Dec 08 20
When young we were in a bar, lonely, as was typical those days. This particular state of dejection was unique, ending up in something like a transcendental apprehension of causality. The fatigue of our repetitive, solitary meaninglessness pushed us to an overly empiric account of our immediate surroundings — leaving us to pursue what seemed like strings of pure contiguity.
It started with the arrangement of alcohol bottles behind the bar, the calculated illusion: the backing mirror, the under-lit steps of bottled variants — all clearly arranged to imply a horizon rich with options — when really the differences in taste and effect are minor, as opposed to say those of jelly beans and pcp. Then we took stock of the black painted ceiling and dim lighting, and found all that was employed to quiet the unsettling inconsistencies of any actual detail (in both human or object). And so on, continuing from the bartender’s “choice” of shoes, to the paintings of British hunting scenes on the walls — eventually away from the indexing of the bar structure altogether and to the listing of the interior, casual links of our own person.
Why are we so lonely? Because we are over analytical and it puts people off. Why are we over analytical? Because we are wrapt in some sort of Fruedian todestrieb, hoping we can figure out a way to effectively forestall a repetition of past pain. Why is there past pain? Well, our parents started their relationship due to immediate reasons rather than from long term planning. Why? They wanted to remove themselves from the toxicity of their familial surroundings…
The strings continued out in every direction, from the reasons for the clouds passing the moon, to the cause of the shape of the river (we eventually walked along), to the gravity-bound rectilinearity of architecture, to the reasons why people write novels or avoid eye contact. This is not to say that we really understood anything; it was just basic metonymic materialism after all, but there was an awareness of a primary causal interconnectedness that evening (not unlike like Hume’s billiard balls or Wittgenstein’s a rose has teeth in the mouth of a beast). A chain of infinitely abutting catalyzers that human consciousness continually defamiliarizes or distracts us from — preferring us to live believing we are within a story wholly wrought by our own will 🙄
(In any case, this advanced, nuanced sensitivity did not bring with it more friends.)
It started with the arrangement of alcohol bottles behind the bar, the calculated illusion: the backing mirror, the under-lit steps of bottled variants — all clearly arranged to imply a horizon rich with options — when really the differences in taste and effect are minor, as opposed to say those of jelly beans and pcp. Then we took stock of the black painted ceiling and dim lighting, and found all that was employed to quiet the unsettling inconsistencies of any actual detail (in both human or object). And so on, continuing from the bartender’s “choice” of shoes, to the paintings of British hunting scenes on the walls — eventually away from the indexing of the bar structure altogether and to the listing of the interior, casual links of our own person.
Why are we so lonely? Because we are over analytical and it puts people off. Why are we over analytical? Because we are wrapt in some sort of Fruedian todestrieb, hoping we can figure out a way to effectively forestall a repetition of past pain. Why is there past pain? Well, our parents started their relationship due to immediate reasons rather than from long term planning. Why? They wanted to remove themselves from the toxicity of their familial surroundings…
The strings continued out in every direction, from the reasons for the clouds passing the moon, to the cause of the shape of the river (we eventually walked along), to the gravity-bound rectilinearity of architecture, to the reasons why people write novels or avoid eye contact. This is not to say that we really understood anything; it was just basic metonymic materialism after all, but there was an awareness of a primary causal interconnectedness that evening (not unlike like Hume’s billiard balls or Wittgenstein’s a rose has teeth in the mouth of a beast). A chain of infinitely abutting catalyzers that human consciousness continually defamiliarizes or distracts us from — preferring us to live believing we are within a story wholly wrought by our own will 🙄
(In any case, this advanced, nuanced sensitivity did not bring with it more friends.)