The Universe that is the Thing-In-Its-Self , Part One

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This post is about taking the time to search to just be human, to be eccentric and wondrous if you feel like it. This is a spontaneous burst of words. This is an exercise in writing. This is about an intriguing notion of the existence of what may be called quantum linguistics. This is just a journal of ideas, ideas that are constructed out of words that are really only about my hands.

 The following words are concerned with the symbolic interaction of the human being and the organic world, and such concerns are investigated by a writer who often views the act of writing words as the same thing as the scientifically developed tool known as mathematics. 

 But really, all of this and that and the following are merely about being alive.

 Freedom, and with Freedom well now you can write whatever that comes to your mind. Whatever you want to say. ..

 And it’s another night and I’m just typin for fifteen minutes. I’m only writing about whatever comes into my mind. My fingers are stained from this work week that has been so hard on me. But really, everybody hates when they get worn down by the same ol grind. I just have to use my imagination more and follow its sporadic and constant flow. I really just have to breathe and be cool, be easy, and once again just go with the flow, be the leaf that blows in the wind, the only leaf that made it through the winter and is on the green grass to welcome the birth of all those new leafs that are budding and a’ growing on the trees all around me.

 And yeah, I need to breathe and talk to myself and laugh at myself and use my imagination more, and this is what great writing does for both the writer and the reader. Great writing takes you away, and you don’t need a spaceship to go to the moon, and you can even be poor. With words and writing and reading and imagining you only have to take it easy and want to go somewhere exotic, and you can, you can go anywhere. You only have to want to search for some kind of real foundation to live and walk upon.

And for me writing has been used for many things. Writing for me has been used at times like mathematics, and I majored both in philosophy and sociology as an undergraduate. Often in words I see and visualize the greatness of the human search for what is out there. And when I say out there, well I really only mean human, and I mean all of humanity, and that includes every person that has been born into our marvelously evolves species. And when I say, what’s out there, well I mean along the same lines as what many philosophers have, and Kant comes to mind, and his great search was to follow and uncover the Thing-In-Its-Self.

 And alright, what I mean by this ambiguous Thing-In-Its-Self is unknown; this concept is merely what the search is all about, what Kant searched for, and really nobody knows what this Thing-In-Its-Self is all about. As far as I know it’s really just the reason we that we do in-act search. The drive to go out there and search can really be said to be what consciousness is all about, and we’re born with it and the adventure is found within human genetics. Searching and going is interchangeable with being a human being.

 Confusing? Yeah I know. Everything can be seen as symbols and clues about the Thing-In-Its-Self, and many great minds have tried to decode its whereabouts, but still…

 But humans still search for answers to their own existence, and so do I. This is why we have empirical sciences and mathematics, and words are very much like numbers for me, and sometimes they are seen as only representing the symbols that I use in order to aid me on my adventure.

 As humans we want to know what it’s like, what it feels like to be another object, another human, a desk, a chair, a cup of coffee, and with words you scan with your eyes to find this Thing-In-Its-Self; you try to envision and dream what it would be like to be your lover, your dog, your typewriter. You try and become the window, the glass in the window, the wood that is showing through the paint, the handles-metal-hooks and splinters of wooded decay. With words you try to be both the window and what is out that window. Everything is really about the search, and this great search that is intertwined with human life is really what living and writing and music is all about.

 

 

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