While she is away

August 22, 2012 § 3 Comments


I dream all the way through August, like a spore trapped, floating through cylindrical shafts of the sun’s rays, as my life edges dreamily towards winter nights.

As Summer draws to a close, the days flutter by with me barely having perceived them. I live through fleeting moments as if they were still-shots of a warm, effervescent dream.

 If I could record only a single detail, one thing that captures everything about her, it would be how she touches everything, dressing and decorating men to bear a winter of solitude that, in the midst of her absence, only the brightest of souls will endure. With a sweep of her dress, she sprinkles a confetti of stars across a void that swallows one hundred days, and once she has sunk behind her velvet veil, in my lonely hour, I sit plucking her gifts from the sky.

A voice inside my head, inspired by someone else’s song

August 20, 2012 § 1 Comment


Sitting in a darkened room offloading thoughts that scurry to bathe in shadow, like wearied minnows struggling against the current of a relentless stream.

‘Take leave of life to examine life,’ he said, ‘and you will return a learned man.’

 I wonder if I were to sow the seeds of thought amongst a flowerbed of children’s dreams, my successors will embark on the search for truth long before their minds are scathed by the poisoned darts of collectivism. 

I am ill-fated to a life of intellectual destitution, unless I continue this struggle through the blackness of the unknown. And as I feel for and clasp the roots of truth, I use them as leverage to drag myself up and out of a cesspit of vices that threaten to annihilate the very foundations of my integrity.

Healing

July 29, 2012 § Leave a comment


Only time can quell the sting of a bitter heart whose frayed strings tangle as it thuds its way into a pitiless destitution. To prematurely refill the insipid remnants of a juice whose acids scorch the lining of a muscle whose life lends you your own, is to salt a wound that tunnels to and down through to the bowel of one’s soul.

Pity is a windowless cage, whose walls are coated in oil, perched high above  an abyss whose bowel roars at the moth who dares drift towards a dishonest light.

When at last mercury melts, creeps through and dribbles out of the arteries it once clogged, snatches of new hope tip the scales towards convalescence,

and at last there is peace.

The Book of Disquiet

June 12, 2012 § 2 Comments


I have so much thanks I only wish I could give to Pessoa for giving me these notes. A man extremely philosophically and lyrically gifted. I loved this for what it was and for how it was written. I loved it because it gave me a part of myself I didn’t know I had; or, rather, didn’t know it was possible to express in such a lucid way. I love this man for everything.

June 8, 2012 § 4 Comments


I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be able to pursue all three sciences. I don’t want to do anything with my life but study it. Nothing else makes sense. I have a vivacious passion burning in me, to understand and define what it is to exist and why it is that we do so. This, then, extends to how it may be possible for other life forms to exist alongside us and share our universe. What, then, could the limits (or non-limits) of this universe? Why should it, and I along with it, exist at all? I need to know if my existence is what I believe it to be. With wondering these things, I study the metaphysics, but only as a pre-cursor to physics. I then think that alongside the physics, it would be desirable to learn chemistry, and then to understand chemistry, in the context of life – biology. Why, then, should I not spend my earnings on education – self and formal? I have no need for fancy clothes and fast cars. I have no need for, nor want of superfluity.

An ode to our man Ludwig

December 14, 2011 § Leave a comment


I think the first time I read a quote the belonged to Mr Ludwig Wittgenstein, I was somewhat amazed, but only moderately so. He didn’t capture me in the way that, say, Nietzsche (my love for him (shamelessly) knows no bounds), or even tales and legends of Socrates did. I kind of shrugged and gave a – meh, that’s smart – swiftly carrying on with whatever had my attention at the time. Every time I see a Wittgenstein quote, I react in the same way. Well I did until today.

I went out this summer and picked up Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus  and, must admit, found it somewhat overwhelming. What a grand introduction he gave it, only to throw ‘incoherent’ (ashamedly to me, anyway) tidbits of philosophy at me. What was he playing at? I so naively thought. Then came the podcast. Whilst searching for something philosophical to listen to on my journeys to and from the tube station every day, I happened on quite a wealth of philosophy podcasts in the iTunes store, one of which was a 7 minute ‘analysis’ of Tractatus Logico. They say analysis, but it was more a narration of it. Anyway, again, despite the very authoritative way in which some of Wittgenstein’s text was presented to me, I sort of nodded and got on with my day, only pausing for a few minutes to reflect on this, now obviously, profound piece of philosophy.

