Anderes Präludium zu einer Notiz über Kiekegaard

Ach ja.

(Joakim Garff: Sören Kierkegaard. Biographie)

Philip Hautmann So finde ich ja auch nicht den Faust als das eigentliche Menschheitsdrama, sondern den Peer Gynt (von Ibsen als eine „bizarre Satire“ auf den Faust geschrieben (wobei mein Rompf wiederum eine bizarre Satire auf den Peer Gynt ist und daher wahrscheinlich einen noch höheren Grad an Realität aufweist ☺️)).
Philip Hautmann Faust, Peer Gynt, Ishmael, K., Malone oder Yorick der Narr sind literarische Figuren, in denen sich die Menschheit individualisiert. Faust erscheint als die übergreifendste und dramatischste, aber beim besten Willen auch als die bizarrste und inadäquateste, auch Nietzsche denkt laut nach, was vom Faust eigentlich überbleibt und was er letztendlich sein soll als halt die Entartung des nach Erkenntnis strebenden Menschen. Die radikale Transzendenzbestrebung des Faust hat man im Allgemeinen ja nicht unter Menschen, die radikale narzisstische Immanenz, die über nichts hinausweisen will als sich selbst, dann schon eher, oder zumindest hin und wieder. Der Faust hat aber Substanz, ist vielfältig verwend- und interpretierbar und macht uns ahnen, während der Peer Gynt keine große Substanz aufweist und uns nicht ahnen macht. 

Marcel Proust Goes to the Rocky Horror Picture Show

I found something lovely  (gives me some terrible thrills)

Philip Hautmann I especially like this song and the lyrics as they transport – well – nostalgia for a more perfect world within a mind that is otherworldy and that is at home in outer space repectively that lives in the future which is, paradoxically, the subject of his inverted nostalgia. It leaves open room for various other interpretation as well. It somehow makes you feel such secureness and embeddedness in something that cannot be explicitly described and Patricia Quinn as the nostalgic as well as timeless Usherette looks very cute. It is Proustian as recovery of memory and lost time, the climax of the Proustian enterprise to achieve total information awareness and completion of self as Time Regained. What is especially admirable is that does not stand at the end point of the geniuses quest, something he has won after hard effort of creating a hyprcycle out of his own self, but as a somehow light and fluffy introduction to the enterprise, thereby clearly taking Proust unexpectedly and by surprise. Hail Richard O´Brien!

Stephan S
vor 4 Monaten
Does anybody know if this is really the voice of young Patricia Quinn?
However, it is badly sung but so genuine and authentic that I wish I’d been there in 1973. Times of craziness and creativity. So sad it’s all over.

happytree68
vor 5 Jahren
I wish they had kept the usherette to introduce the movie. I think she’s just so delightful. She’s so adorable, she seems to represent an age to true movie escapism. You could almost imagine her being yelled at by her boss because she keeps lingering in the theater to watch the movie instead of working.

Frage des Stils

„Das höchste Gefühl von Macht und Sicherheit kommt in dem zum Ausdruck, was großen Stil hat. Die Macht, die keinen Beweis mehr nötig hat; die es verschmäht, zu gefallen; die schwer antwortet; die keinen Zeugen um sich fühlt; die ohne Bewusstsein davon lebt, dass es Widerspruch gegen sie gibt; die in sich ruht, fatalistisch, ein Gesetz unter Gesetzen: Das redet als großer Stil von sich.“

F. Nietzsche

Philip Hautmann Wer ein funktionierendes Hirn hat, hat sowieso immer Stil und muss das auch nicht über Schreibschulen u.dergl. erlernen bla bla (wie jeder weiß). Das letzte, wozu Stil kommen kann, der transzendente Stil, der Blick in den Chaosmos, er erfasst die Totalität und ist daher psychosenah, aber bei vollkommen klarem Verstand, es ist die Super Sanity, man hat das in hervorragendster Weise bei Büchner (Lenz), Lautréamont (Maldoror), Rimbaud (Leuchtende Bilder), an und für sich auch bei Shakespeare; und, ach, die absolute Beweglichkeit der Sprache auf diesem, letzten, Plateau!, ich habe es anderswo als die Decke bezeichnet der absoluten Empathie mit der Welt, lückenlos wahrgenommen; sagen wir, das Gefühle des Triumphs auf diesem unachtfechtbarsten aller Niveaus sich irgendwie verflüchtigen, wie alles andere irgendwie auch, die Persönlichkeit z.B., übrig bleibt eine Anordnung von virtuellen Schalen, die sich gegenseitig enthalten oder spiegeln, so ist das dann halt: die Übereinanderlagerung von allem und wenn man alles gleichzeitig sieht; der Mensch ist ausgeschaltet bzw. verliert sich in und transzendiert sich über die Übereinanderlagerungen seiner inneren Bezirke, so dass das Ich faktisch nicht mehr ganz existiert; der Stil setzt sich über die Explosionen in sich selbst und wird perfekt wie Sand (mikrogranular und gleichgültig gegenüber Interventionen von außen), das ethische Bewusstsein wird vollkommen; im Wesentlichen fühlt man sich so ein bisschen wie ein Geist – aber wie soll man sich anders fühlen, wenn man das Ziel erreicht und ganz Geist geworden ist? Was hat das mit dem Leben noch zu tun – nichts und alles, und die Bücher sind für alle und keinen. – Ich wiederhole mich, aber das verdient sich doch immer wieder gesagt zu werden und jedes Mal kommt ja auch irgendwas Neues dazu etc. und wie viele gibt es schon, die so was zu sagen vermögen? also ist das gut, dass es hier wieder gesagt wird; auf jeden Fall: Groß und Klein, Macht und Ohnmacht etc. verliert an Bedeutung, spiegeln sich ineinander wieder, im Auge Gottes, ein blauer Strahl schießt jetzt neben mir auf, ich liege auf der Straße, als Ohnmächtiger und bewege mich in allen möglichen Schemen etc. Die Gleichzeitigkeit von Virtualität und Aktualität. Irrationale Zahl. Das Hyperset.

