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The Honest Naked Goddess Philosophy

Reasons Come Seasonal, I’ll Tell You When I Know

A Magpie’s Nest

We Can Never Really Tell What These New Unknown Persons May Do to Us

All Beginnings Are Small

The Might-Have-Been

He Gave the Impression That Each Word Was Excavated From His Interior By Some Up-to-Date Process of Mining

I’m Saying All the Things That I Know You’ll Like, Making Good Conversation

February 26, 2022 By Damian in foolosophy, the geist of the zeit 2 Comments

N.S Lyons:

Consider instead two main classes of people in society, who tend to navigate and interact with the world in fundamentally different ways. The first are those people who work primarily in the real, physical world. Maybe they work directly with their hands, like a carpenter, or a mechanic, or a farmer. Or maybe they are only a step away: they own or manage a business where they organize and direct employees who work with their hands and buy or sell or move things around in the real world, like a transport logistics company. This class necessarily works in a physical location or owns or operates physical assets central to its trade.

The second class of people is different. They are, relatively speaking, a civilizational innovation. They don’t interact much with the physical world directly; they are handlers of knowledge. They work with information, which might be digital or analog, numerical or narrative. But in all cases, the information exists at a level of abstraction from the real world. Manipulation and distribution of this information can influence the real world, but only through informational chains that pass directives to agents who can themselves act in the physical world—a bit like a software program that sends commands to a robot arm on an assembly line. To facilitate this process, these people build and manage abstract institutions and systems of organizational communication as a means of control. Individuals in this class usually occupy middle links in these informational chains, in which neither the inputs nor outputs of their role have any direct relationship with or effect on the physical world. They are informational middlemen. This class can therefore often do their job almost entirely from a laptop, by email or a virtual Zoom meeting, and its members have recently realized that they don’t even need to be sitting in an office cubicle while they do it.

For simplicity’s sake, let’s call these two classes the Physicals and the Virtuals, respectively. This division maps closely onto another much-discussed political wedge: the geographic split between cities, where most of the Virtuals are concentrated, and the outlying exurbs and rural hinterlands, where the Physicals remain predominant. No coincidence that partisan differences between urban metropolitan cores and provinces have become one of the defining features of politics across the Western democratic world.

But the most relevant distinction between Virtuals and Physicals today is that the Virtuals are now everywhere unambiguously the ruling class. In a world in which knowledge is the primary component of value-added production (or so we are told), and economic activity is increasingly defined by the digital and the abstract, they have been the overwhelming winners, accumulating financial, political, and cultural status and influence.

A friend texted me the other day: “What do you think of Ukraine?” A perfectly understandable conversation-starter, to be sure, but at the same time, a small part of me is struck by the absurdity of it. What does it matter what I think about it? I’ve been spending ten hours a day dealing with warehouse logistics and box-loading for the last month. What possible insight am I going to have that can’t be found anywhere else? I recognize, of course, that the purpose of such questions is less about a request for information and more about reassurance, like a verbal pat on the shoulder. “Scary world we live in, huh? Let’s talk about it.” More and more, though, I feel that the most moral response to weighty issues is a respectful silence. I find myself increasingly repulsed by the Virtual tendency to turn everything, absolutely everything, into just another narrative, another talking point, another hashtag. As the philosophical troubadour Olivia Newton-John, a self-avowed Physical, lamented, “there’s nothing left to talk about.”

In his latest essay, Justin E.H. Smith, reflecting on world events, starts with an observation: “My self-understanding as a pacifist, it has recently come to seem to me, may amount to little more than a rationalization of cowardice.” Again, it’s perfectly understandable to reassess oneself in light of new information or perspectives, and I don’t sneer at anyone for expressing uncomfortable honesty, but also again, a small part of me is struck by the ease with which a stunningly obvious insight can sneak up on an extremely clever professor of philosophy. Making a virtue out of a necessity? Is there anything more time-tested, other than possibly the tendency of intellectuals to outsmart themselves and look foolish? I don’t mean to be harsh here. Smith is one of my favorite online writers to “think with.” I’m not implying that he should stop all this feeble philosophizing and go dash off to Ukraine like Lord Byron off to Greece in order to prove his manliness. I just fear that this is another example, in itself inoffensive, of the Virtual tendency to turn everything into just another narrative. Smith is at least thoughtful and worth reading; much of what follows from others will surely be more of the same performative garbage that already pollutes the environment. I expect to soon see numerous think-pieces and hot takes that use Ukraine as the backdrop for selfie-essays that lament our own cultural weaknesses and failings. Self-flagellation is just an extreme form of self-absorption, after all. Nothing escapes the black hole of our narcissistic obsession.

