their times (and we live in strange, fluid times). they are badly understood by both gamers and non-gamers, and do not always stand to gain from their attractive characteristics.
but let me nonetheless begin to answer what i think is a good game. i believe that a good game is intuitive and logical, and if it is a unique, even warped type of logic, provided it is strictly coherent in itself, then it is that much better for it. it is intuitive in that its reward systems make sense to a gamer who is willing to delve into the fictions and artificial constructs of the game. i believe that a good game teaches both micro and macro, with micro being technical skills and macro being strategic thinking both inside the game and outside the game. in this regard, i think that a game should reward the highest micro skills, but not place a premium on them. a game should not penalise gamers who do not use the best systems. the glitz and glamour of a game should be icing, nothing more or less. a good game should be fun for noobies, it should be fun for experienceds, and it should be fun for pros. the learning curve of a good game should be realistic at each level; it should be balanced in that it rewards each level of proficiency accordingly, and not merely with a handicap system. a good game should ideally produce an immersible experience, but not create one so overwhelmingly saturated that a gamer's imagination cannot be properly applied to his gaming experience. obviously, the difference in this regard between a computer game and a board game can be startling; a proper comparison may be implausible. but no less, i believe that a good game cultivates the imagination, and does not inhibit it. a good game teaches a gamer adaptive skills, tactical efficiency and exposure to various schools of thought. a good game teaches a gamer to anticipate and pre-empt other gamers. i firmly believe that a good game should teach life lessons, both in single player and multi-player mode. i believe that a truly good game is fun even the third or fourth time through. i believe that a truly good game spans generations. finally, i believe that a good game is like art in that it reflects humanity.
so my hope is that play is not something we think of lightly, not something we do not often ask ourselves the importance of with regards to our maturity, and not something we eventually dismiss and relegate from our lives. as nietzsche once said, men should learn to live with the same seriousness with which children play. and i think chesterton is both right and wrong when he says, it is only we who play badly who love the game itself.
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oh my god...
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oh my god...
Title: The Perfect Game
Author: G. K. Chesterton
We have all met the man who says that some odd things have happened to him, but that he does not really believe that they were supernatural. My own position is the opposite of this. I believe in the supernatural as a matter of intellect and reason, not as a matter of personal experience. I do not see ghosts; I only see their inherent probability. But it is entirely a matter of the mere intelligence, not even of the motions; my nerves and body are altogether of this earth, very earthy. But upon people of this temperament one weird incident will often leave a peculiar impression. And the weirdest circumstance that ever occurred to me occurred a little while ago. It consisted in nothing less than my playing a game, and playing it quite well for some seventeen consecutive minutes. The ghost of my grandfather would have astonished me less.
On one of these blue and burning afternoons I found myself, to my inexpressible astonishment, playing a game called croquet. I had imagined that it belonged to the epoch of Leach and Anthony Trollope, and I had neglected to provide myself with those very long and luxuriant side whiskers which are really essential to such a scene. I played it with a man whom we will call Parkinson, and with whom I had a semi-philosophical argument which lasted through the entire contest. It is deeply implanted in my mind that I had the best of the argument; but it is certain and beyond dispute that I had the worst of the game.
"Oh, Parkinson, Parkinson!" I cried, patting him affectionately on the head with a mallet, "how far you really are from the pure love of the sport--you who can play. It is only we who play badly who love the Game itself. You love glory; you love applause; you love the earthquake voice of victory; you do not love croquet. You do not love croquet until you love being beaten at croquet. It is we the bunglers who adore the occupation in the abstract. It is we to whom it is art for art's sake. If we may see the face of Croquet herself (if I may so express myself) we are content to see her face turned upon us in anger. Our play is called amateurish; and we wear proudly the name of amateur, for amateurs is but the French for Lovers. We accept all adventures from our Lady, the most disastrous or the most dreary. We wait outside her iron gates (I allude to the hoops), vainly essaying to enter. Our devoted balls, impetuous and full of chivalry, will not be confined within the pedantic boundaries of the mere croquet ground. Our balls seek honour in the ends of the earth; they turn up in the flower-beds and the conservatory; they are to be found in the front garden and the next street. No, Parkinson! The good painter has skill. It is the bad painter who loves his art. The good musician loves being a musician, the bad musician loves music. With such a pure and hopeless passion do I worship croquet. I love the game itself. I love the parallelogram of grass marked out with chalk or tape, as if its limits were the frontiers of my sacred Fatherland, the four seas of Britain. I love the mere swing of the mallets, and the click of the balls is music. The four colours are to me sacramental and symbolic, like the red of martyrdom, or the white of Easter Day. You lose all this, my poor Parkinson. You have to solace yourself for the absence of this vision by the paltry consolation of being able to go through hoops and to hit the stick."
