...
I made the mistake of clicking on a link at some liberal intellectual old fart's literary pretensions blog and landed on some literary pretentious young fart's intellectual humor blog. How do I convey the symmetry of my response to this lethal twaddle?
It's aimed at itself.
It's a perfect split between the need to scream and the need to evaporate, and I cannot pick between the piece itself and the comments on it as to which is more responsible for throwing me into this deeply painful quandary.
Thank goodness I can come to this pass and detach even from that, because if I wallow in it like so many other sentient beings are wont to do, my blog will turn into a machine gun, and yer fucked. Dudes. Fucked.
Abounding this, it must be said, math is but a language. It may even be more precise than any other language... probably not because fewer people are right about the premises and still fewer are clear on the rules of it, but I'm willing to let them have this highest distinction in the the ranks of both computation and expression. That's fine.
You're only ever computing the contents of your own brain. You're only ever saying the contents of your own brain. And the point of computing and saying is not to impress people, but to make something real happen.
Impossible when you're really just trying to be impressive.
No. Really.
Yes, yes, you can build bridges and vacuum cleaners with it. Yes, yes, you can fill up your social life with it. But what comes of all that? The world feels itself to be advancing while never evolving. You feel yourself to be advancing while never evolving!
You stay an affected putz right up to your deathbed, when it finally dawns on you how you fucked up. The only people who do not die in this agony are psychopaths, because they are not human, and those who are killed faster than thought.
I'm going to give you a hint.
Progress cannot take place by means of language or computation, calculation or scrawls or noises, because nobody's calculators or noise makers are conditioned, programmed, hypnotized, alike. Something else has to convey between the infinities wiggling around on this space rock or we're worse fucked than those we've genocided and extinctified.
You're a breathing inactivist for your entire life if you do not figure this out.
always and any time....