I think of Ukraine in particular the same way I think of geopolitics and social issues in general — a chastening reminder that very little is in our control, and the best we can do is to be grateful for our good fortune while going about our ordinary business. If I could figure out how to repeatedly rephrase that truism in exciting new ways, maybe I’d have a career in the narrative-shaping business too.

Obiter Scripta, no. 119

February 18, 2022 By Damian in jests japes jokes jollies, obiter scripta No Comments

In the preface to The Anatomy of Melancholy, Burton explained that he wrote the book to rid himself of his own melancholia. This it failed to do; Bishop Kennet wrote that Burton’s only relief from despondency was to lean over the foot-bridge at Oxford and listen to the bargemen swearing at each other.

— Frank Muir, The Oxford Book of Humorous Prose

I’m not melancholy or despondent, but I’m also not easily provoked to more than a smirk and a chuckle. Very few things cause me to literally LOL. One thing that does reduce me to uncontrollable giggling like a drunken fool is listening to prank calls using soundboards. They tickle my absurdist/surrealist funny bone. One of the staples of the genre is when a poor victim is called with a soundboard of their own voice, using insults recorded during previous prank calls. It’s amazing how long it takes people to recognize their own voice, or even their own choice phrases. It’s like watching a bird trying to fight with its own reflection in a window. If only Burton could be here now to spend a silly evening on YouTube!

Faucism

February 11, 2022 By Damian in jests japes jokes jollies No Comments

I’ve got nothing to add, but I must say I am bitterly envious that I didn’t think of “Faucism” myself.

Thursday Throwback

February 10, 2022 By Damian in thursday throwback No Comments

Some white people may choose 👍 because it feels neutral — but some academics argue opting out of 👍🏻 signals a lack of awareness about white privilege, akin to society associating whiteness with being raceless.https://t.co/9g3rochT0K

— NPR (@NPR) February 9, 2022

This is our culture’s version of Scholasticism. Instead of debates over the number of angels on the head of a pin, we get analysis of the amount of racist pixels in a cartoon image. Ploosa shawnje, as they say:

****

[Originally published Feb. 24, 2015.]

“Always remember, young ‘un”, my grandpappy used to say as he bounced me on his knee, “it’s no coincidence that ‘semiotics‘ and ’emoticons’ are damn near anagrams.” Wise words, indeed:

But with new edition, emoji commentators (myself included) asked: Where are the emoji for people of color? For while there were hundreds of emoji, and more than 100 different representations of human bodies or faces, nearly all were white or a “neutral” yellow. Only two—an apparent East Asian boy, and an apparent South Asian man—seemed to be people of color. There were no non-white women whatsoever, and no black people.

Then, in November of last year, the Unicode Consortium made a quiet announcement in its draft of the new Unicode standard. Different skin tones would be introduced to the emoji standard through a toggle board: A user could click and hold on an emoji while typing it and a menu would coming up, letting them type it in one of five skin tones. (The tones correspond to the Fitzpatrick scale, a numerical method of categorizing human skin pigmentation.)

“People all over the world want to have emoji that reflect more human diversity, especially for skin tone,” said the draft.

Great. Without the background context consisting of the shared, unconscious assumption of white supremacy, how are my friends and I supposed to communicate with whimsical symbols of basic emotions now?

Now, anyone can make the easy joke about how, even as we speak, sites like Salon, Alternet, Vox and the like are in a race to see who can be the first to publish an article about how white privilege is being able to take for granted one’s majority status in a crowded room full of emoji. I, on the other hand, prefer to stalk bigger game. I’m shielding my eyes and looking toward the horizon, anticipating the inevitable article analyzing the phenomenon of white flight from emoji use, dating back to this policy change. For that one, I think we’ll need the New Republic, or maybe the Atlantic itself.

Did You Not Know That the Royal Hunting Grounds Are Always Forbidden?

February 7, 2022 By Damian in media/propaganda No Comments

Madeleine Kearns:

However, this latest accusation of racism betrays the previous Covid complaints for what they were: a pretext. The real reason Rogan’s critics want to silence him is because they don’t like his views and guests. And they will use whatever they find to bring him down.