And I waved my mallet in the air with a graceful gaiety.
"Don't be too sorry for me," said Parkinson, with his simple sarcasm. "I shall get over it in time. But it seems to me that the more a man likes a game the better he would want to play it. Granted that the pleasure in the thing itself comes first, does not the pleasure of success come naturally and inevitably afterwards? Or, take your own simile of the Knight and his Lady-love. I admit the gentleman does first and foremost want to be in the lady's presence. But I never yet heard of a gentleman who wanted to look an utter ass when he was there."
"Perhaps not; though he generally looks it," I replied. "But the truth is that there is a fallacy in the simile, although it was my own. The happiness at which the lover is aiming is an infinite happiness, which can be extended without limit. The more he is loved, normally speaking, the jollier he will be. It is definitely true that the stronger the love of both lovers, the stronger will be the happiness. But it is not true that the stronger the play of both croquet players the stronger will be the game. It is logically possible--(follow me closely here, Parkinson!)--it is logically possible, to play croquet too well to enjoy it at all. If you could put this blue ball through that distant hoop as easily as you could pick it up with your hand, then you would not put it through that hoop any more than you pick it up with your hand; it would not be worth doing. If you could play unerringly you would not play at all. The moment the game is perfect the game disappears."
"I do not think, however," said Parkinson, "that you are in any immediate danger of effecting that sort of destruction. I do not think your croquet will vanish through its own faultless excellence. You are safe for the present."
I again caressed him with the mallet, knocked a ball about, wired myself, and resumed the thread of my discourse.
The long, warm evening had been gradually closing in, and by this time it was almost twilight. By the time I had delivered four more fundamental principles, and my companion had gone through five more hoops, the dusk was verging upon dark.
"We shall have to give this up," said Parkinson, as he missed a ball almost for the first time, "I can't see a thing."
"Nor can I," I answered, "and it is a comfort to reflect that I could not hit anything if I saw it."
With that I struck a ball smartly, and sent it away into the darkness towards where the shadowy figure of Parkinson moved in the hot haze. Parkinson immediately uttered a loud and dramatic cry. The situation, indeed, called for it. I had hit the right ball.
Stunned with astonishment, I crossed the gloomy ground, and hit my ball again. It went through a hoop. I could not see the hoop; but it was the right hoop. I shuddered from head to foot.
Words were wholly inadequate, so I slouched heavily after that impossible ball. Again I hit it away into the night, in what I supposed was the vague direction of the quite invisible stick. And in the dead silence I heard the stick rattle as the ball struck it heavily.
I threw down my mallet. "I can't stand this," I said. "My ball has gone right three times. These things are not of this world."
"Pick your mallet up ," said Parkinson, "have another go."
"I tell you I daren't. If I made another hoop like that I should see all the devils dancing there on the blessed grass."
"Why devils?" asked Parkinson; "they may be only fairies making fun of you. They are sending you the 'Perfect Game,' which is no game."
I looked about me. The garden was full of a burning darkness, in which the faint glimmers had the look of fire. I stepped across the grass as if it burnt me, picked up the mallet, and hit the ball somewhere--somewhere where another ball might be. I heard the dull click of the balls touching, and ran into the house like one pursued.
