To the abundance of
metaphysical biodiverstiy, Quine was used to say he preferred arid
desert of a consistent logic of references. This remark intends to
detox your imagination from entities generated by a fervid, feverish
imagination. “Things” like unicorns, bold king of France in a
republic period, caffeine distinct from teaine, the dreams of
Ulysses, the healthcare problem of characters from a joke, but also
entities with a more central role in our life, like god, the self or
the family. Quine believed that it was better to have an arid world
rather than a universe inhabited by any sort of fictional problem. We
actually tend to endorse a universe over-inflated of such entities.
Nonetheless the monastic sharpness of arid desert attract our lustful
wisdom.
In fact we inject
overdoses of fiction only to achieve the same objective of Quine. The
Agori are a sect of Hinduism; they practice a very hardcore set of
rituals: basically they do the opposite of what a regular saint
should do. They live in cemetery, amongst the dead one, they eat
human flesh, they engage sex with women during their period; in
brief, they go the other way. We suspect that in a desert we are
looking the same Quine is looking for: nothing. But we believe that
to pursue nothing it's better to over-stimulate your mind to consume
the fervour of being there.
You see , we are animals,
we are livign organism and we are projected to look for something.
Always. But given the extreme complexity of our cognitive
architecture we get lost in our own projection. It's not that bad, I
admit. But sometimes we are overwhelmed and fooled by them. Again,
being fooled by ghosts of your imagination is quite entertaining. I
have very very skilful ghosts haunting me. Some full of anger and
rage, tormenting my poor consciousness like flames of hell. Others,
super-funny stupid clowns, who tickle childishly my too serious
self-awareness. Yet they are fictions. As they are god, self and
humanity.
If you go to the desert, don't worship the joyful, scary emptiness of the
equivalence between to be and not to be.
This is why I'm quite
pissed off (well, in the spare time between horrendous monsters
torturing my ego and the tiny, weenie-beanie puffy creatures who
preside the normativity of my thinking), when people worship our
alien origin, the virginity of Mary, the almightiness of gods too
Spiderman to be cool. And the soul-searching in the desert. See,
you must be a very poor believer, lacking any imagination, if you
need these sort of things to arouse your spirituality. Look: alien
intelligence designing ours? Are you nutters? We come from the
combinatory permutation of hydrogenate carbon, which ignite a
self-catalysis. We are the avatar of life, which emanate in fish as
well as in dinosaurs. Our current posture is the result of a
revolution, when lizardish beings started to walk on their back,
producing the dorso-ventral re-organization of the vertebrates. Do
you need human-like superior lords of creation? Really? And in the
virginity of Mary: for Christ sake! It's just a statement about the value of children: when you give birth to another being, blossom
of uselessness variety of combination, you can re-set your status as
before having impure sex. It was just a poetic way in the old times
to take it easy and celebrate a new life. And inviting to not bother
the actual socio-juridical circumstance of conception. Now you are
looking for the hymen of a demi-goddess you pretend is the biological
mother of the lord of the physical laws? What a lack of tact and
respect. Holy inappropriate.
Finally you go to
the desert/ the monastery / the ocean to meet your true self, the
uncontaminated entity to call “real ego”. Man, it's in the bottom
of every pint, if you stare carefully. In the desert you should
breath the lack of everything. There is nothing in the desert, that's
what we are looking for. Every time you search for inspiration, you
are asking for the beef. Dismiss your white clothes, the face in the
pose of a sanctum prayer and join us in the desert. “Outside we are
stoned, immaculately”. Outside, in the arid lack of any presence,
with me, Quine and Jimbo Morrison, there is the logical answer to
your being there. Be a poet, respect your gods and let them go, with
your self, consciousness and greed for the beef of presence.
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