The DEIhards complaining about Rogan most likely don’t even know what his views are. They don’t listen to his show. All the noise is coming from the permanently-aggrieved activist class for whom self-righteous anger is oxygen, and more importantly, media figures who are bitterly envious that Rogan’s audience and credibility dwarfs theirs. What’s funny is, Rogan could leave Spotify tomorrow and his audience would still follow him wherever. CNN and the Washington Post are still going to be circling the bowl on their way to the septic tank where they belong. For propagandists and stenographers, it’s more important to defend their meaningless patch of media turf against an upstart interloper than to try to restore their nonexistent credibility.

Life Extras

February 2, 2022 By Damian in foolosophy No Comments

I never saw him outside the barber shop, never met his wife or children, never sat in his home or ate a meal with him. Yet he became a terribly important fixture in my life. Perhaps a lot more important than if we had been next-door neighbors. The quality of our relationship was partly created by a peculiar distance. There’s a real sense of loss in his leaving. I feel like not having my hair cut anymore, though eight feet of hair may seem strange.

Without realizing it, we fill important places in each other’s lives. It’s that way with a minister and congregation. Or with the guy at the corner grocery, the mechanic at the local garage, the family doctor, teachers, neighbors, co-workers. Good people, who are always “there,” who can be relied upon in small, important ways.

— Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

There’s a guy whom I see often at the grocery store, or walking on the street nearby. Skinny, maybe in his fifties or sixties, with a scraggly beard, and always wearing what I think of as a “star-spangled stovepipe” hat. It’s made of felt, with a stars-and-stripes design, perhaps a little more Dr. Seuss than Abe Lincoln. It’s like the sort of novelty hat you might wear on the Fourth of July, only he wears his all year long. I don’t know how long ago I first noticed him, but it was certainly years ago. I see him at least once every few weeks, sometimes more. I’ve never spoken to him, and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him speak, but he’s a familiar presence all the same.

He belongs to a class of people which I’m not sure has ever been officially identified. Not friends, and not even acquaintances, but not quite strangers either. They’re like silent acquaintances, or, as I like to think of them, as life extras. People whose role is to walk by in the background while the focus is on the main character, only you notice them in scene after scene. The gym is another place where I encounter these people. There are some folks I’ve seen several days a week for a couple years without ever having a conversation or learning their names. Sometimes we invent names for them, but other times, they appear in the credits only as “That Guy” or “That Girl.” Taken for granted most of the time, I notice them in their absence: “Hey, I haven’t seen That Guy in a while. I wonder where he went?” And, of course, even if I wanted to ask about him, I don’t know any distinguishing details to mention. If I were to see them in a different social setting, I don’t doubt that we would share a nod of acknowledgment and possibly even a few words (“Hey! Fellow gym-goer! How are you?”), but in our normal habitat, we navigate each other’s presences silently and obliquely, as if with sonar. At most, we might engage in the universal sign language for, “Are you using this machine?”

In the gym, at least, my trainer thinks that this phenomenon is largely due to the lamentable (to him) popularity of smartphones and ear buds. Prior to that, he says, you would have been a lot more likely to eventually strike up a conversation with those people. Well, maybe in that specific environment, but as with Mr. Star-Spangled Stovepipe, there’s still space for people to exist in an indeterminate state, both known and unknown.

You Keep Lyin’ When You Oughta Be Truthin’

January 30, 2022 By Damian in free speech, media/propaganda, the geist of the zeit No Comments

Brendan O’Neill:

Here’s the thing about Rogan: his success is the least mysterious thing in the 21st-century media landscape. It is the colonisation of the mainstream media by woke elites who all think in the exact same way, and who will hound you off their turf if you don’t, that created the conditions in which a questioning, dissenting pod like Rogan’s could become a global phenomenon. It is the mainstream media’s failures that birthed the success of Rogan and others; it is the stifling of free, frank, deep discussion in the old media that created the space for new media to emerge and flourish. The old hippy Neil Young would have understood that; the newly square Neil Young clearly doesn’t.

I remember a Daily Show skit from way back in the Obama years. The gist of it, of course, was that Republicans were racists. The twist, though, was that they got very indignant if you called them racists, even when they were saying clearly racist things. Jon Stewart’s punchline centered on the amusing irony that they had accepted that being a racist was a bad thing; the problem was that they refused to recognize that they themselves were racist.

Nowadays, progressives have their own version of this cognitive dissonance. They agree that “censorship” is a bad thing; the problem is they refuse to recognize that they themselves have become the censorious prigs they used to mock. They will go through all sorts of mental contortions to avoid admitting that they believe their superior intelligence and morality gives them the right, maybe even the duty, to prevent anyone who disagrees with them from speaking or being heard. They will split any hair and seek any loophole to avoid saying clearly what they mean, because they know it would make them look bad: “You should not be allowed to say that, and you should not be allowed to hear it!”

