{∅, {∅}, {∅, {∅}}} : Rage Against the Meat Grinder

I would say this life is stranger than any movie. Far worse.Far more painful.

Constant fear. We all feed on other organisms. Even the vegans. Only an evil genius could have created a hell like this.
Constant blood-shed since the beginning of time. Relentless massacres.

Were you to come here this is what you would find- hundreds of wooden shelves, each about the size of a refrigerator on road side. Each serves as home for one or more people. Even less fortunate souls lie on the grass or in the brown dust with a tattered blanket serving as their only shelter. Some have only rags to protect themselves from the elements. A common sight- old men grunting as they squat and defecate in the gutter; a little further on,  couples engage in  sexual intercourse while  children sit beside them and play in the dust. Millions  live out their lives on the public streets awash in dust and mud. There they are born; and there they bathe, eat, sleep, excrete, and copulate. As attested by the teeming population, breeding here is the most successful endeavour.


There are hundreds of rickety, bug-eyed children, and even emaciated corpses lying on the street, treated like so much refuse to be hauled away. Incoherent squabbling and bargaining of the marketplace pound your auditory nerves, and strange stenches fill your nostrils from time to time. Sometimes the odours come from the fires made from briquettes of bovine and human dung used as fuel. Amid the ruins and rubble is intermittent piles of ancient garbage being picked over by the starving, looking for even the tiniest of rotting morsels.



Settlements.. teeming with rag-swathed, skeleton people. There are children starving everywhere. Cruel, open sores adorn their bodies; and unrelenting flies swarmed to make a meal of the abundant rotting flesh.


Another common sight:"Dancing Bear." Worn, leather leash tightened around a bear's neck, causing it to choke and gag. It dances in stifling hot weather and the poor creature sweats profusely, soaking its heavy coat and contributing to the severe skin infections that scar its body and have removed large patches of fur.

These bears are so emaciated that it is frightening, for as  it stands and performs-in  its tortured dance it has an eerie resemblance to a man. You would not easily  forget the pitiful look on that bear's face as the trainer whips it with his stiff cane pole. In human-like fashion the bear places its paws over its head to protect itself from the blows. Streaks of red blood colour its digits..

This atrocity is but a microcosm of the cruelty that exists here.


Around the corner of a temple a little girl: She was thoroughly emaciated and resembled some sort of hideous doll, but she moved slightly, and her animated bones and skin had a terrifying effect. She was so malnourished that her face had not developed properly, but her eyes were very large, and in their own way hauntingly beautiful. On one cheek was an open sore nearly the size of a quarter; there were more sores on her arms, chest and legs, and each sore was covered by dozens of flies. Occasionally, she would brush her frail hand over one of the sores causing the flies to retreat. Inevitably though, once her hand had passed, they returned to their grim feeding like iron fillings to a magnet..
For  Senor Raul:

I would say this life is stranger than any movie. Far worse. Far more painful.

Yes, I was going to pull the projector from under the cot and view that film Silenus suggested, the one with the unwritten diary, but I am opting for the far less annoying (not involving wires and computers) "stealing away the night" observing my own little existential crisis unfold.   There may be no cure, no salvation, from the ego-crushing acceptance of our frailty, vulnerability, and utter dependence, not only upon Nature and natural resources, but on the gargantuan artifice that is this global industrialized civilization with its nooks and crannies of inner cities and zones of child-armies, refugee camps, a growing army of damnificados (victims of the flood), not to mention the everyday gort experiencing anxiety attacks cruising at 80 miles per hour in their four cylinder Toyota beside an 18-wheeler down the Jersey Parkway (trucks can drive on turnpikes and parkways now).  My life literally depends on trucks hauling chicken carcasses, eggs, and almond butter to the grocery stores, while simultaneously threatening to decapitate me while transporting the product to the delivery location. 

Holden, not only is life far more horrific than films can depict, but it is also mundane, redundant, and worse of all, indifferent.  We each allow ourselves to see only as much as we can handle at any given moment.  If we find others don't like our company, if they request we stay quiet in their presence, then, most likely, they are showing symptoms of not being able to handle your "wavelength."   You see too much, feel too much, and are "too deep."   It's almost cliché.

The scene in a Dostoevsky novel, where the woman claims the protagonist "talks like a book," I have also experienced the icy coldness of a world where "all she wants to do is dance" and inject a steady flow of positive income into her Savings Account, deal with all her complicated "health issues," etc …  I have witnessed and experienced what is referred to as "the empty space" in a book about a study of suicide called "The Savage God".