Occasional Note about Dichterwahnsinn

Doing innovative art happens in a painful isolation, the artist does not know what he is doing yet senses what he is doing is right yet society may not be confirming, the artist cannot compare himself and his productions to others, individualisation reaches such a degree that the artist is more or less effectively cut off from the whole despite him being the one who effectively relates to the whole and not the others, communication is impaired, and these alienations may well be resemblant to neurosis. The intensity of the inner processes of the artist (including the permanent (contrasting) juxtapositions thrown up by his associative intelligence) may aggravate the situation into (quasi)psychosis or (quasi)psychotic depression. That is the reality behind so-called „Dichterwahnsinn“ („poet´s frenzy“).

If we push this to further extremes it may come to mind that a lady who knew Kafka said about him that this apparently highly neurotic individual was the only person who thought like a human should think and who felt like a human should feel. I.e. despite probably having an avoidant personality disorder Kafka was completely anti-neurotic. We may call the poet who is completely anti-neurotic and who is the only who thinks like a human should think and who feels like a human should feel the omega poet.

It is apparent that the vision of such an omega poet would be one of a bizarre nightmarish world where nothing and no one is and behaves how it should be, if the way they behave is not needlessly grotesque, absurd or brutal at all. And that´s what you have in the vision of Kafka.

Nikolaus Lenau´s Faust, Gilles Deleuze´s Proust, and Second Prelude to a Note about the Hyperset

I have stated elsewhere (in the Book of Strange and Unproductive Thinking) that I find Faust a quite strange, annoying and unconvincing figure (as well as that Goethe < Büchner). Likewise – despite Faust is a character through which humanity is individualised (like Don Quixote, Yorick, K., Malone, Ishmael or Peer Gynt) – Nietzsche said that, upon reflection, probably all that remains of Faust is a bizarre, degenerated example of scientific man. Ibsen wrote his Peer Gynt as an allusion to Faust and someone said Ibsen´s Peer Gynt is a bizarre satire upon Goethe´s Faust. I find Peer Gynt a more convincing, direct epitome of humanity, also given the ethical implications of Peer Gynt, although I somehow think that the mirror image of Faust (who is, of course, the much more comprehensive character) is somehow necessary to make Peer Gynt truly shine. Otto Weininger was very fond of Peer Gynt and it was Otto Weininger who made me understand Peer Gynt so that I wrote my Rompf as an allusion and a bizarre satire upon Peer Gynt. Otto Weininger (wrongly) was somehow dismissive of Ibsen´s later plays and said that, if he had wanted, Ibsen could have become greater than Goethe (because he somehow didn´t like Ibsen´s progressive attitude towards women). Otto Weininger was also dismissive of Nietzsche and called him a genius of seventh (lowest) grade (because he missed the ethical component in Nietzsche´s philosophy). Otto Weininger mourned that there was no one around like Goethe anymore in his days. I think if Otto Weininger had stayed alive he would have become greater than Goethe and Nietzsche, but he was psychologically troubled and did not survive. I partially understand Otto Weininger´s psychological troubles (in the dimension of overexcitabilities common among geniuses) and as far as I can see I am the only one around who actually understands Otto Weininger as a philosopher. I also think Ibsen was at least a more convincing and powerful playwright than Goethe. I have written one play so far and it was a bizarre satire upon theater and theater audience. I wonder what would have become of Büchner if he had stayed alive. I think Büchner would have become a major existential philosopher like Weininger or Nietzsche, not a theorizer of colours like Goethe. Enter Nikolaus Lenau.

 

Nikolaus Lenau denied Goethe possessing a „monopoly“ upon Faust, instead understood the archetype of Faust as a creative common of mankind and wrote his own version of Faust (like Christopher Marlowe had already done before Goethe). Nikolaus Lenau is relatively obscure today although Wikepedia bluntly states that he was the greatest Austrian poet of the 19th century. His Faust is a somehow more dire figure than Goethe´s and is frantically and desperately motivated to understand the presumed „truth of it all“. As he gets thrown into the world of the living by the devil he neither finds fulfilment in elementary constructiveness (love, giving birth) nor in destructive passions and finally finds himself cut off from everything so that, in a metaphysically deluded reflection upon his emotional alienation, he kills himself (and falls prey to the devil´s plot). Lenau´s Faust finds himself in a heterogenous, emotionally detached world and, as long as he cannot be omnipotent, omniscient, omnisentient and sovereign rather chooses death, his endeavour to „weld together himself, world and God“ („Dich, Welt und Gott in eins zusammenschweißen“) a failure. Lenau´s Faust indeed does not have the universality of Goethe´s Faust, it is rather a reflecion upon Lenau`s inner world as he finds himself torn between a longing for a protective God and being embedded in nature and being an autonomous god himself, unable to find reconciliation and consolation between the two extremes. As Faust is an archetype for (metaphysically) struggling man, Lenau was right to weld his alter ego together with the Faust archetype. I came across Nikolaus Lenau´s Faust when Alexander Nitzberg and his companion Peter Sendtko made a theatrical performance of the poem/play at Roman´s atelier some weeks ago; it was really lovely.