Censorship is itself a conservative impulse, in that the censors are acting to defend or preserve some sort of intellectual territory or influence. Revolutionaries are always in favor of free this and open that until they finally acquire real power, at which point they predictably turn tyrannical. But maybe it would be more accurate to say that censorship is often favored by formerly-powerful groups who are losing their grip on power. When I was young, the Moral Majority and the Christian Coalition were supposedly the big threats to cultural freedom, the hypocritical prigs who wanted to dictate what sorts of books and music and television everyone else was allowed to enjoy. In retrospect, it looks like that brief period was the last, desperate surge of Christian conservatism to preserve its diminishing territory and influence.

All the hysteria over Joe Rogan, and digital media in general, is the product of an elite media class losing its ability to set and control discourse. Like many established, lazy industries, legacy media don’t want competition, and would rather cozy up to state power in exchange for the state “regulating” their competitors out of business. Predictably, their inept attempts to accuse everyone else of being disinformation fascists only hasten the decline of their credibility. It’s no coincidence that they should finally come to resemble the censorious church ladies of decades ago and try to dictate what sort of media everyone else is allowed to enjoy. Once you cross that line and start treating adults as dimwitted children who need supervision and “noble lies” in order to come to the correct decisions, it’s impossible to see any way back to normality that doesn’t pass through your eventual irrelevance.

Married, Buried, Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah

January 25, 2022 By Damian in marriage, ohferfucksake 2 Comments

Heather Havrilesky:

Do I hate my husband? Oh for sure, yes, definitely. I don’t know anyone who’s been married more than seven years who flinches at this concept. A spouse is a blessing and a curse wrapped into one. How could it be otherwise? How is hatred not the natural outcome of sleeping so close to another human for years?

Unless you plug a propofol drip into your arm every single night, how do you encounter those unwelcome grunts and gravelly snores as anything but oppressive? Unless you spend most of your waking hours daydreaming, how do you tolerate this meddling presence, rearranging stuff but never actually putting it away, opening bills but never actually paying them, shedding his tissues and his dirty socks all over your otherwise pristine habitat?

“Well, speak for yourself. I don’t hate my husband,” one of you holier-than-thou marrieds might announce, folding your hands primly in your lap. Do you think I can’t see your left eye twitching ever so slightly, as you resolve to never let each little irritation add up and move into your conscious mind like a plastic bag floating out to sea and then joining the Great Pacific Garbage Patch?

…Marriage requires amnesia, a mute button, a filter on the lens, a damper, some blinders, some bumpers, some ear plugs, a nap. You need to erase these stories, misplace this tape, zoom out, slowly dissolve to black. I start to spend more time in my head. I start to daydream more.

Surviving a marriage requires self-care, time alone, time away, meditation, escape, selfishness.

I find it hilariously ironic that, in this entire pathetic spectacle of therapeutic oversharing posing as an op-ed in the Paper of Record, the only revealing insight is an unwitting one: “I don’t know anyone who’s been married more than seven years who flinches at this concept.” Yes, I’m sure that’s true! Maybe, just maybe, you and your social circle are simply shallow, unpleasant people who would find well-adjusted happiness boring. Sucks to be you, I suppose, but maybe you could at least refrain from projecting your petty indignity onto the rest of us.

Bodhisattva, Would You Take Me By the Hand?

January 22, 2022 By Damian in religion, the cult of multi, the great awokening No Comments

It’s because they recognize that the roots of oppression are intertwined. None of us are truly liberated unless all of us are liberated.

Oppressed people uniting for collective liberation is the only way liberation will ever happen.

— Kristine Hadeed 🚢 (@KristineHadeed) October 28, 2021

It’s common to notice that much left-wing political crusading is a form of barely-transfigured Christianity, but as we see here, it’s broadminded enough to absorb elements of Buddhism as well. In fact, social justice is to religion as Rome was to its provinces. Practice whatever quaint local customs you want, as long as you make all the proper sacrifices to the imperial Cult of the Right Side of History.

I Lift So I Can Carry More Books

January 21, 2022 By Damian in battling personal entropy No Comments

Alex Diggins:

This, then, is perhaps the most powerful rebuttal to those who sneer at pavement-pounders and gym junkies. (The writer Mark Greif compares gyms, with their acreage of mirrors and glistening bodies, to “well-ordered masturbatoriums”.) To strive, to struggle, to sweat, is to be a human being in the fullest sense of the word; it’s to move through the world with discipline, purpose and delight. “The erudite body is a good body to have,” observes the philosopher Colin McGinn. Yet as Sweat energetically proves, an erudite book is the next best thing.

