Without referencing the reams of data available theorizing the idea of self, i shall try and share what i know of myself. For many years, i barely distinguished my own existence from that of my family unit - 'we' was what i believed to be comprised of self and other. That is not to say my siblings and parents were not well defined or amorphous, but my boundaries did not consider their autonomy. This all changed as i was forced to integrate into a world that did not include my backup army. Nor did i easily relinquish my delusions of being an appendage of the home unit preferring to know myself as brother or son, rather than “i.” Eventually as family dissolved into the learning curve of post 1960’s divorce mania, i found myself rudely ejected from what i’m sure must have been experienced by my otherwise loving family as virulent clinging, not different from the amateur parachutist pushed out of the airplane on the count of two, because otherwise he’d have clutched the door. However like all strong manifestations, the flip side of my insular family identity was an intense hunger to individuate. My father was more than an amateur scholar, he read books like some people scroll screens today - interminably. Upon his death, i had occasion to select from his vast library - from witchcraft to obscure enlightenment philosophy. His avowed faith was Existentialism - “a philosophical theory or approach that emphasizes the existence of the individual person as a free and responsible agent determining their own development through acts of free will.” While our disagreements could be at times violent, it was to my credit that i acquiesced to his superior forces - deference is not surrender, it is a choice.
Pot bugged pop, yet powerful narcotics allowed a cogent transition for him, broken ball and socket @ the femur and all; it was as though the universe allowed him to march out the door by existential choice. Recollection will not return him, yet lessons remain. Discipline was keen for him - a mark of many things, contrasting with his later stage enthusiasm on ice faisons-le maintenent. What cued me to my own confusion of self was the expression self-discipline. I had conflated freedom of will with authority; two vastly different issues. It is easy to be an outlaw, the culture fairly demands it of you with gangster glam and leadership examples; freedom of will as pertains to self is an entirely different matter. For example, just now to chew on this essay i determined to take a smoke break only to find the box of packaged tobacco needed to be disassembled so i may roll smaller cigarettes, and rather than practically suspending my decision to smoke and take care of business, i succumbed to rolling the one off, saying the whole way to my self “i’ll do it when i return; this is where it gets dicey, the ironies of such synchronicity were such, i postponed that chore for this more interesting activity - making a fool of myself. More to the point - have fun while ye may. What was that pale outline in the dark hankering from one hunger to the next, presuming its worth, or your interest in this narrative¿ That to me is fascinating - the question of what is addressing who¿ It is not clear to me why i would resort to tobacco at all after a 10-year hiatus - but that i did is more information than i had before; a question to me is more valuable than the answer, especially as it pertains to self.
In my young life quest to learn that magic condition of self-discipline which pop so stridently advocated required knowledge of self - a complete foreign land for me then, now only nearly complete. There is an Australian variation of the septic (Yankee) “ok” gesture of thumb and forefinger aloft, the Australian exception being the “O” part is then brought up and parked unchastely on the nose - “fuck knows” - a fairly silent reply to an amazing number of different circumstances in this world. Who knows what one’s on about even in the most obvious circumstances. Do you think if you asked Mr. M.T. Suit if all the fear he has precipitated into a frightened world has anything to do with his own father, would Mr. M.T. Suit be capable of chirping anything¿ It’s a very plausible idea that he may not; when you can’t reasonably expect a cogent response from the leader of the “free world” about himself, it does not bode well for our collective future. It does, however give us a pretty good idea how rare self awareness might actually be, so i don’t feel so bad understanding my own self as little as i do. I am curious though and hoping that my own behavior yields more data. There’s an irony; in a world awash in data, i’m looking to my self for information - ‘da fuck is that all about¿ - answer class, - fuck knows. Initially i consulted my family appendages for answers. For the too longest time my siblings were avatars of what my self could be, for they each in their own way are fine examples of human beings. Oscar Wilde was to have said, “be yourself, for everyone else is taken.” Like most assertions this wisdom was derived from another source; according to the “Quote Investigator” website, Thomas Merton (1915-1968) wrote in an essay “Day of a Stranger” - 1967: In an age where there is much talk about “being yourself” I reserve to myself the right to forget about being myself, since in any case there is very little chance of my being anybody els. Rather it seems to me that when one is too intent on “being himself” he runs the risk of impersonating a shadow.”
