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Friday Afternoon Confessional: Finnegan’s Slumber

If there’s an -ist that applies to me it’s pensivist. Maybe I should go cold turkey on thinking. I confess that the strategy of doing it moderately doesn’t feel like the winning strategy. And what is a strategy if it is not winning. Isn’t it all about winning? It is. It is. It is. Therefore I am. Whether I like it or not. Nobody asked me. Except myself. Precisely nobody, that is.

I’m reading Finnegans Wake. I confess to ambivalence about it. It’s great but makes me feel little. What is the point?, is that the point? It is a snake; it is; it is; it is. But I was bitten long before. Now I’m just rattled. Ha. The beauty of it is: it is self-contained. I read it without trying to understand.

But let me think about the eternal recurrence of the eternal recurrence. I hate it but confess to loving those who seem to love it, or, at least, who love those who love those who seem to love it. The thing is that those who seem to love it are those who break the cycle and, methinks, Finnegans Wake breaks the cycle.

Thus –>

We can take the grease out of one’s ear and do something with it. It starts as grease and may return to grease but meanwhile we did something with it. Never mind what the author thought or intended. It may be his grease but it is ours to do something with it.

The irony of works of some pessimism is that they are signs of optimism. Well, cultural optimism because everything else is at the mercy of winners and their nature, therefore nature as such and therefore mere energy and entropy. Where entropy always wins until it is so quiet it forgets to notice some energy building up.

So, yeah, why not, eternal recurrence as a physical phenomenon. One periodic phenomenon more won’t make the difference, period. And start again. Culture though, as all those fixated on decadence show, is not a physical phenomenon. It’s a bug that crawls and lives in nature’s ear. Takes the grease and does something with it. Does it matter whether there’s an actual bug that actually does that? It doesn’t matter, you feel its possibility itching in your ear. I did. Still do. That’s in a name.

It’s a democratic thought as well because even with the smallest amount of culture you’re hell bound to add to culture. You may dislike it to hell but you’ll still contribute an ear to Finnegans Wake. To what avail? To culture’s avail. No winners here. Just slow progression regardless of nature’s constant destruction.

To my slumber. I tried and tried and was tried. I confess that my resistance to entropy was, and is, rather weak. Pardon me, and I excuse myself. Thirty words to go. Even. Notwithstanding my restless glide to restfulness I am in your head know, and you will feel me gnaw. Friendly because I am way too friendly.

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July 3, 2015 - Posted by | books, boredom, Friday Afternoon Confessional | , , , , ,

1 Comment

  1. Back to sleep.

    Comment by FlutePlayer | July 19, 2015


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