From The Philosophy of My Existence (Excess Thoughts …)

When my mind goes, it goes. I can’t stop thinking. So I have learned to channel those crazy thoughts into at least organized yet simultaneously creative thinking, some semblance of productivity, which often transforms into writing. That’s why my project, The Philosophy of My Existence, is so crucial for days like this, because it allows me to journal, philosophize about my life, philosophize in general, and write about pretty much whatever I want … which is pretty awesome.

Below is an excerpt from the book (what I logged in for today). There’s some philosophy, some journaling, some documenting of my life and emotional/mental state at the time … and more. What you’ll see is a mind at work, a mind trying to figure it out. But, that’s me. That’s Phoenix. That’s just what I do. I like thinking, and though it drives me over the edge a lot, I’m determined to let it fulfill my life, and give me meaning …

Enjoy …

… There are always other ways to look at things of course, besides a Marxist or Baudrillard viewpoint. Today I came to the conclusion, that I needed to develop a working theory about the world: a theory that I would be able to apply to all situations. A theory that could define me, and help me in all alien moments and hard situations, and that would have a lot of meaning, and wouldn’t just be mere “philosophy” or epistemic questioning/knowing. It would be something more.

At the time, I didn’t have a formulation of the theory in words, but looking back, I think the theory, was to … believe. But more than that: To allow my mind to engage creatively and powerfully and authentically with the world, see patterns and designs that others wouldn’t see, follow my intuition to its logical breaking point: In essence, just be, let my thoughts guide my action, and let my mind be free. All of this would make sense, because it isn’t as though I have ideas, I just know I have to be careful with letting my mind go and be careful with my ideas, because I don’t want to fly off the handle and end up in Illinois rather than my apartment in Salt Lake because I gave into my mania.

I dreamt, or imagined, or experienced, or thought I experienced, too much mercury in the water at Lowes (an implication of our slowly poisoned/poisoning world). I talked to flowers and learned that they only care about growing/growth. With the help of the philosophy of emergence, I came to the conclusion that, via the message from ants, that overpopulation in the world/planet Earth isn’t the problem (as nature can adapt, nature can accommodate, our resources can accommodate, because contrary to popular belief, nature is flexible in that regard, and pretty much transcendent: life, in other words, finds ways to survive, and sustain itself) … it is rather something much more complex. Something insidious. Something I can’t articulate, or even understand, but would, if I had to try, say is essentially, a spiritual corruption of man/existence.

I thought the ants told me that the stick is too heavy to carry, and could they please have some help? Indeed, this makes sense, because I was trying to get an ant to carry a grass blade, which may as well be a stick, which may as well represent something that is just too heavy. Emergence: the idea that a behavior of an ant affects the whole colony in some way, even if the action seems disconnected. Indeed, this fact of the sticks too heavy “emerged” when I saw some kids holding up a big stick/branch … mimicking the ants.

And then, I thought I saw the Cheshire cat. You know, from Wonderland, Alice’s world.
I wondered if there was truth to the reductionist project: Am I really nothing but a pack of neurons, as Crick would say?

And this all started when I attempted to formulate a working, pragmatic theory, and ended up having that plan/idea/decision derailed, listening to a guy talk about the God drug and/or DMT, some drug that is released when we dream and is supposed to flood our life/brain with meaning, and also this chemical is released when we are born and we die. Apparently, scientists of all kinds take the implications of this God drug seriously, though I wonder if it’s a bunch of bunk. Though I wonder if it isn’t a bunch of bunk, and that the mind really can, through a psychedelic medium such as spirituality and drugs, understand reality on a far more profound level, in an intoxicated religious sense, than it could otherwise in this normally mundane existence. All the things that the mind doesn’t know, I suppose.

Anyway: And then, I tried to talk to Death. I told him I didn’t care if he blew my brains out (a running joke with Death …), so long as my mind connected with reality.

And when Death didn’t show up, as usual, leaving me in the cold and screaming after him to come down from his perch, I got angry at the world, with rage, and felt hate for idiots cheering at the ballpark, completely oblivious to my pain and struggle and existential yearning, as they always are, because why should they give a fuck when they can just cheer on baseball players at a ballgame and that’s enough for them … whereas, will that ever be enough for me and my overly active imagination, which imagines violent death for myself that is somehow cool? Because, of course, of Death? Imagining Death suffocating me, stabbing me, drowning me, poisoning me, chopping off my head, etc. And somehow, that looking so … cool.

Damn idiots at the ballpark, though: Fuck you for stopping Death.

I also formulated the theory of recognition, or what could be called recognition theory. The universe is a creative place, with possibility, so much possibility and potential for creativity and creation and more, but it hides this fact by making everything stay the same, familiar upon revisitation, and it does this because conspiracy has coerced the universe to not create, coercing at gunpoint … even though, it does create. The universe is indeed not static.

So for instance, recognition theory in action: The message you see, that stays the same when you see it again and it loses the deep meaning it had when you first saw it, because you “recognized” it … well, it means nothing, there is no sign. There is no special message for you. How that manifested specifically today was when I saw the word “sausage,” with the part of the word “saus” supposed to represent “saws,” meaning, Death sawing me into little pieces because Death is sadistic like that to me (the running joke, between me and Death, who is my friend, and cares about me even though he is violent towards me … but can do cool tricks); also a reference to the unseen sadism and death in sausage. And then, when I go back to that spot later, I just see the word “sausage,” on a stupid fucking sticker, which has no meaning, because I have recognized it, and spoiled its original powerful meaning … implying there was no meaning. Implying there is never meaning because things stay the same. Recognition theory.

I think the real world works this way a lot. Something special happens to us, something with meaning, but when we are reminded of that special meaning, the meaning ceases to exist: Because, we have recognized it.

That is recognition theory.

So … I am a long ways away from formulating that brilliant theory I need to keep in my back pocket, and something that is more than just an intellectual exercise but a robust formulation of truth and existence and practice … but I will try every day, and I suppose, that will have to be enough, until I have a cohesive theory that maps onto reality but also molds and shapes my mind and thoughts, and my thoughts help me control the exterior world as best as they can in a deterministic world (socially deterministic, causally deterministic, psychically deterministic, environmentally deterministic, etc.). Good luck with that, but … theories can come in handy, especially if you can come up with a good one.


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