Someone took the scissors from the print room at work.
Someone left a passive-aggressive note to ask for their return.
Someone returned the scissors and created a metaphysical dilemma.
Where are the scissors?
Have they ever moved?
Where am I?
What is this place?
How can we be sure what we are seeing is real?
What is my relationship to something I perceive?
Do I create the scissors or do the scissors create me?
Why am I shaking?
Blessed are those who seek
what they can’t see
Some mumbling bumbling
category.
Jewelled demons claw at you
They speak without voice
Only need a few dollars
Employer of choice.
If it hides, light its darkness
If it fights, set it free
No actor can act
what a being can’t be.
The dancers deceive us
Sweet night set us free
This turbid green liquor
Herein lies the sea
Open the window
Take in the air
Bathe in the lamplight
Reject every care
Concrete and fences
All guide your way home
But it’s too late
And it feels late
Because it is late
And we commiserate that
In the end
We’re all
on
our
own
But that’s ok.
Sensate
Annihilate
Gate, gate, paragate
Infinite
Devoid of hate
Or was it something that I ate?
Little golden man,
where are you running?
There’s nowhere to be,
up on your shelf.
Your wicker basket
weighs no more than you
And is just as precious,
not precious at all.
Little golden man,
with a hat for a head
Tell me your treasure,
“No treasure at all”.
Ah, now I see,
So very precious,
Not a dead insect,
The moth deserved more.
Thwarted by glass,
And forgotten by sunshine,
The flowers of spring,
Mean nothing at all.
Dust in the morning,
Disrupted by black birds,
The garden is dirty
(Not dirty at all)
Electricity’s out
A solar light charges
Anticipate nighttime
Compete with the moon.
No work can be done
No internet blinking
No wisdom forthcoming
The moth died to soon.
Little gold man
Gilded in nothing
We’ll empty your basket,
This verse is for you.
When the world is stripped of uses
tomorrow wake and find
a fate with no excuses
a past you can’t rewind.
Forget those lapping waters
that island in your mind
for ignorance is golden
(but resale value is unkind).
Breathe in dust
Skin, nails, rust
stagger on
remember us.
You did just what
you had to do
you could do no other
you you you.
And nothing
More
And nothing
Less
And silence in the wilderness.
Is this the end?
(this is the start)
this act’s unwritten
live your part.
Throughout our lives our experiences and social interactions shape our modes of being and our opinions. For some of us these opinions become rigid, mentally isolated from the flux of being which originally gave them form. This inflexibility will cause conflict to arise in this shared world of ours – but do not fret. It is not difficult to change somebody’s mind. All you need is some patience, a little time and a mad surgeon with some serious blades and a co-operative or sufficiently restrained brain donor. Never give up on people. And if you’re really ambitious you can follow Ghandi’s advice and “be the change”. Change a mind, change a life (or two).
“Know Thyself” – Delphic maxim
.
.
“No Thyself” – Gautama Buddha
.
.
“Know why self” – Deleuze (postmodern retort)
.
.
“No wine shelf” – IKEA (kitchen cupboard)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
So, here’s the truth about critical existentialism:
It’s all pun and games until someone loses an I.
“You have one wish left.”
Charlie looked around, bewildered. He remembered the beach. He remembered finding the bottle and … he remembered the genie. “One wish?… left? … What do you…?”
The genie smiled politely. “You are entitled to three wishes. You have used two wishes. You have one wish left.”
“…” Charlie opened his mouth, as if to speak.
“And…” The genie continued. “One of the conditions is that you will not remember what you have wished for. After this wish you will be returned to your life uncorrupted by the experience of gambling with a genie, though with all the benefits you have bestowed upon yourself.”
Charlie took a moment to mentally digest this.
The genie was very patient (as genies tend to be – they have aeons of practice).
“So… I can’t know what I’ve already wished for?”
“What you know is what you know.” Replied the unflappable genie.
“But how… what should I…?” Charlie waved his arms as though weighing up invisible options.
“That is entirely up to you.”
“But how do I know what I’ve already wished for? What if I wish for the same thing? What if I already wished for the same thing twice?”
The genie smiled. “Wishing for something twice will not negate it.”
“But… I would have wasted a wish. Maybe I will have wasted two wishes! If I only get three wishes I want them to count!”
“Consider it this way. You now have one wish. You get one wish. Whatever you wish for will be realised. Please make your wish.”
“How can I if I don’t know what I’ve already wished for?”
“Isn’t one wish enough? It must be better than none.”
Charlie stared at the genie but couldn’t read anything beyond his charming exterior. He nodded solemnly. “What would I have wished for? What could I have wanted? Would I have realised when I began wishing that I wouldn’t remember?”
“I explained the conditions to you at the outset. You told me you understood and proceeded to make your first wish. Prior to your second wish I again explained the conditions. Again, you indicated that you understood.”