Wittgenstein begins by telling his reader that his work is concerned with the simple fact that the reason problems arise in philosophy, is that the logic of our language has, somewhere down the line, been misunderstood. Now, I haven’t read enough of Tractatus Logico  to know whether he himself has had a stab at identifying where on that line, and perhaps you might let me know if he has – of course without giving me too much in the way of a spoiler, but it was at this point that I (partly) shed my skin of scepticism (for a philosopher would never shed it all), and sort of ‘let him in’, if you will. I read this, as I said, this summer, so why is it relevant today?

I recently began reading John Locke’s An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, which so far has dealt with trying to distinguish the inherent properties of objects, from the impressions or ideas they have upon us. For example the object that is an apple, is in essence very different from the idea we have of it, says Locke. When we think of apples, we may call upon our idea of them being red, crunchy and sweet. What Locke argues is that the properties red, crunchy and sweet are not properties that belong to the apple, rather the effects the apple’s actual properties have upon our senses. Thus he concludes that any object in existence’s actual properties can only be of bulk, number, figure and motion.

This is the bit where it all got exciting for me.

Locke, by way of illustration, says:

The second sort [the quality of an object that is the power its properties have upon our senses] are looked upon as real qualities, in the things thus affecting us: but the third sort [the quality of an object that is the power it has to transform the properties of another object] are called and esteemed barely powers, v.g. the idea of heat, or light, which we receive to our eye, or touch from the sun, are commonly thought real qualities existing in the sun, and something more than mere powers of it.

Whenever an illustration is given in a philosophical text, I will, by habit, seek to provide more illustrations of my own, in order to prove of disprove a proposed theory. Before I got to that stage here, I sat and thought about real-life examples of our doing what Locke has described. It would not be uncommon, I think, for a parent explaining the concept of the sun to their child, and in trying to point out that it is hot, to therefore utter something like ‘the sun is hot’. Well, not around Locke they wouldn’t. Locke would clearly retort, ‘no, sire, the sun is NOT hot – the sun makes us FEEL hot.’ And, I thought, so would Wittgenstein, and it is here that I’ve found it in me to appreciate his philosophy in the way it should be appreciated.

I think my initial problem with Wittgenstein was the way he flippantly disregarded everything metaphysical, everything in philosophy I held dear to me, on the grounds that unanswerable questions are ultimately nonsense. They are of things that do not concern us, or, as he states more effectively than I ‘what we cannot talk about, we must pass over in silence’. Being human, and more importantly, being a human interested in philosophy, my ego finds it somewhat difficult, perhaps even a little straining, to pass over ANYTHING in silence. To do so would be ignorant, so my conscious tells me, and alas, my soul yields.

Whose blame is it anyway? Why internet censorship is not the answer

November 28, 2011 § 16 Comments


What is wrong with internet censorship? Not an article on the rights and wrongs of suicide, and not a platform for debate on whether or not a person has the right to take his or her own life; instead, it is one that seeks to understand how and why we have come to arrive at a culture more focused on seeking to blame following tragedy, than preventing it.

An Essex mother has called for suicide help websites to be banned, after her 22-year old son was found to have taken his life. Stephen was said to have been found dead in the home that he shared with his father, after he allegedly consulted a suicide help site for ‘an unusual method of suicide’, by using a helium canister. I was first alerted to this story whilst watching Channel  5’s news program as I waited to have my hair done at the hairdressers. Following a factual report of her son’s tragic passing, Stephen’s mother expressed her belief that her son would still be here, had he not had access to instructions on how to commit suicide on the internet. I have issues with this line of reasoning. Firstly, people have been seeking to end, and more importantly, ending their lives, long before the invention of the internet, and often without ‘instruction’. Yes, it might help to know how others have gone about doing so successfully, with as little room for error and/or pain as possible, but it is generally something that can be achieved without instruction. What is also interesting is that the method Stephen used was an unusual one. The report remarks on the ‘unusual method’ Stephen used, as if to claim that idea of suicide itself was planted in his head by the website, and that without its influence, he would not have been able to achieve what he did. Might it just be that Stephen didn’t want his death to look like a suicide, was already certain of what he wished to end his life, with or without help, and that his research was purely for the sake of finding a way to eliminate all elements of suspicion surrounding it? It isn’t uncommon for people contemplating suicide to want to cover up how it is they died, especially when they’ve also been trying to conceal any signs of depression in the lead up to ending their lives. Understandably, Stephens parents were shocked by the whole ordeal and that say his suicide was unusual because he ‘seemed happy’. Let us not forget that it is not uncommon for depressed/suicidal people to try and cover up how they’re feeling. His ‘laughter and lighting up the room’, as described by his father, could have been an overt mask, one that helped to cover up how he truly felt.