This empty space is what a drinker feels when he has run out of money at "the bar."  No pay?  No cold beer, no music, hit the road Jack.

Empty sidewalks … except for the mugger who wants your loose bills, the ones you don't have for a beer.

Waking up in the woods, shivering from the damp ground, maybe catching Pneumonia, creeping out of the woods like a zombie towards ANY convenience store for a cup of black coffee and a hard roll - NOT TO MENTION WATER as you will be dying of thirst.

We FEEL all the distress of a living organism, with subjective intensity that cannot be captured in art.   They say (Schopenhauer says) music captures this, but, as you know, he lived a certain lifestyle connecting him to the arts … he was "cultured."  His mom is probably to thank for that, whereas his Pops seemed more intent on training his son in business and finance, where multi-lingual skills are an asset for international trade.


Just as I struggle to forgive the actual Buddha of Hindu origin for being born the son of a wealthy "Lord," so too I must forgive Arthur for being born the son of such a shrewd businessman and such a woman as his mother.   She had literary ambitions and published "romance" novels (trash, most likely - like Soap Opera shiit).

Meanwhile, I am processing my own conflicting feelings revolving around my own mother.  The fact that she is the ape who birthed me is not missed on me.  I have an animal-bond with her that even I do not fully comprehend.   I may have no choice but to care for her even if she drives me crazy in the process.

Ignatius Reilly ran from the home of his crazy mother because she was having him locked up "for a rest" at the Charity Hospital.  He ran into the car of an even crazier so-called "girlfriend."    Toole was sending a clear message about the possible "enemies" in our own lives.   How did he view his own mother?   Did he not feel guilty that his parents were having trouble "with money" (paying BILLS, rent, etc:  EXPERIENCING INTENSE anxiety, the kind known by "modern man") - the terror of homelessness or institutionalization.

Well, in the story, the reader is left hanging wondering what kind of disaster awaits Ignatius around the next bend; but in real life, well, that ambulance is turning around, calling for police back-up, and poor Ignatius might be subdued and apprehended.   His notebooks would have been lost in the car of the crazy "girl friend."

How does anyone get through without breaking down in tears?

We take a deep breath, eventually, I suppose.   Or, we become bitter and cynical, like a child who has just come to realize that the game is rigged, and that the entire adult world has conspired to con him.

As long as I delight in cauliflower and hummus, there will be suffering.

As long as I desire to revisit difficult concepts, there will be a certain degree of discouragement and sense of having been defeated - that is, dissatisfaction.

It may be simple to see the connection between biological necessities (such as food, water, shelter) and perpetual suffering as a consequence of the nature of the design of our organisms.   To thirst or hunger is not pleasant, but what would motivate Our Creature to hunt down necessities if Willing/Wanting/Needing were not anxiety-inducing discomfort?

We are not designed to be content.  Contentment would be disastrous.   Specimens such as you and me, we see the predicament we have been born into, and I guess we endure it with as much dignity as we can muster, maybe taking our sweet time in figuring out a way to back out gracefully.    My outlook on life will surely not attract a Future Mother of the Species, so its safe to say that Life has as much disdain for me as I do for It.   Mutual disdain - my relationship to the Creator.

 Life will humiliate most of us during the process of living.  Regardless of population growth, not all of us are perpetuating this madness.   Part of me has given up.   I'm here to help Maman; without her, who knows where this old Steppenwolf might end up … in an attic stinking of cigarette smoke and hopefully espresso not brandy?  Part of me likes the honesty of elderly, but in an age of "free" voice-to-text capable 'smart-phones,' with her being the oldest of 8 siblings, you can imagine the annoyance of my being her personal Geek Squad for all situations TECHNICAL-oriented.

I have to take a deep breath and remember who taught me how to tie my shoe laces when I was just a pants-poopin' baby chimpanzee.

I have felt naked hatred emanating from my so-called fellow men for me. A beast-like hatred. I like Burgsonian idea of humour.That there is something very mechanical in human beings. I only need to step into my office  and all these ruffians start to create trouble for me. Its so very mechanical ,at some level, its laughable.