Friday, August 12, 2011
LXXIX - universalising the particular and particularising the universal
song of the week: ff7, ahead on our way
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afZPyBvuXPk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bG0JLyzzmI
i realise that i don't like to blog as much as i like to post on facebook, which is kinda like a more serious tweet. which is really kinda dumb in retrospect. but i guess it's alright because i don't need to record everything.
anyway, i've had a lot of thoughts lately, but nothing really poetic or lyrical, nothing much to write about. but there's been a lot of soul searching, well, not my soul per se, but i mean, deep thinking. i think i can remember most of it without writing it all down, and that's the point, i guess.
i don't like to toot my horn, but i often find it strange that i'm so god damn charming. it is bemusing, to say the least. if i weren't so self-aware i'd quite likely still be a playboy sort. ah, the smaller mysteries of life.
where is my god damn coffee.
i've been wandering around a lot lately, on foot, with different bunches, and in my mind. i think, i think... i think that to write it down would somehow... fail to capture the ephemeral, the mysterious, the ineffable charm of the past few weeks. i'm just, living in the present, the middle of now, to be precise. making it up as i go along, living like every day is special. i feel happy. i feel solid. i feel as if i've come out of a deep place and i'm walking on a road that goes somewhere i know is good. the road could have potholes but i couldn't give a flying fuck. i'm not cheerful. i'm just, really, alright. i almost couldn't be better. and i believe it more than when i thought that i couldn't be better. i could say it again just to enjoy the feeling of saying it, i almost couldn't be better. and that's a good life, isn't it?
i'm sorry that i didn't see this girl off, but, i mean, whatever, right? it was the insidiousness of it, just the insidiousness of it. like i said, fuck this, i'm not afraid of Anything.
i realise that the only mask i have left on, of all the very openness and directness and transparency that i wish to be known for, is that i want to wear the mask of the Anti-Hero. i covet it, i treasure it, i revel in it. i love the Anti-Hero idea, i dig it, i wish to symbolise it, i want to bring it to the next level. it's so fucking cool. and speaking of masks... i think to a large extent we are the masks that we wear. we create ourselves, or at least, the external person that we want to be. and very often a mask becomes a character. but i don't believe in wearing masks. i did when i was younger, but i've slowly seen the good of not wearing a mask. i think there's nothing to be afraid of, that needs to be hidden behind a mask. whether or not the world accepts me, or anyone, is something i don't want to find out from behind a mask.
when i was jogging home just now, well i was walking, to rest my slightly injured leg, i found myself praying to God to give every man, woman and child on the face of this earth just one happy day this year. just one goddamned unblemished, unadulterated, unqualified Happy Day. One Day Of Happiness. and i realised that between God and the devil, it was more likely the latter who would grant me this wish, assuming either had the power to do so. i mean, that is the biblical perspective. but i found myself no less wishing for God to give every human being alive ODOH. we live three hundred and sixty odd days a year, i don't think it's too much for the Almighty to give one bloody day of happiness to everyone, right? but it made me wonder whether living for such a cause was right, whether i subconsciously wanted everyone to be happy, something fleeting, but no less human, no less important in life, Life. i mean, why is it so much to ask? why must it always be, the eternal, salvation of souls, etc. so annoying. but those... are the rules, like it or not, those are the rules i somehow... believe in. my soul belongs to God, but i don't know if i love him all the time with all my strength and mind and heart. my heart firmly belongs to this world, and i'd be the first to say so... even though i figure it's ultimately otherwise. but i believe... in the good of ODOH. it's human, it's compassion, it's something to live for, something worthy.
there's too much tension out there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afZPyBvuXPk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bG0JLyzzmI
i realise that i don't like to blog as much as i like to post on facebook, which is kinda like a more serious tweet. which is really kinda dumb in retrospect. but i guess it's alright because i don't need to record everything.
anyway, i've had a lot of thoughts lately, but nothing really poetic or lyrical, nothing much to write about. but there's been a lot of soul searching, well, not my soul per se, but i mean, deep thinking. i think i can remember most of it without writing it all down, and that's the point, i guess.
i don't like to toot my horn, but i often find it strange that i'm so god damn charming. it is bemusing, to say the least. if i weren't so self-aware i'd quite likely still be a playboy sort. ah, the smaller mysteries of life.
where is my god damn coffee.