We find it very difficult to talk about and confront mental illness – depression in particular. People diagnosed with depression are stigmatised for pretty much the rest of their lives, and receiving help is, in my opinion, more difficult than it could be. Support from family and friends is virtually non-existent for many, and the arrival of the internet, has brought with it a platform for vulnerable members of society to find and support each other. There are forums for drug users, forums for people who participate in obscure sexual activities, forums for people who want to discuss and further their eating disorders – it is now easier than ever to connect with the people who used to be leagues away, and no longer do people have to feel as if they are battling problems alone and living amongst people who cannot relate to them. This, I believe, is why suicide websites, websites that support people with eating disorders, carry so much appeal. They’re ‘answers’ to the societal problems we are too afraid to discuss, and explore, in an effort to come up with supportive, if not preventative measures for.

‘But isn’t Stephen’s mum’s call for a ban on suicide websites a preventative method?’ You may say. Not directly, no. What I believe is wrong with censorship, is that in many, if not most cases, it’s akin cutting off the limbs of a tree with diseased roots, hoping that the tree will be cured of all afflictions. This, coupled with the fact that the majority of cries for censorship, seem to be for materials on issues we, as a society, find hard to swallow, or admit are major problems in the first place. Take, for example, the calls in Turkey to censor pornographic websites –  it is no secret that western society struggles to find a place, in itself, for finding comfort in discussing and embracing human sexuality. Or take the calls to censor sites related to Nazism and holocaust denial in France, again, topics seemingly still worthy of debate, but forever tiptoed around, for fear of offending the people directly and indirectly affected by them.

There are, then, of course automatic and unquestionable censors put in place, and these include censors on things like child-pornography, which, interestingly, is something that there is a majority agreement on the need for. It’s interesting because it’s one of those ‘yes-it should-be-censored-without-a-doubt’ areas, simply because it’s horrific. I don’t for a second doubt that it is, but wasn’t murder and brutal violence once abhorred in exactly the same way? One now only has to pop in a DVD with a little red circle in the right hand corner of the box to be in for a ‘thrilling’, and often said to be ‘exhilarating’, gruesome viewing experience. Surely this shift in what does and doesn’t qualify as viewing pleasure will happen with issues currently in the greyer areas of our moral spectrum?

Similar to suicide help websites, there are websites that help to support people with eating disorders. These are places where people with eating disorders can come and discuss successful methods of starvation, ways to combat the side-effects (for lack of a better word) of starvation, and how successful their weigh-ins have been for them, week by week, or month by month. Calls for a ban of these websites have been pushed with the same zeal as this Stephen’s mother’s call for a ban on suicide sites, and I cannot help but feel that it’s yet another example of society looking for someone to blame when it should be focusing on ways to support vulnerable people, or even encourage or positively  subdue curiosity in the case of the young. Eating disorders, depression, suicidal thoughts – they’re never going to go away, particularly not if we keep shying from tackling them head on, instead of alienating the people who carry them. Treating them as and labelling them pathetic victims, and then fleeing for fear of becoming contaminated by them.

