Half a Mo’
What if…
If is a strange and a delight game, the game of pretending that our affects our passions. It is so very easy to do you see. There we are embedded into the world –picking up others feelings ricochet around back and left right and forward. This is it, we scream. This is us, and this is our world.
and then we are trapped.
We make he politicians mistake.
We start to believe our own blackest of propaganda.
We start to think that the extra dimension of the world that we are making is something we control.
It is therefore our own, our private little world
I is our own theatre.
Our own little life.
The trouble with the our here is not hat it is wrong.
The world is in a sense ours. In the sense that as we are in the affects the world is other than it is to others. These see shapes, and be a re apart of the light. We know what and where we are.
No this is not the trouble,
The troubles rather who then owns that our.
To appear facetious the problem here is always is this our or not.
That what do we make of ourselves/
This the make the me the empirical hero – poised or posed in the world as something special. Adequate in being old or kind to the world. That is and yet as the moral man of making up the passions which them inhabit the world and life us through it.
The world then become peculiarly my thing – mine and those community of souls like me.
The trouble though here is that there is no limit of this my or no exact definition of the soul as one lives it with.
We might then go into free fall, were all reality as such breaks down.
That is where the only reality is the assertion that whatever I produce is a mine. The world as a mine and the community whose values me as I warp or change hat world into a mine/ the world becomes a beast.
This desire is however and odd one – this beastliness. It I not that am directly a beast o the world – but rather that it being adequate to the affect, in allowing myself to be taking out of myself and to be constantly I then reinvent myself go that outside and do so as that which always had a right to it and through it.
I assert then my rights to the world, I become a greedy little beast because elsewhere or first I was something else.
Perhaps this is less the politicians and more the heroes mistake.
The world made as a mine because assert what I am in it.\
The only other option would be of course to endorse the affect – but then where would oneself be? How could one be?
One would all but disappear into others- up the streams of experience.
To be a beast therefore is to invent an I pitched beyond one reaction with the world, an indomitable transcendental transcending me. It has to be about a me, as I am the only thing capable of riveting the world into place – and then as immediately assume that this world is as mine.
But the worry is what if the beastliness of my private owning of the world were real. What if I cannot hold the affect as king? what s the passion of my owning (which is often very necessary and real) invades?
What if then Assert aright on the world. The passion is made affect and dwell in us all.
The problem is that I erupt then on the world as a secret. A thirst of knowledge a hidden craftiness that suddenly falls and destroys everything.
The start is the secret in is the secret as the passion will always be fermenting in a me. It takes a time to breed the true passion up. Once brewed it then erupts and demands the world dance according to it tune. It forces itself driving home a public message, and makes everything dance to that private desire. I am lord and mast now!
Or better the passion I had the dream I had in my study, looking at picture of… or thinking about… becomes the law for everyone else. Alpha male here I come!
MY dreams ore the ones that matter- and the world must at least pretend always to fall along with them. The affect is debased into service – but what could be more natural or proper when passion is king?
For how can passion really be interested in the mutual friend? Or can it allow the link to complicity between the public and the private that the affect as such adores. If needs to set its face against all this worry or claim that what it is is also you.
It needs to strive against the temptations for generosity. It needs to keep everything professions. In keeping everything above board it makes sure that those affects that are to be fold are the stale ones of kith and kin and money. Everything else’s excluded. Everything else must be excluded when a passion is king. If it were not, if of one second one listened to the other voices of affects, if one did not harden a heart to act then one would of course be lost in the in the heart ache of everyone else.
One needs then to be mean in public, so that ones rich private world is rich with protected passion.
Or to put it differently – the blessing runs out to the family – them at least gives walls to the passionate soul and defines how and what they are and when and why.
God save the family – the cry’s made – ere we can have affects as passion passions as affects and everyone one else must support us, and bend over to help us.
The private world therefore is held apart and held different. It is the ferment where one brews ones passions with other or without in secret. These passions then erupt baring other to dance. In this picture the immanent world dancing to the tune of passions does so willing. It is always something else, something from somewhere else, the other affects, the ones that a troubling away just under the service that are crying our in this parade passionate heartlessness ; ones problem is then how or when can one ever listen to these choked up voices?
How then can one rely open a self to a world again, and do so no affective levels?
A beastly problem indeed.