I still have not read Proust´s Recherche, I bought a copy of Swann´s Way when I was 19 or so and finally managed to read it some years ago. As far as I understand, Proust is longing for closure within intensity too which he tries to achieve via realization of memory. Proust´s Recherche is also archetypical. Gilles Deleuze bluntly announces (in Proust and Signs) that the Recherche is not an undertaking directed into the past and into autobiographical memory but into the future and into learning where memory is the material through which the subject enriches itself and comes to itself. Neither the subject nor the world does express itself directly, the chiffres of the world are the signs (for instance social signs, romantic signs, etc.), and via understanding the signs the subject progressively deciphers the world. The purest signs are the signs of art as they are immaterial and spiritual. The signs of art are deeper than the subject or object that carries and sends out the signs and more elementary as they reveal the essence. The essence of an object is its true embeddedness in the world, that what is actualised about it and its potentialities, it is, with reference to the note about Deleuze and Rancière and as Angell de la Sierra puts it, the „meta-noumenon … nothing less than the existential ontology of the object, another way of expressing its circumstantial semantic content, now and later on, a mind´s view of ,objective reality`“. The essence of the subject is to become a „point of view“ upon the world, finally, as Deleuze notes, a de/transpersonalised „spider“ which reacts to and acts upon the vibrations within the world-net. In becoming a „point of view“ the subject becomes objectified, eternal and immortal and it is eventually via the artwork via which man is able to make sense of the world and establish identity. It is associative intelligence, not logical intelligence (which is the intelligence of Faust) which reveals essence. – Trying to live in this world with a pronounced artist´s intelligence is not easy of course, but I have to say that Faust´s problems are to a considerable degree alien to me. The arid character of the world gets compensated as before my inner eye as lose graceful gestures I occasionaly witness (for instance by birds, by twinkling stars or by children) get inflated into a graceful world and potentialities seem to pour out everywhere (despite being aware that that´s a kind of bluff package, yet only partially). I do not communicate much with people but I feel, in a way, in a communion with them much more than the chatterboxes out there commonly do. Memory is virtually present not in a fotographic, textual way but via a hypertextual monitor on which I can recall memories to a given sensual or intellectual stimulus via association, enriching both the stimulus and the memory content with additional meaning. That monitor kind of enwraps and cocoons me and gives me presence. Faust obviously lacks such a thing.

A while ago I have started to ruminate about the „hyperset“. The occasion was a diagram I saw which made me think of a, say, meta-diagram as a necessity to competently understand and process the diagram, as a, so to say, conscious reflection over the diagram. Likewise, I have observed that I seem to belong to many groups within the human realm which often venn very thin and marginally, or not at all, making the final intersection a set to which seemingly only I belong, in solitude, on this earth, maybe also in this history. However, I also seem to understand all the sets at a higher level than those who only belong to the respective sets, I have higher awareness, I have higher consciousness of them. That diversification and pluralism is a good thing is commonplace, that the one who only understands a single discipline actually doesn´t understand that discipline either is what they say. Pluralistic understanding is good. Deleuze (and Guattari) refers to transversality as a mode of establishing connection between heterogenous sets that make up reality. Transversality does not try to totalize and normalise heterogeneity but is affirmative towards difference, lets them resonate and explores interdependencies. It is experimental and reflects anti-logos and becoming, the associative method of the Recherche, the instability of the world and the object as well as the emergence of essence through the process of art. Artistic style (i.e. a subjective mode of expression which is of objective substance) is what holds heterogeneity together and is the correlate to the logos (Welsch takes „transversal reason“ as a model for reason in postmodernity). This is vibrant and humming and makes us think of a microcosmic reflection of macrocosm (which also Deleuze does in Proust and Signs). Remember, Otto Weininger says: „The ego of the genius accordingly is simply itself universal comprehension, the centre of infinite space; the great man contains the whole universe within himself; genius is the living microcosm. He is not an intricate mosaic, a chemical combination of an infinite number of elements; the argument in chap. iv. as to his relation to other men and things must not be taken in that sense; he is everything. In him and through him all psychical manifestations cohere and are real experiences, not an elaborate piece-work, a whole put together from parts in the fashion of science. For the genius the ego is the all, lives as the all; the genius sees nature and all existences as whole; the relations of things flash on him intuitively; he has not to build bridges of stones between them.“ That is, well, the purest emanation of the hyperset, not somehow clumsily (or, if you want, more cautiously and operational) as it appears before my inner eye or that of Deleuze, Guattari or Proust (not to speak of Faust). Unfortunately Otto collapsed psychologically under its airy weight.

Despite having written the First Prelude to a Note about the Hyperset months ago it seems that I have not progressed a lot about thinking about it further and deeper, which is, however, excusable since I have done other things. I wonder whether the „hyperset“ can be a mathematical object and how it could be modelled, maybe it could shed light on the incompleteness theorem. I also wonder whether consiousness could actually be understood as a hyperset, or what we refer to as the soul, or processes of „emergence“ in nature (which are, so far, little understood). It reflects however an elevated state of mind which is, in the same fashion, „grounded“. Maybe I also lose interest in the hyperset, though I don´t really think so because first I like the name and second I think it is actually a name and category that refers to something real and one day, after I am gone, they will jubiliatingly scream „the hyperset, the hyperset!“ when they´ve done something dilettante; but that does not differ from what I do and how I came to think of the hyperset.

Prelude to Note about the Hyperset

Prelude to Note about James Joyce and the Sinthome

„My only misgiving regarding „American Ulysses“ is that its length (864 pages) will scare off all but the most enthusiastic Civil War enthusiasts. I hope as many people as possible read this book“

– I think I will read this book, since I also think it is better than the Irish Ulysses (this is easy; the Irish Ulysses is the greatest shit book of all time, next to Finnegan´s Wake).

We should be grateful to historian Ronald C. White for a thorough and nuanced biography of one of the most consequential figures in American history.
CSMONITOR.COM|BY THE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR

Philip HautmannThe Irish Ulysses being the greatest shit book of all time seems to confirm that creative endeavour gets spoiled and is doomed, when ego is a primary motive; that might be the case with the ordinary genius; the non-ordinary, transcendent genius will rather strive not for immortality among humans but for an abstract immortality, realignment with spacetime, which is his true element; the psychology of the transcendent genius is NOT very much alike the human psychology but is of a higher order. Thus spake L´Innomable.

I Salute You, Ancient Ocean!

Lautréamont was one of the most ultraintelligent writers, seemingly above the level of Shakespeare or Goethe, the intellectual intensity of his writings was one of the highest. Of the highest degree also was the versatility and flexibility of his language. In his writings you directly gaze into the Chaosmos. Others in this category (above Goethe, Shakespeare, Tolstoi, etc.) probably were Georg Büchner and Arthur Rimbaud. Their habitat is the exosphere. The air is very thin there, open space begins; a fluent passage to open space … (unfortunately all of them died very early, so one cannot exactly tell what would have become of them over the course of their life). I recommend reading Lautréamont, Büchner and Rimbaud.

