Welcome to AHumanmovement October 2006
I see things. I would never venture farther afield than to claim I do. People seeking individual gain undermines society. Society is the undermining of what is best. Let me get this straight for you, I am sitting at my little desk. I have a portrait of Worthtington Chauncey Ford to my right on top of a 1962 copy of the American Archivist
, with F. Scott Fitzgerald, Murray Kempton and Norman Mailer in a mini-stack to the upper left. In front of me are notes on Martin Luther. I could reach out and pick up a biography of Dos Passos or James Truslow Adams. Saint Augustine's Confessions are also there, not too far away from Henry Nash Smith, and actually right next to something called Wesleyan University, 1831-1910; Collegiate Enterprise in New England.
Huxley's The Perennial Philosophy
is on top of another pile, below it is The Connecticut Wits
, a compilation including the poetry of Trumbull, Dwight, Barlow, etc. and editions of Eckhart, Tillich and William James still not too far away. I look down and see Cranston's biography of Locke, an odd pile of Perry Miller and an old box of DR Pure Blues guitar strings. What I am saying is I am not trying to make bad. My computer is filled with mp3s of music that is purely enlightening to the soul. I live in New York City because I was brainwashed into thinking that culture was supreme. I sit at my desk and know that silence is queen. To her I am a foreign king. Sexuality is defined by markets. Markets are defined by villains. Behavior is a lost cause. Mastery has long since drowned. I am a man and this is 2006.
Reading some notes I took I see; "Humans must bind together to master themselves." This makes me start thinking about some kind of 'New Jerusalem,' the idea that at one point people thought that if everyone would get together and have the right idea, Zion would be actual. I got no problem with that except for the ignorant people who problematize, actualize themselves all over again everytime. "The body is beauty, and I often say imperfection is grace." Cassette tapes once were a perfectly fine way to replicate music, and now they seem a bit strange. I would listen to anything, and I believe that this sentiment is enough to bring me to the real nature of what is asked of us as humans.
I am not so sure how much I care for democracy. My kingdom is beyond here. I, like Anne Bradstreet, wonder about miracles. I see them everyday, but how can I know them when so many people ignore so much that is similar to that which astounds me. Grace is imperfection, and therein lies the distortion toward individuality which has become a pock on the skin of recent life. I fear even addressing time, for we are living beyond time.
The other day I held a map from the 1939 World's Fair and wandered about Flushing Meadows. I have never been so tired. Thinking hurts the human mind, thinking about history especially so. We live in a chaotic flange of events, melee strewned about, facial hair on men, ovulation for women we mix and reject, rejoice and commit. Who has our best interests in mind? Time is impossible to glance at, and yet we are offered jobs which demand our time, day after day, moment after moment. I do not believe people should be free, I believe those people who free themselves should be honored. Honor is listening, listening is recognition, recognition needs to be revamped.
Recognize more, each of you in your soul, and we shall commence the straight truth track.