“If only I knew what I had asked for. Could you tell me?”
“Is that your wish?”
“What? No! What good would that do? I’d know and wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”
“I assure you, the condition is there for your own benefit. You will not want to remember. It is the end effect that matters, not the process whereby you achieve it. Please make your wish.”
“Ok. Let me think.” Charlie sat down in the sand and placed his chin in his hands. The genie continued to float and smile abstractly.
“So what should I wish for? I could wish for money. That’s an easy one. They say money doesn’t make you happy, but I’d like to give it a try.” He looked at the genie for feedback. The genie just remained in mid-air and smiled. “But money can be spent. Not everything can be bought. And I only get one wish. Health is more important. What about immortality? Is that… can I even wish for that?”
“Certainly.”
“But that’s not my wish! Not yet. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
“Of course.” The genie gave no indication of being in a hurry.
“But would that end up being a curse? All these stories you see with miserable immortals. And what if you still deteriorated but couldn’t die? I don’t know, it seems risky. What about superpowers? Could I wish to be able to fly? Or be incredibly strong?”
“You can.”
“But I still don’t know what my first wishes were. Maybe…” Charlie frowned, pushed his hand out in front of his face and concentrated. Nothing happened. “No. Maybe, if I worked this out before, maybe I knew that to make the most of the three wishes I would have to wish for three different things, so I would have worked out what the three most important wishes would be and then wish for them in order. So I should go for the third most important wish now.” He looked up at the genie who just smiled serenely back.
“But I don’t know what those are. So I probably wouldn’t have known then. If only I’d come prepared. You know, have a list of wishes numbered and ready to go, just in case. But I reckon only crazy people do that. Or people with too much time on their hands. … How about time? Can I control time, like time travel?”
“If that is your wish. You had best be specific though.”
“Yeah. I’m a bit worried about being tricked here. I don’t know whether to trust you or not.”
“I assure you, I am merely a facilitator. You are in charge of your decisions.”
“A facilitator? What do you get out of this? Can you grant your own wishes?”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Would you like to?”
The genie gave a broader grin. “I do not have the same drives or desires as you. I cannot explain. I have no need of wishes.”
“Could I…” This time Charlie broke into a broad grin, his eyes sparkled with triumph. “Could I wish for more wishes?”
The genie did not react.
“Is that against the rules?”
“No. However, there would be conditions.”
The sound of the last word caused Charlie to shiver. “Why conditions?”
The genie floated a little closer. “There are certain limits at play here, not rules per se, but certain practical restrictions that we cannot transgress. For instance, if you wished the extinction of the universe it would be so, however in the same instance the paradox would resolve itself and reality would resume with but one unremarkable absence.”
“… You mean me?”
“That is correct.”
“So, what I try to do gets done to me?”
“That was a very particular case. There is a balance to be maintained but you can certainly benefit from your wishes.”
“So what would happen if I wished for more wishes?”
“You would get more wishes.”
“And the conditions?”
“You would be forced to respect the limits. But this is also true of three wishes, or one wish.”
“And by ‘forced’ you mean…?”
“Any wish is enacted immediately.”
“And I wouldn’t be able to remember what I wished for?”
“That is a condition.”
Charlie stood up. He paced up and down the beach, staring at his feet as he walked. And at the footprints in the sand.
After a moment he stopped and looked up at the genie. “How long have I been here? … Have I…? …Am I trapped in an endless loop?”
“No.”
Charlie gave a sigh of relief.
“You – have only existed for 3 minutes.”
“What do you want?” He asked.
“I have no idea.” I replied.
“Then why are you here?” He responded.
“I’m not.” I denied.
“The problem with you is you’ve got no direction,
You must learn to be happy, must catch the infection,
For everything else is a senseless distraction
The path lies with want and with striving and action!”
“My life isn’t pointless, sure, this I admit,
The struggle is real and it hurts quite a bit,
But self-seeking pleasure’s not gain, but detraction,
The meaning of life must be sought through inaction.”
“Your words are all nonsense” the man said in a hurry.
“A waste, a bludger, all slack, sludge and slurry.
A terrible shame, burden of our time,
Though of course in the end, it’s your life, not mine.”
I looked at him sadly, he looked not a wink,
I thought I might tell him, but what would he think?
When the grand suit he donned was not more than a rag
And he carried his life in a well worn old bag,
The briefest of things, one could say it was rash,
Could not carry his clothes or trinkets or trash,
Instead he held papers, scribbles and scraps,
Ways to bind people, dealings and traps.
“You know” I said at last.
“You could almost be the image of a sage.” (But I said it fast)
“You know” He mouthed with a wink.
“I couldn’t give a flying feck what you think.”
C.T. Curio 