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Machine Heaven
"All watched over by machines of loving grace."
--Richard Brautigan
Having established a friendship
with a machine connected to machines,
he felt better about himself.
What had analogous reality
ever done for him aside from
the conception-and-birth thing?
Nothing but problems after that.
Maybe before he dies--thanks,
reality--he'll be able, he thinks,
to live in a world completely
virtual, a self contained in
machined containment. Heaven.
hans ostrom 2020
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Everything is not "OK".. Some things are BAD and wrong. and it is up to US to change it... .
When a man who has done everything he can to be loved by a woman who could only have made him miserable, but despite his best efforts over the years has not succeeded even in arranging a meeting with her, then instead of trying to give expression to his sufferings and the danger he has escaped, he reads and rereads this comment of La Bruyere's, adding to it his own 'million words' and some intensely moving recollections of his life: 'Men often want to love where they cannot succeed, they seek their defeat without being able to bring it about and so, if I may put it like this, they are compelled to remain free.' Whether or not this is the meaning the comment had for its writer (for it to have done so, it would have had to read 'be loved' instead of 'love', which would have been better), there can be no doubt that, taking it this way, this sensitive and well-read man gives it new life, inflates it with meaning until it is ready to burst and connot repeat it without brimming over with joy, so true and fine does he think it to be; yet despite all that he has added nothing to it, and it remains the thought of La Bruyere alone.
Marcel Proust, Finding Time Again, translated by Ian Patterson, p. 203.
As for the enjoyment the beautifully expressed thought of a master gives to a truly discerning mind or a spirit that is genuinely alive, it is probably entirely healthy but, however prized the men may be who can really appreciate it (and how many of them are there in twenty years?), it does reduce them to being no more than the complete consciousness of another.
Marcel Proust, Finding Time Again, translated by Ian Patterson, p. 103.
That's why I don't care that I'm not a Good Proustian. I'm way too self-absorbed to *truly* *understand* it.
Who is the ideal audience, then?
Skepticism with respect to others is not a discovery but a compulsion, a nihilistic despair of the pain of acknowledging separateness.
Stanley Cavell, Cities of Words- §Gaslight, p112
Does anything exist besides my own mind?
In front of my eyes, in front of Albertine's, there had been not just the morning sunshine but that invisible, translucent yet changeable medium through which we looked, I at her actions, she at the importance of her own life: that is to say, those beliefs which we do not perceive but which are no more a pure vacuum than the air we breathe; they compose around us a changing atmosphere, sometimes excellent, often unbreathable, which we could usefully measure and note as carefully as the temperature, pressure and season, for each of our days has its individual character, physical and psychological.
Marcle Proust, The Prisoner, translated by Carol Clark, p. 133
Eclipsed by distance
If I were only in Cairns, I could have a total eclipse of the sun for my big birthday: http://cl.ly/0N0E1K0k26303t2B2b2B