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„Ancient ocean, crystal-waved, you resemble somewhat those bluish marks

that one sees upon the battered backs of cabin-boys; you are a vast

bruise inflicted upon the body of earth: I love this comparison. At the

first sight of you a long breath of sadness that might be the murmur of

your own bland zephyr passes over the deeply moved soul, leaving

ineffaceable scars, and you recall to the memories of those who love

you, though they are not always aware of it, the crude origins of man

when first he made the acquaintance of the sorrow that has never

deserted him. I salute you, ancient ocean!“

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„Tell me, ocean, will you be my brother? Roll wildly… more wildly yet… if you would have

me compare you to the vengeance of God.“

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Ocean, Life, and Cruelty Three excerpts from „Les Chants de Maldoror“ by Lautreamont (1846-1870)

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Science Fiction Update and Note about Stanislaw Lem (and the Q Continuum)

Steve James has posted a list of his favorite science fiction classics; I´m gonna repost, to archive it for myself and for others; I have not read very much SF so far, maybe in the future. And the future, not to speak of the Singularity, is near.

Personal favourite top ten SF novels (not including fantasy)

1) Altered Carbon, Richard K Morgan
2) Dr who and the genesis of the daleks. Terrence Dicks. (First book I ever bought, cost 30p!)
3) Tik Tok, John Sladek
4) The player of games, Ian M Banks
5) Excession, Ian M Banks
6) Foundation, Asimov
7) Hitch Hiker’s guide to the Galaxy, Adams
8) Job, Heinlein
9) Sundiver, David Brin
10) Dune, Frank Herbert

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I also, originally, a while ago, planned to write a note about Stanislaw Lem, who was not actually a science fiction writer, but a literary genius in the disguise of a science fiction writer. A literary genius is someone who is deeply introspective about humanity (and the extensions of humanity like civilisation or, in the case of Stanislaw, technology), and, usually, a melancholic; although one, usually, capable of being also outrageously funny and a satirizer (with Star Diaries being Stanislaw´s most incredible beyond-ordinary-human-comprehension work in this respect). Despite all technological progress humanity will stay what it is, forever, that is the message of Stanislaw Lem; and since this is an insight anyone a bit intelligent could come to, it is the true genius of Stanislaw Lem that shows us that foreign, alien civilisations are dumb and limited as well, forever, and there is never an escape (though probably this is a necessary consequence of any kind of complexity and therefore should be taken more lightly) – The a-logical Solaris mirrors the a-logical nature and the opacity and the a-causality of the human intelligence and of the human race; The Invincible travels to a world long after there has happened what humans imagine as the Singularity to be confronted with an extremely primitive and mindless, yet dangerous and adaptive insect-like machine race which has come to dominate the planet. Fiasco in Eden, death to false metal.

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I have heard that in the last years of his life Stanislaw Lem has been very sad and depressed, about what happened in Chechnya and other spots in the world; that there is, obviously, never an end to the state of war. I don´t know whether this is true about Stanislaw, but it is easy to imagine and to go along with. I am not an expert about Stanislaw but I read an interview with him in a book containing interviews with (analytical) philosophers, Quine, Dennett, etc.; he was the only writer, his interview was the last, seemingly concluding chapter of the book and somehow the most comprehensive and the most substantial. He announced that he is casually called a science fiction writer because especially in America the most favorable reviews of his books cause sales to plummet if it is only slightly mentioned that there is philosophy to them; because to people philosophy is „something like a jungle“, confusing and dangerous; one can add: something to explore but that is, usually, not what people do. In his native Poland, after the fall of communism, people are largely interested in money, and possibilities to accumulate money, whereas he, Stanislaw, is primarily interested in philosophy. Ahhh, the disconnectedness …

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The „disconnectedness“ is something that sometimes is funny and comical and its own satire, but also always leads the literary, most notably the ethical genius, the empath genius, into depression; and maybe the depressive edge is what is actually true and the sum of it all. I am in a depression right now as well, the usual circular thing; yet this time maybe worse, without possibility to truly recover. The experiences I make with people are disenchanting, they are accumulating, and there has been an experience last week which added a new, depressing quality on everything concerning humans. (In addition to that, Trump is leading in polls – I have, from the beginning, considered it possible that Trump could make the race of the nomination and maybe even become President but have not considered it likely at all -, a lot of people vote for Erdogan in Turkey, Hofer in Austria, and there recently has been the Brexit; and other things I do not want to mention. Possibility of things going to hell for no particular reason. This is, by the way, not actually due to neoliberalism, as the political left likes to point it out on every occasion in their everlasting gluelessness and their egocentric primitivity of perspective which they, then, mistake as a higher form of consciousness and knowledge which elevates them above the mindless masses instead of coming to the idea that, for instance, it would be a good thing to READ and STUDY the economists instead of always complaining about them, and ridiculing them –  it is people´s mindlessness, emotionlessness, lack of ethics, egocentricity which revolves around its own vanity; therefore people seek leaders a bit more intelligent, and equally morally depraved, into which they can project themselves and admire themselves in a bigger version; instead of looking for idols that actually deserve to be idolized and followed.) Maybe there is no intelligent psychology among humans, ever, and what the empath genius tries to do (establishing anti-egocentric consciousness and sentience) is forever bound to blow out. Maybe Schopenhauer was right in all respects. And Gogol rightfully went insane because he saw that we are living in a ghost world. I wanted to write a note about it, titled „Prelude to Suicide Note“, Pt. 1 and 2 (maybe also 3). For some reasons I haven´t done it so far. But I have archived the material. So I didn´t write the Suicide note; but it makes me a little happy that I have now, on this occasion, managed to write a note about Stanislaw Lem, whom I salute.

