i dont remember writing this
Critical Dialogue with an Other who also has the propensity to be known as myself…
Other : Ok, so you had a script already for this conversation, not completely a script but poignant questions you wanted me to ask and critical witticisms to convey. You lapsed though and for a while at least they are lost, hidden under the boiling currents of the ocean, the stormy ocean. Don’t worry,
Me: But I didn’t even say anything (express worry)
Other: Don’t have to. Things that are gone in this ocean always resurface again, for air? And if you are lucky it might even be safely smashed with a few nicks and erosion of the salt and sand and water onto a wide stretch of pristine beach. The treasure bank.
Me: Hooray?
Other: [looks grave] well I know that is not your ideal way of retrieval but one cannot control the vast body of water which is the ocean. Lots of kilotons, megatons, teratons? More than you can, anyone or everyone can attempt to control.
Me: or even interpret,
Other: predict,
Me: Work within the waves, the watery wonderland of whirlpools, of sudden salty spumes, capsizion and retrieval, loss and find, without a mind for the minutiae you are. A speck on a behemoth. Crash it goes and nobody knows if you are left. Don’t ride the big waves, care for you life don’t be bereft of air. For your minutiae.
Other: a point comes back to me. Why are you so belligerently turgid and poetic prosaic? You have branded yourself for the cultural war, as a soldier of the mind, you fight yet for whom, what?
Identity is formed from two perceptions. Yours and that of everyone else. Everyone else knows little if or none of yours. Yours being everything created you can sign as yours.
Me: One step into the spot/lime light is all it takes. It wont happen for any good reason.
Other: One step is all? And you need a decision better than good to be under the lights glare?
Me: You might have a good reason, an excellent reason, or even the BEST reason but it still might not ever happen. Someone else needs a good reason to move their fat arms, after extracting it from their fat haunches [scratching for blood-sucking lice] and lazily yet somehow loftily and with great power switch that damn spot/limelight on. Your reason can not equal their good reason.
Should make my own lights really. Sparkle sparkle.
Other:Zap Zap, do you know anything at all about what tools and material you need to make a light of the bright magnitude you are describing? None in the slightest, I presume, my Dad used to be an electrician and he would always extoll the virtues of not working with electricity, infact, infact….
Me: Stfu.
Other: Do other people have any inkling of what you want to be, of what you do and why you do it?
Me: Not really. I don’t even have any concrete prospects myself for my future. I prefer it that way. Call it what you want, I call it succumbing to the twistings and tickings of fate and time. Succumbing after fighting up to the point where you can’t fight no more and your struggle must be taken on by another such, unless the fight already sufficed to WIN. Win via history
Other: [laughs] Even when you lose you win that way, or someone else does.
Me: Lose, win, Me, Them, others, all…
Other: This conversation has lost its meaning
Me: This conversation has lots of meaning
Other: I object!
Me: You detract!
Other: My objecting detracts from the amount of meaning? Does it cause there less to be generated or does it start to take and subvert and homogenize that already there into its deadly opposite, Nonsense
Me: [ardently] Nonsense!
Other: Nonsense?
Me: Yes
Critical Dialogue with an Other who also has the propensity to be known as myself…
Other : Ok, so you had a script already for this conversation, not completely a script but poignant questions you wanted me to ask and critical witticisms to convey. You lapsed though and for a while at least they are lost, hidden under the boiling currents of the ocean, the stormy ocean. Don’t worry,
Me: But I didn’t even say anything (express worry)
Other: Don’t have to. Things that are gone in this ocean always resurface again, for air? And if you are lucky it might even be safely smashed with a few nicks and erosion of the salt and sand and water onto a wide stretch of pristine beach. The treasure bank.
Me: Hooray?
Other: [looks grave] well I know that is not your ideal way of retrieval but one cannot control the vast body of water which is the ocean. Lots of kilotons, megatons, teratons? More than you can, anyone or everyone can attempt to control.
Me: or even interpret,
Other: predict,
Me: Work within the waves, the watery wonderland of whirlpools, of sudden salty spumes, capsizion and retrieval, loss and find, without a mind for the minutiae you are. A speck on a behemoth. Crash it goes and nobody knows if you are left. Don’t ride the big waves, care for you life don’t be bereft of air. For your minutiae.
Other: a point comes back to me. Why are you so belligerently turgid and poetic prosaic? You have branded yourself for the cultural war, as a soldier of the mind, you fight yet for whom, what?
Identity is formed from two perceptions. Yours and that of everyone else. Everyone else knows little if or none of yours. Yours being everything created you can sign as yours.
Me: One step into the spot/lime light is all it takes. It wont happen for any good reason.
Other: One step is all? And you need a decision better than good to be under the lights glare?
Me: You might have a good reason, an excellent reason, or even the BEST reason but it still might not ever happen. Someone else needs a good reason to move their fat arms, after extracting it from their fat haunches [scratching for blood-sucking lice] and lazily yet somehow loftily and with great power switch that damn spot/limelight on. Your reason can not equal their good reason.
Should make my own lights really. Sparkle sparkle.
Other:Zap Zap, do you know anything at all about what tools and material you need to make a light of the bright magnitude you are describing? None in the slightest, I presume, my Dad used to be an electrician and he would always extoll the virtues of not working with electricity, infact, infact….
Me: Stfu.
Other: Do other people have any inkling of what you want to be, of what you do and why you do it?
Me: Not really. I don’t even have any concrete prospects myself for my future. I prefer it that way. Call it what you want, I call it succumbing to the twistings and tickings of fate and time. Succumbing after fighting up to the point where you can’t fight no more and your struggle must be taken on by another such, unless the fight already sufficed to WIN. Win via history
Other: [laughs] Even when you lose you win that way, or someone else does.
Me: Lose, win, Me, Them, others, all…
Other: This conversation has lost its meaning
Me: This conversation has lots of meaning
Other: I object!
Me: You detract!
Other: My objecting detracts from the amount of meaning? Does it cause there less to be generated or does it start to take and subvert and homogenize that already there into its deadly opposite, Nonsense
Me: [ardently] Nonsense!
Other: Nonsense?
Me: Yes