i've been wandering around a lot lately, on foot, with different bunches, and in my mind. i think, i think... i think that to write it down would somehow... fail to capture the ephemeral, the mysterious, the ineffable charm of the past few weeks. i'm just, living in the present, the middle of now, to be precise. making it up as i go along, living like every day is special. i feel happy. i feel solid. i feel as if i've come out of a deep place and i'm walking on a road that goes somewhere i know is good. the road could have potholes but i couldn't give a flying fuck. i'm not cheerful. i'm just, really, alright. i almost couldn't be better. and i believe it more than when i thought that i couldn't be better. i could say it again just to enjoy the feeling of saying it, i almost couldn't be better. and that's a good life, isn't it?
i'm sorry that i didn't see this girl off, but, i mean, whatever, right? it was the insidiousness of it, just the insidiousness of it. like i said, fuck this, i'm not afraid of Anything.
i realise that the only mask i have left on, of all the very openness and directness and transparency that i wish to be known for, is that i want to wear the mask of the Anti-Hero. i covet it, i treasure it, i revel in it. i love the Anti-Hero idea, i dig it, i wish to symbolise it, i want to bring it to the next level. it's so fucking cool. and speaking of masks... i think to a large extent we are the masks that we wear. we create ourselves, or at least, the external person that we want to be. and very often a mask becomes a character. but i don't believe in wearing masks. i did when i was younger, but i've slowly seen the good of not wearing a mask. i think there's nothing to be afraid of, that needs to be hidden behind a mask. whether or not the world accepts me, or anyone, is something i don't want to find out from behind a mask.
when i was jogging home just now, well i was walking, to rest my slightly injured leg, i found myself praying to God to give every man, woman and child on the face of this earth just one happy day this year. just one goddamned unblemished, unadulterated, unqualified Happy Day. One Day Of Happiness. and i realised that between God and the devil, it was more likely the latter who would grant me this wish, assuming either had the power to do so. i mean, that is the biblical perspective. but i found myself no less wishing for God to give every human being alive ODOH. we live three hundred and sixty odd days a year, i don't think it's too much for the Almighty to give one bloody day of happiness to everyone, right? but it made me wonder whether living for such a cause was right, whether i subconsciously wanted everyone to be happy, something fleeting, but no less human, no less important in life, Life. i mean, why is it so much to ask? why must it always be, the eternal, salvation of souls, etc. so annoying. but those... are the rules, like it or not, those are the rules i somehow... believe in. my soul belongs to God, but i don't know if i love him all the time with all my strength and mind and heart. my heart firmly belongs to this world, and i'd be the first to say so... even though i figure it's ultimately otherwise. but i believe... in the good of ODOH. it's human, it's compassion, it's something to live for, something worthy.
there's too much tension out there.
Friday, August 5, 2011
LXXVIII - farewell, farewell.
song of the week: bob dylan - don't think twice, it's alright
well, it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
even you don’t know by now
an' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
it’ll never do some how
when your rooster crows at the break of dawn
look out your window and i'll be gone
you're the reason i'm trav'lin' on
don't think twice, it's all right
an' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
that light i never knowed
an' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
i'm on the dark side of the road
but i wish there was somethin' you would do or say
to try and make me change my mind and stay
we never did too much talkin' anyway
so don't think twice, it's all right
so it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
like you never done before
an' it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
i can't hear you any more
i'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' walkin’ down the road
i once loved a woman, a child i'm told
i give her my heart but she wanted my soul
but don't think twice, it's all right
so long, honey babe
where i'm bound, i can't tell
but goodbye's too good a word, babe
so i'll just say fare thee well
i ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
you could have done better but i don't mind
you just kinda wasted my precious time
but don't think twice, it's all right
even you don’t know by now
an' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
it’ll never do some how
when your rooster crows at the break of dawn
look out your window and i'll be gone
you're the reason i'm trav'lin' on
don't think twice, it's all right
an' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
that light i never knowed
an' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
i'm on the dark side of the road
but i wish there was somethin' you would do or say
to try and make me change my mind and stay
we never did too much talkin' anyway
so don't think twice, it's all right
so it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
like you never done before
an' it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
i can't hear you any more
i'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' walkin’ down the road
i once loved a woman, a child i'm told
i give her my heart but she wanted my soul
but don't think twice, it's all right
so long, honey babe
where i'm bound, i can't tell
but goodbye's too good a word, babe
so i'll just say fare thee well
i ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
you could have done better but i don't mind
you just kinda wasted my precious time
but don't think twice, it's all right
Monday, August 1, 2011
LXXVII - a preface (quoted)
The following Sermons contain the substance of what I have been preaching for between eight and nine years last past. [In the year 1747.] During that time I have frequently spoken in public, on every subject in the ensuing collection; and I am not conscious, that there is any one point of doctrine, on which I am accustomed to speak in public, which is not here, incidentally, if not professedly, laid before every Christian reader. Every serious man who peruses these, will therefore see, in the clearest manner, what these doctrines are which I embrace and teach as the essentials of true religion.