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Originally, when writing about Stanislaw Lem, I also wanted to say something of the quality of texts by the high empath literary genius. In the texts of Stanislaw Lem, notably in the satires, you have a high intensity, everything goes BOOM! – BOOM! – BOOM! – one idea hunts the other, one good joke comes after the next. That is so because of the author´s hyperintelligence. But the ultimate kind of text is the – well, I have not thought of an actual name though I have somehow described it already in the Book of Strange and Unproductive Thinking – is the, hm, blanket, the all-comprising cover, the web, where you have all kind of emanations which are bound together, not mechanically or so, but holistically, as the universal synthesis of everything; such texts are that of Kafka, some texts by Beckett (most prominent L´innomable), Lautréamont´s Maldoror and, above all, Georg Büchner´s Lenz. I think this is, then, the text of the ultimate empath literary genius; Büchner and Lautréamont died at a young age and we do not know much about them, but Kafka and Beckett were, as persons, of the highest noblesse, despite, humanity. This is how I remember them. I won´t say more about it now, there will be more explanations about the blanket somewhere soon, this wheel keeps spinning all the same hell yeah.

And having said that, I see I have now managed to write my originally intentioned note about Stanislaw Lem.

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Concerning science fiction: Star Trek I practically only know via the satires from MAD magazine (and, by the way, Jack Davis from MAD has died last week at age 92). But I came across the god-like Q beings from the Q Continuum recently. According to legend Q is an ultraintelligent being who operates at the meta level of all species in the universe and observes them, for fun, for getting to know about them and to enhance his knowledge, and who occasionally gives them philosophical advice. Some beings of the Q Continuum are of the opinion that it might be appropriate to interfere with other species, some other Qs think the best thing to do is not to engage with them and to keep out of their affairs. In one episode there has been a trial set up by Q against humanity, for humanity to prove their worth, and, well, humanity managed to prove it; leaving Q to proclaim, grimly, that humanity will forever be on trial about its actual quality and will forever have to prove it anew, however. In another episode, one Q descends into human form, to see what happens. Ahhh … this is what I envisioned in Yorick – A Person in Distress already, oracularly, prophetic. The Q Continuum is quite a boring place – ahhhh … that is what I envisioned in the Book of Strange and Unproductive Thinking already (in the story about Jessica Simpson (although in my vision the situation of the highest beings possible in the universe is not that bad since they are able to distract themselves by telling toilet jokes to each other)). There has also been a civil war in the Q Continuum. Those is what I envisioned when I said there need to be mechanisms for the prevention and mitigation of conflicts when writing about the „Global Board“ most recently. I think, there will also be a note about the Q Continuum, some time.

http://www.philiphautmann.at/nation-finally-breaks-down-and-begs-its-smart-people-to-just-fix-everything-the-global-board/

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UPDATE 06082016: I have been in a considerable depression the last days, sometimes things seem to lift up and then they darken again. They say, on the road to enlightenment you have to kill Buddhas when you meet Buddhas, and I seem to have killed some Buddhas, unintentionally, again; this seems to be all that I am capable to do; which stresses me emotionally, because I am NOT an aggressive person. Yet, if I foresee this correct, I am a dying human, coming into the flesh of a god. Aaahhuuuuuh….

  • CELTIC FROST – A Dying God Coming Into Human Flesh (OFFICIAL VIDEO)
    CELTIC FROST – A Dying God Coming Into Human Flesh. Taken from the album „Monotheist“ Century Media Records 2006. CMDistro – http://www.cmdistro.com/Item/Cel…
    youtube.com

STARKE EPIPHANIE Yorick drängt es plötzlich, er fasst einen Plan, er sucht die öffentlichen Waschräume am Hessenplatz auf, denn er hat dort etwas vor. Dort angekommen fällt sein Blick offenbar für einen Moment zu lange in die bauchige Wölbung der Pissoirschüssel, da überkommt ihn plötzlich eine Vision. In seinem Geist kriecht er durch eine unglaublich enge Öffnung in der Erde, kaum dass er mit den Schultern durchgelangt, und erreicht schließlich nach erheblichen Mühen eine schwach ausgeleuchtete Höhle. Dort in der Mitte, auf einer kegelförmig ausgerichteten Ansammlung von Stäben, befindet sich ein Kopf. Es ist der Kopf eines alten Mannes, der scheinbar in Schwierigkeiten steckt. Und es ist der Kopf, von dem das schwache Licht ausgeht, das die Wölbung erhellt. Es handelt sich, wie Yorick bemerkt, um das Antlitz Gottes. Das Antlitz Gottes blickt ihn unendlich traurig an.

Von alldem verstand Yorick natürlich nichts.

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STRONG EPIPHANY Yorick pushes it all of a sudden, he has a plan, he seeks the public washrooms at the Hesse place, because he has something there. Once there his gaze falls seem for a moment too long in the convex curvature of the urinal Bowl, a vision comes over him suddenly. In his mind he creeps through an incredibly tight opening in the Earth soon that he reached through the shoulders, and finally reaches adimly lit cave after considerable effort. A head is located there in the Middle, on a conical focused collection of rods. It is the head of an old man, who apparently is in trouble. And it’s the head, from which emanated the faint light that illuminates the curvature. It is, as Yorick noticed, the face of God. The face of God is looking at him in infinite sadness.
Of this, Yorick understood nothing of course.
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I hesitated to post this (the Strong Epiphany from the Book of Strange and Unproductive Thinking), thinking, at this moment again, about the possible emotional state of God – but, upon reflection: SEE! THERE IS A TOILET JOKE IN THERE! EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED! EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE! EVERYTHING IS FUN ALL THE TIME!!!! IT IS IMPOSSIBLE THAT THE UNIVERSE DOES NOT HAVE A SOUL! OUT IN THE MADNESS: THE MASTER INTELLECT, THE MASTER SOUL! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
holidays
„Now the curse is finally lifted

And the mariner sights his home
Spirits go from the long dead bodies
Form their own light and the mariner’s left alone.

And then a boat came sailing towards him
It was a joy he could not believe
The pilot’s boat, his son and the hermit,
Penance of life will fall onto him.

And the ship it sinks like lead into the sea
And the hermit shrives the mariner of his sins.

The mariner’s bound to tell of his story
To tell this tale wherever he goes
To teach God’s word by his own example
That we must love all things that God made.