Finally, how long will it be before we stop looking for ‘agents’ to blame? In 2009, Daniel Petric was found guilty of shooting his parents because they wouldn’t let him play Halo 3, a first-person video game in which the player must shoot and kill enemies. The story was met with claims that such games are too graphic and violent, and influence children and young people to become so. It’s much more likely that there had been a relationship breakdown between Daniel and his parents, and that he was battling issues few could provide him with the support for.  Is this, then an illustration of a shift in parental authority to state authority? Is it a sign that because we yield to and seek State authority where it should not be filling in for self-sufficiency, subsequently, parents seek to hand, or shall I say, cast their parental responsibility over to the State? Where things do go horribly wrong, rather than question parenting and support methods, instead censorship is enforced, and laws on entertainment are questioned. People call for a ban on things that very many people can enjoy without suffering ill-effects on their characters.

Ultimately, the sooner we stop looking for outlets to pin the blame on, and the sooner we realise that malicious people, the creators of these sites, are always going to exploit the vulnerable positions of those we are too fearful to help ourselves, we can perhaps work towards not being afraid to ask the questions we so clearly need answers to, in order arrive at conclusions that deal with the root of our problems. It is tragic that lives have been and will continue to be lost as we try to fight these problems head on, but at some point, we need to start digging for roots, rather than lopping off branches.

The most quotable book on writing: a book every writer needs to read

October 20, 2011 § Leave a comment


Title: The Agent

Author: Martin Wagner

Publisher: Pinter & Martin Ltd

Price: UK £6.99 | US $14.95

Pages: 65

Click here to buy direct from the publisher’s website and receive 20% off your order, plus free UK delivery. 

Stephen: Can I ask you a question?

Alexander: Shoot

Stephen: Is it worth me going on? Should I just stop writing and get myself a normal job…?

Alexander: Are there any normal jobs?

Stephen: I need to know. You know, as a writer I get two kinds of responses: from friends and family, ‘Yeah you’re great and well done and why don’t those bastards publish you?’ And then there’s the rest of the world, the ones who just shit all over your work, not by reading it, you understand, but by ignoring it.

« Read the rest of this entry »

How very nice it is to meet you.

October 17, 2011 § 1 Comment


There comes a point where, even on a printed page, all of the letters, those solitary ink-beings, begin to leak into one. Reading becomes skimming, and skimming becomes unconscious page-turning, as you fade in and out of the story before you, and the story that is your own. Have you ever caught yourself lost, not in the book before you, but instead, in your own head, reminiscing about some past event, or anticipating a future one? Only to then refocus on the words on the page, to find that you’ve advanced three pages, but not read three pages, and so nothing you’re reading connects with that which you were reading, and you have no choice but to turn back and read it all over again?

I’ve read this page four times now, and I’ve given up hoping to elicit its secrets, and so refuse to read it a fifth. I selected this book purely because its cover compelled me to, and I know that it is more often than necessary said that you should never judge a book by its cover, but I can’t help but feel that if that were honestly supposed to be the case, then so much work wouldn’t be put into them. This one is jacketed in plain, white matte. Its title is etched gold lettering, and it bears the signature of a man whose home is currently 10 million of the world’s bookshelves. Or so they said the last time his sales were counted. It is in books like these that I find it the hardest to find a home, and I often think it’s because it’s a home shared with a great portion of the rest of the world. Perhaps it’s too crowded in there, perhaps that horde of people is the reason I find it so hard to get up close, close enough to enjoy the show. I know this, yet I continue to pry. At present, 39 novels like these line my books shelves. They seek refuge in-between lesser known works, and their elaborate spines stifle the voices of more modest ones. Works, who probably haven’t had that hip new addition to the team of graphic designers in that colourful little office, the one with ‘character’, up on the 6th floor of the publishing house. They are, instead, the ones who are all content, and admittedly have not bothered so much with the side-show.  None of this stops my impulse-buys, and thoughts of these facts refrain from screaming out to me as I load my shopping basket with that shiny, new bestseller positioned so cleverly above the chewing-gum. And it’s for this reason that I continue to read them.

As I marked the page for a 5th consultation at a later date, I scanned a row of books for a more satisfying read, and my eyes stopped at one that I’d forgotten I’d had, and the pains I went through to obtain it. The Sequel, by Felix F. Ocean, promised to satiate my thirst for the story of the days, months years that followed the emancipation of a man, who, in the in book that precluded, had been falsely accused of killing his wife. I remembered with clarity the sound of Ocean’s prose, and how I would, once finishing a distinctive section, read back over each and every word, lingering on every comma and resting at every full-stop. I would curl my tongue up and over Ls, and fix my lips rigidly around Os. It was this man’s mind that I love, and I wanted to be lost inside every forest he created, and die an evanescent death in amongst the rubble of every single building he tore down. At the end of each chapter, I remember longing for the man who had left me this masterpiece, the man who is now nothing more than the smoke that lingers long after his own flame has been extinguished.