‘Da fuck is that all about¿ together class - fuck knows¿ How does anybody approach self but with enormous humility. It’s not like this writer monk was Joel Osteen “praying for dollars,” if a Trappist Monk don’t know hiself, who does¿ You can begin to see why questions are so important to me, especially about that which i know so very little - my self. My siblings functioned nicely as guideposts for a while, but to find validation in another’s approval is a little like aping the homies so as not to get beat up - regardless of how decent a puppet you might be, a puppet’s a puppet. A parent’s influence is far harder to disentangle. Especially if they are flawed, as all parents are. To separate out one’s flaws from another can be difficult enough, just with strangers - but parents - where to begin¿ Initially it was all my fault; then it was all their fault; then i began to wonder about fault. What kind reality contains the premise of guilt - all together class - fuck knows¿ Does Freud ? - his double nephew Edward Bernays, using Freud’s theories, was responsible for the Advertising war against humanity which has put the corporations in our driver’s seat to destruction. What about Jesus? he says i’ll assume your guilt, but you must live in peace. I’m game, show me where peace is in this world and i’ll go there and try to help. If as my father taught me, you believe yourself to be “a free and responsible agent determining their own development through acts of free will; one simply picks a poison. I choose love. Does this mean i have no guilt - not even close. But what i feel guilty about has turned 180 degrees. I feel guilty for feeling guilty, if that makes any sense. Doesn’t matter, because it is a whole lot easier to forgive myself for guilt than it is for murder or mayhem. But this is the key, i did not choose murder or mayhem, and if i did not choose either of those very popular but essentially ineffective behaviors, what’s to keep me from choosing anything else i believe to be worthy?
Like writing essays, or feeling happy? The internet is now off where i am, nor is it the 1st, 2nd, but 3rd day in a row. If expression of my self was dependent upon access to this , this , this apparition, this fiction of communication, i’d be silenced in its absence¿ No more so than if i believed that non smoking would quiet the part of me which picked up my last cigarette. All that i can hope to do is understand, it’s all anyone can ever do. By muting the voice inside, one does not become more pure, or kind, or even bloodthirsty (ask any one of the soldiers who’ve taken their own lives from little more than confusion). What we have available to us is an ability to peer into the recesses of our darkness to see what we are as seen through the lens of what we do. This won’t necessarily open a direct channel to our more unsavory impulses, but it might go a long way toward helping us survive. If you decide for yourself what you will do and accept the consequences of your choices, over time you will have a far better definition of that rangy enigma wrapped in a mystery shambling through your interior emerging as calamity or bliss or even fury than if you perceived your soul as a reflection of your family, affiliations, loves, hatreds, or even guilt. The law of attraction is a money making scheme - bad shit happens to good people, ask any of the refugees we are murdering with our mute consent to the overlords of war. What i have found is that if you like your self as much as possible knowing what a schmuck you can be, it is far easier liking the next person you meet.
p . s . . . . now the power is out - bye, bye, (though why i’d care to preserve power without an internet connection will have to remain a mystery for the time being) . . . 5:00 o’clock somewhere on the planet .
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other - the sonnet
Self and other - other? what else is there¿
besides everything - don’t sound like good odds,
like finding out the womb was really air,
or learning home is only where one trods.
Ah well, ya’ meet lots of people that way,
and keep meeting others - stars in the sky.
Oh fuck, what if stars are just like a day,
and they just go on and on; why oh why¿
Where’s one to fit amidst such density¿
Can "One" be an illusion - one big lie¿
Is truth also in that category¿
But truth says for certain i’m gonna die¿
“I am one, and you are he, and” . . this blows!
Who do i ask? will they tell me “fuck knows”¿
jts 052717
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
http://josephtstevens.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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