And the wedding guest’s a sad and wiser man
And the tale goes on and on and on.“

The full version of this great maiden song finally on youtube! This is for entertainment purposes only, just sayin‘ though… Lyrics: Hear the rime of the an…
YOUTUBE.COM
UPDATE 01292017:“…Monocultures are evolutionarily non-advantageous and any reduction in variation amongst complex organisms may be inherently undesirable… Decreasing the variability of another civilisation’s evolutionary path would be condemning them to accept and follow our incomplete and culturally biased world view, which poses a rather unique moral problem. If one way messages are genuinely destructive of variation then perhaps a moral incentive exists amongst advanced civilisations not to contact burgeoning cultures in a variation on the zoo hypothesis. The zoo hypothesis contends that alien life chooses to avoid contact with less developed societies and adopt a strategy of non-intervention in order to prevent precisely such a scenario occurring. Even if such messages or interventions do occur it is assumed that the vast majority of advanced cultures have arrived at similar conclusions to those expressed by transcension and do not violate the principle.“ The Transcension Hypothesis: An Intriguing Answer to the Fermi Paradox? 

Pessoa

Die Verrückten haben ein klares Gehirn; verwirrt und wahnsinnig ist das Gehirn derer, die nicht verrückt sind.
Das Mysterium des Universums, die Komplexität des Lebens, die Zukunft eines jeden einzelnen (…), all das sind Probleme, die bei wacher Betrachtung in den Wahnsinn führen werden. Nur wenn man sie auf verwirrte Weise betrachtet, bleibt der Geist heil.
Verrücktwerden bedeutet, sich dem Mysterium entgegen zu bewegen, es von weitem zu erblicken. Verrücktwerden bedeutet, dass man zu leben beginnt.
Wer verfügt über die Anschaung des Lebens – des Mysteriums? Die genialen Menschen. Und wer sind sie? Menschen auf dem Weg zum Wahnsinn, unvollständige Verrückte.

Ein Künstler mag wohl vom alltäglichen Menschen etwas Abstand haben; das Genie kann es nicht. Es sollte es auch nicht. Des Künstlers oberstes Ziel ist die Erschaffung des Schönen, des Genies oberstes Ziel ist es, dem Guten weiter zu verhelfen, eine zivilisierte Lebenswelt gegenüber dem Übel zu schaffen.

Die intellektuellen Künstler sind im Allgemeinen extrem moralisch: Anthero (Ausnahme: Goethe). Die mit der Ernsthaftigkeit der Neurasthenie kombinierte Erregbarkeit der Neurasthenie produziert dies.

Es ist eine der merkwürdigsten Illusionen, nach der ein genialer Mensch notwendigerweise einen noblen Charakter haben müsse, und je größer das Genie ist, desto größer müsse auch die Noblesse sein. Es gibt keine zwangsläufige Verbindung zwischen Charakter und Genie…

Der geniale Mensch ist, in dem Verhältnis, wie er wirksam ein Schöpfer ist, unfähig zu irgendeiner anderen sozialen Tätigkeit, die keine Schöpfung beinhaltet. So sollte es sein, zumindest um zu beweisen, dass er ein kompetenter Schöpfer ist.
In dem Verhältnis, wie der geniale Mensch kompetent geboren wird für seinen schöpferischen Auftrag, ist er auch unangepasst hinsichtlich eine großen Anzahl von Dingen im sozialen Leben.

Mystizismus ist die Verwirrung von überlegenen Gehirnen, so wie Dummheit die Verwirrung von geläufigen Gehirnen ist und Idiotie die Verwirrung von minderwertigen Gehirnen.
Des genialen Menschen ewige Unruhe bezüglich der Gründe und Ursprünge der Dinge.

Die Dichter, selbst die einfachsten, müssen selbstverständlich über eine Hypererregbarkeit des Nervensystems verfügen. Nun ist aber ein hypererregbares Gehirn ein anormales Gehirn.

Die Beziehung zwischen dem Genie und der Manie des Zweifels.

Der geniale Mensch muss gleichzeitig mehr träumen und wacher sein als der gewöhnliche Mensch. Die höhere Aktivität seines Denkzentrums bringt ihn dazu, ein größeres Bewusstsein vom Leben zu haben, eine größere Sehnsucht nach Verständnis, eine größere Klarheit der Sicht. Die größere Aktivität von diesen gefährdeten Zentren, die (…) Aktivität der Nerven und die (…) scheiden ihn aber in einer gewissen Weise von der Welt ab, machen aus ihm einen Egoisten und einen Träumer.
Die synthetische Aktivität ist verbunden mit einer mentalen Erregung, ebenso wie die Analyse an eine Depression gebunden ist.

Dies erklärt viel, zum Beispiel, dass sich im Genie gleichzeitig gegenteilige Dinge ereignen wie ein höheres Bewusstsein und Unbewusstsein und Schlafwandlertum. Ohne dass es wie ein Paradox klingen soll, könnten wir vielleicht sogar behaupten – je höher das Bewusstsein, um so geringer das Bewusstsein. Das bedeutet einfach nur – je ausgeprägter die frohlockende Erregung, um so größer die Depression.
Besteht die Erregung ein Leben lang, gehört sie dem Charakter an, wie beim Genie, dann wird auch die Depression ein Leben lang bestehen, dem Charakter angehören. Man sollte daher behaupten, dass im Genie Erregung und Depression immer nebeneinander bestehen zu haben. Das ist ein Gesetz der Natur; also unabwendbar.

Da wir in der Intelligenz am meisten wir selbst sind, entspricht es einem Exzess der Intelligenz, nicht so wie andere denken, wonach es sich beim Genie um ein überlegenes Wesen handelt: Um es so zu sagen, es ist hypernormal, und wenn es als krankhaft erscheint, dann eben nur da es hypernormal und notwendigerweise anormal ist.

Das Genie ist eine mentale Anormalität, welches sozial gesunde Resultate erschafft.

Das Werk des Genies ist ein einfaches Werk, immer; je höhere Komplexität es in dieser Einfachheit gibt, desto besser.
Der geniale Mensch ist einfach nur der Schöpfer einer neuen Einfachheit.

