Driving himself to his execution Mortimer Hughs couldn't remember which way to turn onto Johnson Street. All he could think of was the red wing blackbird he had seen outside of his window that morning. There is no meaning attached to this. He felt his hand land on his knee, apparently it had fallen from the steering wheel, also without meaning or purpose.

I'm a Possibility-Being

What's most important in Being? Possibility. Possibility recognizes the contradiction of Being. The more-than-oneness of Being. Possibility separates, splits the coin, the heads and tails, of existence and holds them apart.

Without possibility I am trapped. Trapped in a singularity. Trapped in Truth. Gone is the mystery, the unknowing of the unknown. The ground becomes solid and life becomes a straight line from point. to. point.

Possibility is so important because it opens Being up to the may-be. Suddenly all is not known, the future cannot be mapped, and the course is splintered into an infinite directions. The past is dead because its possibilities have been eliminated by time, the past comes back to life in the different possibilities of how I look back upon it in the present and future.

Possibility breathes life into Being. Being gives life to possibility. Possibility creates contradiction, contradiction is the possibility of the possible. Being, possibility, contradiction, are all intertwined, and there are others too: mystery, contingency, time, and death.

Possibility, separating the coin, unlocking the door, setting free and in the possibility of choice binding us in permanence.
Possibility's contradiction is that it is freeing and the most binding.

Philosophical Fridays: Keeping low doesn't make no sense

dead being computer without sense unable to Be
sense vs. reason as if this were a real opposition and duality as if humans are made up of these two parts, separate and antagonistic. where is the truth of the broken pencil in a glass of water?
does sense just merely color my being-in-the-world? does sense just give a flavor to existence? does sense add a soothing purr to the world around me, a soft touch, a mere quality? does reason alone determine the truth of existence, the truth by deduction of being-in-the-world? how can i use reason alone to be-with-others? how can I use reason alone to be-towards-death?

being-towards-death, how can reason help me here? what is reasonable about death, about the experience of death, about the oneness singularity only my own moment of which no other moment can inform? what do I deduce from to determine death? what prior reasoning of nothingness can I reasonably experience the fact of my own death from?

thus the truths in the myriad afterlifes, all obtained by reason, and argued over with logic, and proved on paper.

your reason is contingent on your senses, but does this elevate the senses to the place that reason once held? isn't this just a flip flop? yes. senses are not higher than reason, as if living a purely sensible life is something to strive for, there is a judgement here, for sure. but the drug addict, who chases after sensory pleasure 24 hours a day is not being-in-the-world. the senses can take us out of the shared world, the being-with-others, lock us away in an unintelligible solipsim.

connected reason and sense inside and out in contradiction. unable to be ripped apart.
try to rip apart the faces of a quarter. it's easy with your mind, too easy.

Brother

i heard another, the Other
his movements i was there too
scraping dry paper against his shit.
wash my hands quick and avoid the Other
the sounds, the mirror, the shoes, standing
next to me, it was someone i knew.

Being, touching up against nothingness?

When I lie in bed, what touches up against my Being? Simply the sheets and the pillowcase? The air the fan pushes down onto my skin? These are not the only things that touch my Being, and in fact they may be the furthest from it.

What touches up against Being? What lies intimately close to me in bed?
The sound of tires spinning on the highway outside is closer to me than the sheets on my skin. The places that I go following that tire-sound, big rigs pull me along, the wind whipping harder than the ceiling fan. Close to me is the future, the day I'm about to wake up into, the possibilities I will choose.

I may forget completely the things that actually touch my skin, the objects that my half open eyes let in. I may not be aware of the place that I'm in, the immediate, the ready-to-hand. Being is not like a piece of paper, bound in a book, touching only the pages directly before and after. No, Being is rather like a piece of paper in a book that touches the whole book due to the words printed on both sides.

Proximity to Being, is there such a thing? Doesn't this treat Being as an object, located in space only, able to be acted on by force, composed of a substance? What is proximal and what is infinitely far away?

When Being approaches death, sees the approach, realizes it, what touches up against Being is Nothingness. Surrounded by the Nothing, filled with the Nothing, this allows my Being to drive down a road I've never been down, to go to places while I lie in bed, to imagine the day as I contemplate the past.

Nothing touches up against my Being.

Living life like a black and white

somewhere there is a gray that I can't seem to step in only leap over.
though i know its borders and boundries i cannot get into it. yet.
life seemed like a half moon cookie, no space between, nothing separating chocolate and vanilla.
but the moon and the shadow are much further apart
than i could ever taste before.

somewhere there is a gray where I'm not so hard on myself.
it's OK in there to not achieve an ideal
to contemplate humanity's shortcomings that are not
apart from me.
to embrace the diffuse, to see the wrongness of right to leave
even a personal truth behind in a question
i can smile on a shitty day.

Philosophical Fridays: one in one in one in one in zero

Contradiction is a circular trail, a snake eating itself. Thus the sameness of the poles of contradiction can be viewed. Both poles are part of the same creature, the same Being, the same whole. Disconnected only by an imposed differentiation from outside. Wanting to not be something I often find myself, in my attempts to not be, being that very something. How can intention circle back on itself like this?

In wanting to live, I can find myself dying, but living in the dying, but dying, but living, and so the snake feeds. Infinity is a finite loop simply run over and over again. In the realization of the wholeness of contradiction do I realize the further separation of contradiction that leads back into the closeness of contradiction? And of course back again? The head of the snake and the tail of the snake. The snake is the whole, and yet there is a difference between the head and the tail, heads and tails on a coin. The whole cannot be without the parts, a snake without a head, a coin without a tails. The contradictory elements coming together to form the whole, the whole is divided to form the contradictory elements, which come back together to form the whole, which is separated into parts that have meaning, yet no meaning without the whole.

Thus do I run the circles in my mind. Contours run as straight lines.