When I read something extraordinary, I want nothing more than to converse with the author, to tell them what it is that I love, and how it is they managed to give it to me. To thank them for giving it to me, above all. Tears began to well in my eyes at the thought of how I’d been born a little too late for that.

At the end of the first paragraph, eyes heavy, I marked my page and laid my book down on my chest, and began to daydream my way into a sleep, and then one deeper still.

Now tell me that you are aware of the feeling of a presence in a room you know, beyond reason, should be empty. Having been alone in the house for almost a week now, I of course had to journey through the motions of telling myself that it was all in my head, and also remind myself that I had locked everything shut. But the feeling was still there, the hairs on my body still raised, as if willed in the direction of some magnetic force. You know what that feels like, don’t you?

Knowledge as infinite: a dialogue

October 10, 2011 § Leave a comment


Something a little different. Perhaps it works, perhaps it doesn’t. Below is a conversation that took place between myself and a friend. The topic was sparked by a tweet I had seen, on whether or not knowledge is quanitifiable. Well, we ended up moving away from that, and instead, on to whether or not knowledge is infinite. Enjoy.

Eruzen: Do you think knowledge is infinite?

Kayla: Of course. Actually, I’m thinking…it depends.

E: How can you know?

K: Because…because I guess as long as time and space are infinite, possibilities are infinite and that kind of makes knowledge infinite. If anything can happen in an infinite amount of time, and anything can come into existence in that time, the existence of that ‘thing’ brings with it, new knowledge.

E: Yes, but we assume time and space are infinite. In fact, space is still growing, so in a sense, it can’t be infinite, right? Well, at least not yet.

K: Not yet, but that’s provided we know it will never stop (growing). We don’t even know that. If we were certain that space and time had limits, I feel we’d be certain of the limitations of all things contained within space and time.

E: It’s like we have a limit, and then there is beyond that limit. But it can’t be infintite if we can never verify it’s infinite. It’s like assuming a road goes on forever because you walked it all your life, and now you can’t because your legs are damaged. It’s a matter of assumption. This is how science works until we have an answer. Problem is, even the most well thought out guesses are still guesses.

K: Yes, basically. I think knowledge itself COULD be infinite, but then you have human understanding as a kind of sub-category of knowledge. And human understanding is finite

E: Yes! That’s what I feel also. Human understanding of knowledge is almost completely separate when you place it on a scale of all there is to know.

K: I think also the thought of knowledge being finite upsets me, so I want to believe that it’s not. But you think that we have a finite capacity for knowledge? Why? And is it the same in everyone? I don’t think it’s that simple. Because then it would be measured and dependent on memory and recall. You could know something, but are unable to recall it at the time of testing. If you tested me right now, I couldn’t tell you everything I know. My mind wouldn’t  be able to deal with so great a task, and that’s purely down to the ability of memory. So it’s like, do you base knowledge on what is remembered (and available for recall), or what is stored indefinitely? And how do you access what is stored, but not remembered at the time of testing?

E: I read in Scientist Now that it is now believed that Humankind’s potential for knowledge has a limit. It’s not about what we know, it’s about our potential to actually understand/figure out. Apparently, we have a limit and there are some things we’ll just never get. Understandable to be honest, given how much humankind has assumed in the past.

K: That’s not knowledge, then, that’s reason. And of course, the ability to reason is finite. I guess knowledge is, in a way, transient. What’s ‘knowledge’ now, won’t be knowledge in 2000 years time.

E: But if the ability to reason is finite, so is knowledge. As knowledge is just acquired reasoning that has…been through the process. Ergo, if we cannot understand everything, we can never know anything.

K: But knowledge is only knowledge in the present? And if there is an ‘everything’ then knowledge is finite. If all of knowledge is an ‘everything’, all the possibilities of knowledge must already exist.

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