(Aus: Fernando Pessoa: Genie und Wahnsinn. Schriften zu einer intellektuellen Biographie)

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Sonntag, 9. November 2014, 12 Uhr 39. Vor einer Stunde den Rechner aktiviert, das letzte Autopsy-Album angehört („Tourniquets, Hacksaws and Graves“), wie gestern bereits zweimal, dann ein wenig Berichte gelesen und Fotos begutachtet der Orte Neoga sowie Roseville, beide Illinois, weil Kaiserin Willenborg dort herkommt. Beide haben jeweils keine zweitausend Einwohner, ich muss an die Menschheit denken, wenn ich so was höre, interessiere mich, wie Menschen dort leben und ihre Gebäude ausschauen, nie wäre ich wohl mit Neoga sowie Roseville Illinois in Berührung gekommen, ohne die Willenborg, Fenster zur Menschheit. Ich sehe in meinem Kopf bei solchen Gelegenheiten die ewige Nacht, der Hafen, nachdem die Donau eine Biegung macht, eine dumpfe Schiffsirene, so wie ich mir als Kind immer eingebildet habe, sie zu hören, ein dumpfes, anonymes, alles einschließendes Ächzen, das ist mir eine Vergegenwärtigung der Welt, ihrer kompletten Vergangenheit und Zukunft, außerdem aller Wesen, die in ihr leben, ein paar Straßen diesseits des Hafens das Gallanderstüberl in der Gallanderstraße, das geistfeindlichste und eines der gefährlichsten Beisln der Stadt, die Leute, die dort ihre triste Existenz rüberbiegen, sind vom Weltgeist maximal getrennt, vor langer Zeit diesseits des Hafens an der Donau, vor der Stadtwerkstatt, längst in der Nacht, ich unterhalte mich mit einer über Werner Schwab, über seine stilistischen Einfälle, das Schwabische, ich sage, wenn ich schreiben würde, könnte ich das auch; sie sagt, das kannst du doch niemals!, das war Jahre, bevor ich zum Literaturmachen angefangen habe, alles Mögliche andere habe ich aber trotzdem bereits geschrieben, für die Stadtwerkstatt zum Beispiel; Jahre zuvor, mitten in der Nacht, der Holzinger stellt mich zwei Mädchen vor, in der Stadtwerkstatt, sagt, der da ist extrem gescheit, sie haben mir auch zugehört, an das Aussehen der einen kann ich mich noch ganz gut erinnern, sexuell was draus geworden ist, wie fast immer, nichts, vor vielen Jahren, das Strom in der Stadtwerkstadt war damals hässlich und dunkel, auch das ist unwiederbringlich verloren, abgestürzt in der Abgrund der Zeit; ich frage mich, wenn das Universum so mächtig ist, warum gibt es so was wie Vergangenes, auf das wir endgültig keinen Zugriff mehr haben, auf das niemand mehr Zugriff hat, das in einem endgültigen Außerhalb liegt, das frage ich mich mit der Seele des rätselnden Kindes in der geistigen Schwere des außerzeitlichen Genies, und so eben denke ich im Bild der Hafens, der dumpfen Sirene in der ewigen Nacht, das ist mir die Totalität der Welt. – Eine bleiche, scheinbar äußerlich leblose Hülle, ein Hautfetzen, Fernando Pessoa. Er schreibt über sich selbst, stellt seinen Innenraum dar. Schizotyper Mensch. Ein Raum, dessen Grenzen im Unbestimmten liegen, nirgendwo. In einiger Entfernung vom scheinbaren Zentrum eine Art Kästchen, es geht auf, eine Reflexion, eine Empfindung wird artikuliert, ein Rauch steigt auf und löst eine dreifache Metareflexion aus; Pessoa weiß nicht, ob das noch zu ihm gehört. Jede subjektive Empfindung wird in eine Reflexion transformiert, und umgekehrt, Pessoa, in seiner schizotypen Dezentriertheit von sich selbst scheint nichts (bloß) persönlich zu empfinden, und empfindet so die ganze Welt, „weiß ich denn, ob ich fühle, denke, existiere? Nichts weiß ich: Ich kenne nur ein objektives Schema von Farben, Formen und Äußerungen, deren schwankender Spiegel ich bin, zu verkaufen, nutzlos.“ Das violette Licht, die milchigweiße Suppe, schwarzer Regen, der gegen die blöde Materie aufschlägt, wenn er Atem holt, wird das schnelle Gelb kurz über die Dunkelheit triumphiert haben, Pferdegetrappel, das Verrinnen der Zeit, dynamische Gefrorenheit des Augenblicks, gläsern scheint Pessoa mit der Welt verbunden; diese schönen Lichter sind keine eitle und uninspirierte Beschreibungswut, all das ist eine Beschreibung der Seele Pessoas. Es ist schön, dass man sich, als Schizotyper, scheinbar nicht selbst gehört, ohne abgegrenztes Selbst ist, als Geist wiederum direkt in die Welt reicht; ja, wenn ich mir das recht überlege, wahrscheinlich sogar tatsächlich die Welt ist, denn in welcher Instanz verkörpert sich die Welt schon, wird auf einen Punkt gebracht, als in der genialen Kreativität und dem Innenraum, in dem früher oder später alles passiert? Blasser Kerl, scheinbar unbeteiligt an allem, zu keinen großen äußerlichen Gefühlsregungen fähig, gerade einmal schaut er durch die Scheibe; legt man die Maßstäbe der Menschenwelt an, scheint er kaum eine Existenzberechtigung zu haben, ein geduldeter Mitläufer, das kenne ich von mir; die Starken machen sich die Welt, die Menschen der Tat; legt man die Maßstäbe dieser Menschen an, scheint Pessoa kaum ein Leben und kein Innenleben zu haben, so wie sie. Seine Rache ist dann, dafür der offene Raum zu sein. Eines von Pessoas Problemen ist, dass er sich für einen Romantiker hält, obwohl er ein Klassiker sein will. Das kenne ich, so habe ich mir das ja auch immer so eingebildet, und habe mich, und zwar ganz ernsthaft, mit diesem Problem herumgeschlagen, mit dem sich wahrscheinlich kein anderer in der Stadt herumschlägt. Die Lösung dieses Problems, lange nach dem Verschwinden der objektiven, klassischen Ideale, besteht freilich darin, seine subjektive, romantische Kunst mit einem solchen Wahrheitsgehalt anzureichern, dass sie klassisch wird. Es betrübt Pessoa, zu erkennen, dass er durchaus besser schreibt als viele der Besten, dann aber nur zum Verfassen von „Fragmenten“ in der Lage ist, nicht einmal ein Roman mag ihm gelingen – doch wie soll ein Omega wie Pessoa seinen Geist schon in Form eines Romans zur Geltung bringen, in die Form eines Romans verpacken? Es interessiere ihn nicht, Kunst zu machen, was ihn interessiere, sei vielschichtig und filigran zu empfinden, und seine Empfindungen präzise zu beobachten und aufzuzeichnen. Veröffentlicht hat er zu Lebzeiten wenig. Jahrzehnte nach seinem Tod werden seine Aufzeichnungen dann als „Das Buch der Unruhe“ herausgegeben. Seitdem gilt er als der größte Dichter Portugals. – Viele Jahre zuvor, als Kind, wie weiter draußen in der Wildnis die Eisenbahnbrücke war, über die Traun, habe ich mir die Totalität der Welt über die Reisenden in den nachts dann und wann vorbeirauschenden Zügen versucht begreiflich zu machen, die alle einen rätselhaften Kosmos, einen Blickwinkel auf die Welt, die nur über das Über-Mosaik, dem Herausquellen eines zusätzlichen Elementes in der Matrix, fassbar erscheint, in sich zu tragen behaupteten. Es ist gut, wenn man eine solche Neugierde empfindet, wenn man die Welt, und die Menschen, grundsätzlich als Geheimnis, Mysterium, Abgrund, sich vorzustellen versucht, die alle einen Schatz in sich tragen. Das ist die gute, und die ethische Haltung. Vor einiger Zeit gab es da mal auf Facebook ein Mem: „I´ve always wondered what it´d look like reading other people´s minds. Then I got a Facebook account, and now I´m over it.“ Anders eben Leute wie Pessoa.

