In the meantime, indeed!
A Strong Dose of Madness was An Inquiry into How to Get Through a Life Not Worth Living
Maybe, Goddess Namagiri might whisper equations into our ears.
I seem to be kindling a will to live with thoughts of protecting my mother, or at least consoling her in some way, as well as maybe one day (maybe today!) reawakening some interest in whatever it is I am paying every month to store away (just notes, books, computers, some chairs, floor mats for sleeping on, blankets).
When I lose interest in the ideas flowing through those notes and books, I pretty much lose an interest in this life.
The question remains, how are we to endure a day-to-day existence that we find so dis-pleasing?
I have been writing a lot, and - maybe, subconsciously, thanks to Holden for his public confessions here, allowing myself to let out some sobs and groans of emotional anguish, the kind he imagines Schopenhauer must have wailed. I have also been writing heart-felt, often edited, hand-written letters to my Aged Mother, emails with some spunk to my sister, and basically letting it rip with enough restraint not to be aggressive, but with the fierceness of a horrified organism in distress.
I am not pulling any punches, using dramatic expressions such as, "I would not care if all the cars rusted in the dirty angry bay. I groan with the
desertified forests!"
I could repeat from the seed of this thread:
In A Strong Dose of Madness, I had written:
Enter philosophical movements disguised as jokes or jokes disguised as philosophical movements. These are grim days indeed. Jokes are in high demand, but a few hearty laughs may shake us from our angst so that we might become more focused on the task at hand, whether it is sleeping, feeding, warming, or even contemplating our own death. I wish we could organize a movement to keep writers, scholars, and artists physically alive – to permit them to continue their work in this most difficult century. Studios could be organized where we form our own schools.
Dressed in old coats, chilled and hungry, we could become totally absorbed in discussions of literature, philosophy, comedy, wilderness survival, and “the end of history.” My “true” inner self is different from the self that appears in conversations with others. I need writing to supplement the misleading signs of my speech. In other words, in my speech and action I may seem to be going along with the status-quo, so I need my writing to pick up on the elements within me resisting. I need writing because my speech gets misinterpreted.