#something rather than nothing

[loveandknowledge]

Forwards, always forwards was the existentialist’s cry, but [Martin] Heidegger had long since pointed out that no one goes forwards forever. In ‘Being and Time’, he depicted Dasein as finding authenticity in 'Being-towards-death’, that is, in affirming mortality and limitation. He also set out to show that Being itself is not to be found on some eternal, changeless plane: it emerges through Time and through history. Thus, both on the cosmic level and in the lives of each one of us, all things are temporal and finite. This idea of Being or human existence as having an inbuilt expiry date never sat so well with [Jean-Paul] Sartre. He accepted it in principle, but everything in his personality revolted against being hemmed in by anything at all, least of all by death. As he wrote in 'Being and Nothingness’, death is an outrage that comes to me from outside and wipes out my projects. Death cannot be prepared for, or made my own; it’s not something to be resolute about, nor something to be incorporated and tamed. It is not one of my possibilities but 'the possibility that there are for me no longer any possibilities’. [Simone de] Beauvoir wrote a novel pointing out that immortality would be unbearable ('All Men Are Mortal’), but she too saw death as an alien intruder. In 'A Very Easy Death’, her 1964 account of her mother’s last illness, she showed how death came to her mother 'from elsewhere, strange and inhuman’. For Beauvoir, one cannot have a relationship with death, only with life. The British philosopher Richard Wollheim put all this another way. Death, he wrote, is the great enemy not merely because it deprives us of all the future things we might do, and all the pleasures we might experience. It takes away the ability to experience anything at all, ever. It puts an end to our being a Heideggerian clearing for things to emerge into. Thus, as Wollheim says, 'It deprives us of phenomenology, and, having once tasted phenomenology, we develop a longing for it which we cannot give up.’ Having had experience of the world, having had intentionality we want to continue it forever, because that experience of the world is what we are. Unfortunately this is the deal we get. We can taste phenomenology only because, one day, it will be taken from us. We clear our space, then the forest reclaims it again. The consolation is to have had the beauty of seeing light through the leaves at all: to have had something, rather than nothing.

Sarah Bakewell, ‘At the Existentialist Café’

[loudlylovingreview]

Moudi Sbeity: Something Rather Than Nothing

after Rosemerry Wahtola TrommerThe earth stands at an estimated thirteen septillion pounds.That’s every living thing combined,times the weight of our grief and every uttered joy,added to whatever stunned grace keeps us in motion.Contemplate this –We are delicately held in the balance between the bottomless fall into despair and the edging determination to turn and face the sun. Everything we know…

Moudi Sbeity: Something Rather Than Nothing

[probaway]

One more blank and I'll blank.

One more blank and I’ll blank.

I’ve been attending writing workshops lately. It’s fun hearing what people come up with after a prompt. Most of the people involved get deeper into their own mind than when we are talking directly to one another. Perhaps it’s because they aren’t being interrupted, or because one is just talking to oneself. The others usually get into people things, but today I got into abstractions, and that was…

View On WordPress

[thecynicstub]

No question is more sublime than why there is a Universe: why there is anything rather than nothing.

Derek Parfit

[thearbourist]

The DWR Sunday Religious Disservice – Why is there Something, Rather than Nothing? The desperate need to feel like a special snowflake with an afterlife easily sums up many Theistic arguments. 

[chrisjohngilson]

Pretending To Be Special

In now week 3 of the job hunt, I have come to realize that the second most frustrating thing about looking for a job, right after the fact that there are no jobs, is writing the cover letter to the jobs you do find that meet your criteria. 

Any kind of cover letter writer's guide will tell you first and foremost to make it very clear, in a concise way, that you are perfect for this job. All of your abilities match their requirements. Perfectly. 

The problem with matching the job requirements perfectly is that in this market it takes a really special person. Putting on my Seinfeldian cap (though it pains me so), I have to ask, "who are these people?" 