But I am throughly sensible, these are not proposed in such a manner as some may expect. Nothing here appears in an elaborate, elegant, or oratorical dress. If it had been my desire or design to write thus, my leisure would not permit. But, in truth, I, at present, designed nothing less; for I now write, as I generally speak, ad populum, — to the bulk of mankind, to those who neither relish nor understand the art of speaking; but who, notwithstanding, are competent judges of those truths which are necessary to present and future happiness. I mention this, that curious readers may spare themselves the labour of seeking for what they will not find.
I design plain truth for plain people: Therefore, of set purpose, I abstain from all nice and philosophical speculations; from all perplexed and intricate reasonings; and, as far as possible, from even the show of learning, unless in sometimes citing the original Scripture. I labour to avoid all words which are not easy to be understood, all which are not used in common life; and, in particular, those kinds of technical terms that so frequently occur in Bodies of Divinity; those modes of speaking which men of reading are intimately acquainted with, but which to common people are an unknown tongue. Yet I am not assured, that I do not sometimes slide into them unawares: It is so extremely natural to imagine, that a word which is familiar to ourselves is so to all the world.
Nay, my design is, in some sense, to forget all that ever I have read in my life. I mean to speak, in the general, as if I had never read one author, ancient or modern (always excepting the inspired). I am persuaded, that, on the one hand, this may be a means of enabling me more clearly to express the sentiments of my heart, while I simply follow the chain of my own thoughts, without entangling myself with those of other men; and that, on the other, I shall come with fewer weights upon my mind, with less of prejudice and prepossession, either to search for myself, or to deliver to others, the naked truths of the gospel.
To candid, reasonable men, I am not afraid to lay open what have been the inmost thoughts of my heart. I have thought, I am a creature of a day, passing through life as an arrow through the air. I am a spirit come from God, and returning to God: Just hovering over the great gulf; till, a few moments hence, I am no more seen; I drop into an unchangeable eternity! I want to know one thing, — the way to heaven; how to land safe on that happy shore. God himself has condescended to teach the way: For this very end he came from heaven. He hath written it down in a book. O give me that book! At any price, give me the book of God! I have it: Here is knowledge enough for me. Let me be homo unius libri. [A man of one book.] Here then I am, far from the busy ways of men. I sit down alone: Only God is here. In his presence I open, I read his book; for this end, to find the way to heaven. Is there a doubt concerning the meaning of what I read? Does anything appear dark or intricate? I lift up my heart to the Father of Lights: — “Lord, is it not thy word, ‘If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God?’ Thou ‘givest liberally, and upbraidest not.’ Thou hast said, ‘If any be willing to do thy will, he shall know.’ I am willing to do, let me know, thy will.” I then search after and consider parallel passages of Scripture, “comparing spiritual things with spiritual.” I meditate thereon with all the attention and earnestness of which my mind is capable. If any doubt still remains, I consult those who are experienced in the things of God; and then the writings whereby, being dead, they yet speak. And what I thus learn, that I teach.
