Sunday, December 27, 2009

It's Good To See You

When Heraclitus speaks of law, when he speaks of necessity, it is the simplicity of the event of a becoming: there are laws: the "is" of a moment, which is un-alterable. We look at this from the vantage of the past, we see the contingency of the fact of the matter: we see how it could have been other than... We see the possibility of something different: we wish to reject from the simplicity of the event the sanctity of its law: of its necessity, there is only one thing certain: that it was, or, that it was thus willed. Vulgar practitioners of Fate, Calvin, for instance, see the future as though it were the past, the inescapable necessity of the law of being. If it is, then it must always have been, and thus it must always be--this is the feeble logic of the theological. To see the necessity of a moment, rather, may still be redeeming. Who would know such a salvation? Liars, cheats, artists--I would say philosophers, but they, too, are theologians these days: a belief in logic, in the laws of grammar, and of what is so undeniably close--all of this deadens the senses of the childish imagination. There is a sense in which law becomes something indiscernible from the imagination, from the terrible artist of the soul. Recently it is so very posh to denounce this savior, too, as just another snake-oil salesman. Ego, it is called, and all Lies, it is called. And those of us who mock Truth--as pleasure, as the negative (w)hole--we live these lies, with laughter. There is a monstrous artist in us, who violently shears off whole swaths of cloth, who stitches together the fabric of a cloak, of a veil, and our eyes gleam through these threadbare filaments, familiar to one another only as the unflinching eye. We are those who do not blink. And there is always a moral element--for we are humans (all too human, still--striving for more, or less) and it is this: the love of the veil, of the transformative moments that become flesh, that become a cloak, and home: to see the lies as the effect of an artistic moment of creation: We who laugh, we laugh together: at ourselves, our feeble stitching, and our desperate eyes--we know these well, and we do not spit like camels, nor do we roar any longer like lions: now we know a new sight. And what unspeakable beauty is to be found here, and there is nothing we can escape, nor do we wish to: I willed it thus, we say.

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