Here, I have a confession to make. I am not special in any way. I can write slightly better than norm, I can take a better than average picture, I can play guitar better than your run-of-the-mill regular joe. I am educated, but I probably know more trivia than academia. I know way more about Bob Dylan than I should. I read a lot. I think I'm a nice person. 

This isn't special though. 

In all of these ways, I am no different than 99% of people. Even if we narrowed it down to the fields where I'm looking for employment, I would still say that I would be just as good as anybody else. 

For instance, as a proofreader I may not have an advanced degree, nor prior experience, but just because I don't doesn't change the rules of grammar or style. (And just because I don't flaunt them here, doesn't mean I don't know them). A degree won't give you access to the secret grammar of yore. Experience only means that you were lucky enough to get a job.

And this kind of logic follows me around at every job posting.

Even worse is when a posting demands that you have a Ph. D., speak fluent Korean and French, live 3 blocks away from the offices, and your Mother's name was Mary. For a job in sales!

Aside from the fact that I obviously don't fit these qualifications, I both envy and pity the person that does.

Yes, they may have a doctorate, speak three languages, live in a great area, and have a mother named Mary, but why are they going for a job in sales? Are there no jobs available for these elite super soldiers of the intellect? 

Perhaps this is a top-down problem. There are no jobs in elite fields, which forces those elite down to the normal jobs, and so on and so forth. Maybe it's because the elderly are deferring retirement. Whatever the problem is, it is a problem.

Because I shouldn't have to be special to find a job. I shouldn't have to be special at all. And I'm tired of pretending that I am something I know most people aren't. I should just have to be capable. 

That I know I am. I am capable and ready for a career. 

But that doesn't get you a job anymore. 

[historylessonpt2]

DISCLAIMER: Watch the video with the sound off as it was intended.

Fuck. Lou Reed is dead. 

It would be no exaggeration to say that this man was one of my heroes. His life work affected me in such a way that when I first heard "The Velvet Underground & Nico," my life was changed forever. 

Everyone who loves Rock & Roll probably has an "& Nico" story. Everyone knows the banana. It is clearly one of the seminal albums in musical history. And whoever said it (It's still disputed if Eno ever said it), but whoever said it was right: "maybe only 30,000 people bought that record when it came out, but they all started bands." 

Because that is the influence that this band has. 

And the shocking thing was, like an Earthquake, the effects were almost immediate. Bands got more daring and dissonant. Alex Chilton tried his hand at "Femme Fatale," less than 10 years after the initial release (which may be the first VU cover?)

This Lou Reed put out "Transformer" too. That one has "Walk On the Wild Side." You know, the one where he talks about "giving head," but they still play it on the radio. 

He released "Metal Machine Music," mostly famous for not being what most people consider music. 

What the fuck else do you say about Lou Reed? What can you say that will not have been said a million times today?

In the wake of his death, Lou Reed will be remembered as a genius. And rightfully so. He will be remembered as the man who wrote "Heroin," and died from Liver Disease. 

He will be remembered strung out and thin. 

And old and wrinkled, standing next to Metallica, playing the weirdest fucking, well, whatever "Lulu" is. And Lou could get away with it.

How? 

Fuck you, that's how. 

He broke all the rules, while making the rule-makers look like the criminals. He set "The Raven" to music.

I am at a loss for any meaningful words that wouldn't be another summation of his career or just another personal story. 

So watch the video above. Sound off. (It's a shitty song anyway). 

Watch that video, and think of all the fucking happiness this man has imparted through his art.

Think of "Sunday Morning" and "Rock & Roll." 

Because you're sad and those things make you happy. 

I know, I'm sad too. 

[historylessonpt2]

SO...

I suppose that I should begin by explaining myself (as if anyone should start by explaining themselves). I have decided, while sick in bed (maybe like Proust), that I should begin writing about music (not so much like Proust). 

Now, how many fucking people do that? I know, I know. I'm just one more asshole looking to spread his nonsense opinions to other assholes that need opinions to follow (pooping back and forth forever). 