Dazu unter einer Nachbemerkung zu Dostojewski noch genauer.

Aus dem Buch vom seltsamen und unproduktiven Denken

The Stranger

When I was little one of my plans was that I wanted to write a novel with reference to The Stranger about a guy who goes to the US and deliberately kills someone just to get sentenced to death, and executed. I did not completely figure out the meaning revolving around this archaic idea back then, maybe there was an uneasiness that Camus is superficial and does not work on the last layer, the terminal layer of all things (and ideed, the last, terminal layer of all things and of all vision is NOT the absurd but is to directly gaze into the chaosmos and amalgamate with the chaosmos). Well, later in the Book of Strange and Unproductive Thinking I came to think about it again and finally did it.

(Maybe the philosophical associative chain would go like this: The Stranger is hollowman establishing some perspective on man, although there is some stringency to his acts they lack cohesion and are weak and confuse; whereas the Hyper Stranger who deliberately goes to the US to kill someone to have himself killed would be a hollowman who establishes a plateau, his own territory, his own island, therefore become more, and actually, autonomous in contrast to the Stranger, who is not (it is just that his true essence is revealed in the end, if I remember that correctly). Thinking along these lines I wonder about the possibility of the Ultra Stranger, and what he might do, The Ultra Stranger! That the Ultra Stranger is now going to haunt my mind and I would have to examine the Ultra Stranger comes as a mixed blessing, it will distract me from my three dozen other intellectual projects which are worked through in my head at the moment, and every day an additional one seems to come around, yet finally it will make my network more dense, glorious and adapted to the last, the terminal layer of reality, and as far as I can see there is no other possibility to achieve that. Btw when I think of Camus the message of his books actually is that human relations ARE meaningful and it is the concept of the absurd which is the delusion. Existentialism is inevitable, but nihilism is not, it is, eventually, a personal choice, or a personal failure, When I tried it with philosophy as a teenager my first contact was Sartre, I found it, both as literature and as philosophy, interesting, but unsatisfying, somehow simple, simplistic, and ultimately untrue. Before that, when I was 15 years old, I wrote a manifesto for a global movement to overcome all problems, it was born out of a joke but also reached into the serious, years later I realized that I was actually outlining an approach for a Theory of Everything in search for a deep structure behind mathematics, economics, the human realm, and being in general. The core message was that every entitiy, whether virtual, platonic or actual, embodies a certain quality named Fucking Scrambled Eggs (referring to an insider joke between me and some friends of mine at that time), this is the deep structure of all reality and shows how everything is connected. In order to actually understand that you of course first have to trespass Sartre, Camus, the absurd, and some other things lol)

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Philip Hautmann „Sugar Bill (was für ein Name, der ja absolut nicht passt und in keiner Weise adäquat ist) kauft sich ein Ticket nach Amerika, dieses verrückte Land, bringt dort einen um, lässt sich verhaften, zum Tod verurteilen und hinrichten, der verrückte Kerl. Das war die ganze Geschichte, damit ist mir ein noch größerer existenzieller Luftikus gelungen als Camus` Fremder, aber wie gesagt, die Geschichte ist schon wieder aus, Sugar Bill bereits bei seinen Ahnen, von denen er sich gleich nach seiner Geburt bereits so weit entfremdet hatte, dass keine Behörde dieser verrückten Welt ihn irgendwie über deren Begräbnistermine hätte in Kenntnis setzen können, also hat meine Geschichte, verglichen zu der von Camus, nicht einmal einen Anfang.“ (S. 57)

Stephen Faust Those turning points, those interstitial layers, where gestalt gives over to a new Order of things, oft give the lie to what seems so profound and underlying of all. Simply to appeal to a bottom line is not to draw the whole map, nor pointing to a handful of dirt creates the moon anew.