I have dual citizenship. I reside in both the land of the Meathead and the land of the Egghead. But as with God and Caesar, Kipling’s East and West, and pizza and pineapple, some worlds are destined by nature to remain apart. It’s a truism that intellectuals always assume that the un-theorized life is not worth acknowledging, let alone living. For them, people, places, and activities only acquire dignity and meaning once they’ve been placed into a conceptual scheme. And so we find here that physical activity needs an intellectual apologia to make it palatable to other intellectuals. But Meatheads have not been waiting for an Egghead savior to come along and provide a theoretical justification for their existence. The gym is its own powerful rebuttal. Some things are too stupid to deserve a cerebral response.

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I write in my notebook with the intention of stimulating good conversation, hoping that it will also be of use to some fellow traveler. But perhaps my notes are mere drunken chatter, the incoherent babbling of a dreamer. If so, read them as such.

– Basho, The Knapsack Notebook

Currently Reading

A Theory of the Aphorism: From Confucius to Twitter
A Theory of the Aphorism: From Confucius to Twitter
by Andrew Hui
Against Joie de Vivre: Personal Essays
Against Joie de Vivre: Personal Essays
by Phillip Lopate
Three Men in a Boat and Three Men on the Bummel
Three Men in a Boat and Three Men on the Bummel
by Jerome K. Jerome
Why Liberalism Works: How True Liberal Values Produce a Freer, More Equal, Prosperous World for All
Why Liberalism Works: How True Liberal Values Produce a Freer, More Equal, Prosperous World for All
by Deirdre N. McCloskey

goodreads.com

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What’s It All About When You Sort It Out?

  • alan watts
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  • battling personal entropy
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  • buried alive
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  • foolosophy
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  • fresh hell
  • gender
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  • getting and spending
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  • juxtapositions
  • language
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  • silent moving pictures
  • so many books, so little time
  • solitude
  • spiritual-not-religious
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  • thanksralph
  • the big sleep
  • the cult of multi
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  • the geist of the zeit
  • the great awokening
  • the madness of crowds
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Vox Populi

This is disturbing. All of it. God, you are such a good writer.

—Shanna

The prose is immaculate. [You] should be an English teacher…Do keep writing; you should get paid for it, but that’s hard to find.

—Noel

You are such a fantastic writer! I’m with Noel; your mad writing skills could lead to income.

—Sandi

WOW – I’m all ready to yell “FUCK YOU MAN” and I didn’t get through the first paragraph.

—Anonymous

You strike me as being too versatile to confine yourself to a single vein. You have such exceptional talent as a writer. Your style reminds me of Swift in its combination of ferocity and wit, and your metaphors manage to be vivid, accurate and original at the same time, a rare feat. Plus you’re funny as hell. So, my point is that what you actually write about is, in a sense, secondary. It’s the way you write that’s impressive, and never more convincingly than when you don’t even think you’re writing — I mean when you’re relaxed and expressing yourself spontaneously.

—Arthur

Posts like yours would be better if you read the posts you critique more carefully…I’ve yet to see anyone else misread or mischaracterize my post in the manner you have.

—Battochio

You truly have an incredible gift for clear thought expressed in the written word. You write the way people talk.

—Ray

you say it all so well i want to have babies with it…

—Erin

A good person I know from the past.

—Tauriq Moosa

Look what you wrote about a talented man. You’re gum on his shoe, Damian. If you haven’t attempted to kill yourself before, maybe it’s time to give it a go. Maybe you’ll be successful at something for once.

—”Fuck Off”

MoFo, I have stumbled in here before and love your stuff.

—Barry Crimmins

It is sad that someone who writes so well should read so poorly.

—Ally

A stunningly well-written blog.

—Chris Clarke

He’s right, of course.

—Mari, echoing Chris

Adjust your lousy attitude dude!

—Old Liberal

The Honest Naked Goddess Philosophy

Reasons Come Seasonal, I’ll Tell You When I Know

A Magpie’s Nest

We Can Never Really Tell What These New Unknown Persons May Do to Us

All Beginnings Are Small

The Might-Have-Been

He Gave the Impression That Each Word Was Excavated From His Interior By Some Up-to-Date Process of Mining

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