I have accordingly set down in the following sermons what I find in the Bible concerning the way to heaven; with a view to distinguish this way of God from all those which are the inventions of men. I have endeavoured to describe the true, the scriptural, experimental religion, so as to omit nothing which is a real part thereof, and to add nothing thereto which is not. And herein it is more especially my desire, First, to guard those who are just setting their faces toward heaven, (and who, having little acquaintance with the things of God, are the more liable to be turned out of the way,) from formality, from mere outside religion, which has almost driven heart-religion out of the world; and, Secondly, to warn those who know the religion of the heart, the faith which worketh by love, lest at any time they make void the law through faith, and so fall back into the snare of the devil.
But I am throughly sensible, these are not proposed in such a manner as some may expect. Nothing here appears in an elaborate, elegant, or oratorical dress. If it had been my desire or design to write thus, my leisure would not permit. But, in truth, I, at present, designed nothing less; for I now write, as I generally speak, ad populum, — to the bulk of mankind, to those who neither relish nor understand the art of speaking; but who, notwithstanding, are competent judges of those truths which are necessary to present and future happiness. I mention this, that curious readers may spare themselves the labour of seeking for what they will not find.
I design plain truth for plain people: Therefore, of set purpose, I abstain from all nice and philosophical speculations; from all perplexed and intricate reasonings; and, as far as possible, from even the show of learning, unless in sometimes citing the original Scripture. I labour to avoid all words which are not easy to be understood, all which are not used in common life; and, in particular, those kinds of technical terms that so frequently occur in Bodies of Divinity; those modes of speaking which men of reading are intimately acquainted with, but which to common people are an unknown tongue. Yet I am not assured, that I do not sometimes slide into them unawares: It is so extremely natural to imagine, that a word which is familiar to ourselves is so to all the world.
Nay, my design is, in some sense, to forget all that ever I have read in my life. I mean to speak, in the general, as if I had never read one author, ancient or modern (always excepting the inspired). I am persuaded, that, on the one hand, this may be a means of enabling me more clearly to express the sentiments of my heart, while I simply follow the chain of my own thoughts, without entangling myself with those of other men; and that, on the other, I shall come with fewer weights upon my mind, with less of prejudice and prepossession, either to search for myself, or to deliver to others, the naked truths of the gospel.
To candid, reasonable men, I am not afraid to lay open what have been the inmost thoughts of my heart. I have thought, I am a creature of a day, passing through life as an arrow through the air. I am a spirit come from God, and returning to God: Just hovering over the great gulf; till, a few moments hence, I am no more seen; I drop into an unchangeable eternity! I want to know one thing, — the way to heaven; how to land safe on that happy shore. God himself has condescended to teach the way: For this very end he came from heaven. He hath written it down in a book. O give me that book! At any price, give me the book of God! I have it: Here is knowledge enough for me. Let me be homo unius libri. [A man of one book.] Here then I am, far from the busy ways of men. I sit down alone: Only God is here. In his presence I open, I read his book; for this end, to find the way to heaven. Is there a doubt concerning the meaning of what I read? Does anything appear dark or intricate? I lift up my heart to the Father of Lights: — “Lord, is it not thy word, ‘If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God?’ Thou ‘givest liberally, and upbraidest not.’ Thou hast said, ‘If any be willing to do thy will, he shall know.’ I am willing to do, let me know, thy will.” I then search after and consider parallel passages of Scripture, “comparing spiritual things with spiritual.” I meditate thereon with all the attention and earnestness of which my mind is capable. If any doubt still remains, I consult those who are experienced in the things of God; and then the writings whereby, being dead, they yet speak. And what I thus learn, that I teach.
I have accordingly set down in the following sermons what I find in the Bible concerning the way to heaven; with a view to distinguish this way of God from all those which are the inventions of men. I have endeavoured to describe the true, the scriptural, experimental religion, so as to omit nothing which is a real part thereof, and to add nothing thereto which is not. And herein it is more especially my desire, First, to guard those who are just setting their faces toward heaven, (and who, having little acquaintance with the things of God, are the more liable to be turned out of the way,) from formality, from mere outside religion, which has almost driven heart-religion out of the world; and, Secondly, to warn those who know the religion of the heart, the faith which worketh by love, lest at any time they make void the law through faith, and so fall back into the snare of the devil.