So what makes my opinion so worthwhile? Well, for one, I can tell you that the force is so strong within me that I feel compelled at all times to tell just about anybody that stops moving for more than 2 seconds how I feel about something. I feel strongly about things. All things. 

But mostly, music. 

I would call myself an expert at listening to music. It is a skill I've honed. (And yes, you can be bad at listening to music.) I have 3 moments to blame for this. 

1). That one Christmas where my brother and I bought my Mother, my Father bought my Mother, and My mother bought my brother and I a copy of the Beatle's 1. Yes, we had 3 1s. I had the radio before, Classic Rock and such, but this fucking blew my mind. Yes, "Eight Days A Week" blew my mind. 

2). When my cousin heard me listening to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on my discman and bragged that he could play it on guitar. It was just after Christmas so, I asked for one for my birthday in May. My parents were so excited (Dad especially) I had one by the end of January. (I still have that guitar, a red Squier Strat not pictured above). 

3). When the Rolling Stone "500 Greatest Albums" list came out, I bought most of the top 20 I thought would be cool. Imagine for a moment being 16, coming home one day to a package that contained Pet Sounds, London Calling, Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde on Blonde, Exile on Main Street, The Velvet Underground & Nico, and Kind of Blue.

Talk about desert island albums. You might strand yourself if you knew you had enough to survive, and enough power to keep the music playing. 

So, within the span of 3 years that all this took, I went from upstanding 13 year old honor student to the kid with sideburns that wore the Beatles shirt all the time. I even wore that shirt for my High School picture. 

Actually, even worse, for my senior yearbook picture, after taking a picture in a nice dress shirt, I told my mom I didn't feel right. Went and changed into my Dylan shirt (not that you can tell in the pic). I wanted it to go along with my quote: 

So long, honey babe,

Where I'm bound, I can't tell

Goodbye's too good a word, babe,

So I'll just say "fare thee well."

I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind,

You coulda done better, but, I don't mind,

You just kinda wasted my precious time, 

But don't think twice, it's alright. 

A nice fuck you to a lousy high school. 

But I digress... 

During High School, I organized and held concerts by local bands. In addition to hearing some really bad music (except one band, The Accused/Sunshine Units) from teenagers, we raised money for charity. Not that qualifies me for anything, it just means that I am a good person because good people donate to charity. 

In college, I was in the best worst cover band that didn't intend to be a cover band band. We thought we would write originals, but the best we got was an arrangement of Pachelbel's Canon in D, before that shitty youtube metal version. Ours was shitty, too, but still. Our name was Al & The Sharp-Tones. 

I was also the co-host of a radio show for a very brief time. Brief because working College Radio is simultaneously the best and worst thing (very much like the College Band). You get pretty much free reign to play whatever you want, but everybody else that works there confused the idea that having an opinion and being musically literate are two very different things. 

There was one guy that insisted I didn't play Dylan because he was too mainstream. Talk about deluded. 

They were all snobs, and I guess I'll try not to be a snob. 

I also will not have any set features like some websites do. Album Review Tuesday. Nostalgia Wednesday. Jerk Off Friday. You know— Cutesy shit like that. 

I will talk about music as it happens to me. Like for instance, yesterday I saw a free concert. My friend's band, The Streams, was opening up for local hero Mark Mulcahy. It was an excellent time. I had a few whiskey and ginger ales and heard great Power Pop. That's definitely something I might talk about. 

Or how, when I searched later for other bands from Connecticut, I noticed all we had claim to was some post-Hardcore, Ska, or random 70s pop rock bands (and despite the fact that I still call Weezer a CT band, they aren't really). 

In addition, I do realize that Azzerad already got to "History Lesson Pt II." and that Lester Bangs already got this style (and that I'm stealing Klosterman's asides). Because, as much as I love music, I love good writing, and I will be the Smithereens of music blogs, wearing my influences on my screen.  

So, for now, I will leave you with this: 

Mr. narrator, This is bob dylan to me, My story could be his songs, I'm his soldier child.