Come to think of it, I too have been a magnet for abuse at the mercy of ruffians.  I believe Schopenhauer used the word "blockhead," as in how one genius will be ganged up on by half a dozen blockheads.  One of the reasons I stay clear of alcohol is to protect me from coming under the influence of other "street" intoxicants, thereby putting myself in harm's way, directly in the path of those with the least amount of insight into their own aggression and frustrations.   I've been punched in the face out of nowhere by one traveling in a band of three.  They usually run in packs.

   After a quarter of an hour, no one can observe another’s despair without impatience.-Cioron

I groan the whole day long.I sit and groan and lay down and groan.

These bears are so emaciated that it is frightening, for as  it stands and performs-in  its tortured dance it has an eerie resemblance to a man. You would not easily  forget the pitiful look on that bear's face as the trainer whips it with his stiff cane pole. In human-like fashion the bear places its paws over its head to protect itself from the blows. Streaks of red blood colour its digits..

This atrocity is but a microcosm of the cruelty that exists here.

This is the kind of thing Schopenhauer has in mind when he refers to human beings as "devils in human form."   We must not forget about the existence of such insensitive monsters that sometimes torment sentient life for sport.  Pray one is never at their mercy, for we too are animal life, and hence potential victims of these devils in human form.

I am reminded of the criticism against Plato made by Silenus, that Plato appears to have entertained a far too lofty Idea of Man than is the case.  I would like to add that Schopenhauer, on the contrary, made clear again and again that our rational faculties are different only in degree from other animal life forms.   It is not difficult to imagine Schopenhauer seeing this "Dancing Bear" as a Christ Figure.

Holden in the office as well.   I like to think there will a Day of Reckoning in such cases.   Bears in general are said to never forget when they have been wronged, and may carry a grudge against particular human devils for an entire lifetime.  The poor Beast was most likely too broken down mentally and physically. 

Must I block out such things so as to be able to reflect upon the nature of the Square Root of -1?

On one hand there is the growling stomach, the "sense of urgency" when it comes to "sipping coffee" and rolling cigarettes with cheap Pipe Tobacco.  I will continue working through some exercises.  I will try not to be obsessed with gathering food, but instead will recall that those with the least may be the most alive at any given moment.   Who knows?

Hentrich,

I can only hope you recover from your bruised/broken toe. I am sure it must hurt a lot. It also complicates your everyday life there because you have things to do for you and your mother.

Stay safe and sound.

Hentrich,
I am sure it will take time to recover. I broke my left knee eight years ago in the middle of an avenue. Somebody helped me cross the avenue. Since that moment I walk with difficulties. Many times the bus drivers get impatient and they don´t wait after I get off the bus. They just hit the accelerator and off they go. 

Maybe you have ointments to calm the pain or something like paracetamol or ibuprofen. It helps a lot.

Once again take care.

Hentrich,

Indeed, this life is an absurd comedy. We endure this tragic comedy on this Earth.  And yes, the Gods, old or new, torment us. I think of sacrifice most of the time. I see this Earth as an altar with oceans of blood.

This is not a comforting view in this so-called age of eternal optimism. Most would advise me to go to a psychologist or a psychiatrist for thinking this way. An acquaintance suggested that I jump into a sewer and be done with it. I understand this person. For him life is a gift.

I read that Celts made huge, man-like figures out of wicker, a woven fiber used for baskets. The purpose of the burning of the Wicker Man was to appease the gods of old and to ensure a bountiful, healthy, and prosperous new year. They sacrificed their own kind—by placing them inside the wicker creations—and setting them on fire. The Celts believed that the gods preferred an innocent soul, instead of a wrongdoer.
 
On Tuesday was the World Suicide Prevention Day. I heard a doctor talking about this issue. Sadly he is the one who lies to himself and lies to others as well. He, like millions, will never accept that life is a curse. They pretend to cure cancer with an aspirin.

I admit that I would like to see some people dead. Horrible thing to say but that is life an that is human nature. I read this poem attributed to Heinrich Heine:

“I have a desire
. . . for a few beautiful trees before my door, and if dear God wishes to make me totally happy, he will give me the joy of seeing six or seven of my enemies hanged on these trees. With a compassionate heart I will forgive them after death all the wrong they have done to me during their life. Yes, we must forgive our enemies, but not before they are hanged. 'I am not revengeful. I would like to love my
enemies. But I cannot love them before taking revenge upon them. Only then my heart opens for them. As long as one has not avenged himself, bitterness remains in the heart.”

Walk and drive carefully.