By the advice and at the request of some of my friends, I have prefixed to the other sermons contained in this volume, three sermons of my own, and one of my Brother’s, preached before the University of Oxford. My design required some discourses on those heads; and I preferred these before any others, as being a stronger answer than any which can be drawn up now, to those who have frequently asserted that we have changed our doctrine of late, and do not preach now what we did some years ago. Any man of understanding may now judge for himself, when he has compared the latter with the former sermons.
But some may say, I have mistaken the way myself, although I take upon me to teach it to others. It is probable many will think this, and it is very possible that I have. But I trust, whereinsoever I have mistaken, my mind is open to conviction. I sincerely desire to be better informed. I say to God and man, “What I know not, teach thou me!”
Are you persuaded you see more clearly than me? It is not unlikely that you may. Then treat me as you would desire to be treated yourself upon a change of circumstances. Point me out a better way than I have yet known. Show me it is so, by plain proof of Scripture. And if I linger in the path I have been accustomed to tread, and am therefore unwilling to leave it, labour with me a little; take me by the hand, and lead me as I am able to bear. But be not displeased if I entreat you not to beat me down in order to quicken my pace: I can go but feebly and slowly at best; then, I should not be able to go at all. May I not request of you, further, not to give me hard names in order to bring me into the right way. Suppose I were ever so much in the wrong, I doubt this would not set me right. Rather, it would make me run so much the farther from you, and so get more and more out of the way.
Nay, perhaps, if you are angry, so shall I be too; and then there will be small hopes of finding the truth. If once anger arise, Eute kapnos, (as Homer somewhere expresses it,) this smoke will so dim the eyes of my soul, that I shall be able to see nothing clearly. For God’s sake, if it be possible to avoid it, let us not provoke one another to wrath. Let us not kindle in each other this fire of hell; much less blow it up into a flame. If we could discern truth by that dreadful light, would it not be loss, rather than gain? For, how far is love, even with many wrong opinions, to be preferred before truth itself without love! We may die without the knowledge of many truths, and yet be carried into Abraham’s bosom. But, if we die without love, what will knowledge avail? Just as much as it avails the devil and his angels!
The God of love forbid we should ever make the trial! May he prepare us for the knowledge of all truth, by filling our hearts with his love, and with all joy and peace in believing!"
- John Wesley
But some may say, I have mistaken the way myself, although I take upon me to teach it to others. It is probable many will think this, and it is very possible that I have. But I trust, whereinsoever I have mistaken, my mind is open to conviction. I sincerely desire to be better informed. I say to God and man, “What I know not, teach thou me!”
Are you persuaded you see more clearly than me? It is not unlikely that you may. Then treat me as you would desire to be treated yourself upon a change of circumstances. Point me out a better way than I have yet known. Show me it is so, by plain proof of Scripture. And if I linger in the path I have been accustomed to tread, and am therefore unwilling to leave it, labour with me a little; take me by the hand, and lead me as I am able to bear. But be not displeased if I entreat you not to beat me down in order to quicken my pace: I can go but feebly and slowly at best; then, I should not be able to go at all. May I not request of you, further, not to give me hard names in order to bring me into the right way. Suppose I were ever so much in the wrong, I doubt this would not set me right. Rather, it would make me run so much the farther from you, and so get more and more out of the way.
Nay, perhaps, if you are angry, so shall I be too; and then there will be small hopes of finding the truth. If once anger arise, Eute kapnos, (as Homer somewhere expresses it,) this smoke will so dim the eyes of my soul, that I shall be able to see nothing clearly. For God’s sake, if it be possible to avoid it, let us not provoke one another to wrath. Let us not kindle in each other this fire of hell; much less blow it up into a flame. If we could discern truth by that dreadful light, would it not be loss, rather than gain? For, how far is love, even with many wrong opinions, to be preferred before truth itself without love! We may die without the knowledge of many truths, and yet be carried into Abraham’s bosom. But, if we die without love, what will knowledge avail? Just as much as it avails the devil and his angels!
The God of love forbid we should ever make the trial! May he prepare us for the knowledge of all truth, by filling our hearts with his love, and with all joy and peace in believing!"
- John Wesley
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