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Every community takes credit for this quote. It is at once a Buddhist saying, a Taoist saying, proceeds from Matthew 7:7, is an old proverb of Hindu origin, was written in ancient Egyptian texts and adopted by Crowley, was published first by the Theosophists, and so on.

It is claimed by all because it is, in fact, a deep truth, a commonality of being, a thing shared. It resonates for the same reason.

It speaks to the transcendental shift from no-path to on-path, from lostness to found-ness. It is a statement on redemption, of a kind that everyone either deeply desires or has already had.

It is a recurring season of life.

The thing about love is that it is mysterious; it comes and goes according to its own will; it is a wild animal, noble and beautiful and fearsome and skittish. It does not obey anyone, and its nobility and beauty can’t be captured, can’t be caged.

You know it when you feel it; it is delight, joy, peace—everything that is good—filling your being and tingling in your extremities at seeing another person. It is not infatuation in that it has no future; it is not about seeing them “again” or wanting to be with them “in the future” or hoping to have and hold them. It is pure regard and admiration. It lives in the eternal present; it has no history and makes no plans or prophecies. It cannot be preserved or saved, nor stored up for the future. It encompasses waves of gratitude—for being, and for beauty, and for the life that makes love possible.

It must be free to be real, to be now, to be itself and nothing more, to be the creature of truth that it is. And it must be free to exist on its own terms.

You can’t manage it. You can’t direct it. You can’t ask favors of it or give it responsibilities. The moment you sit down to do Work in the name of Love, you corner it—cause it to behave and appear like a wild animal caught—you demean it, rob it of its truth and nobility, cause it to be unnaturally savage. Even worse, by trying to do Work in the name of Love, you may simply kill it. Certainly it can neither thrive nor reproduce in captivity. That is not to say that love is not active, that it is not an action, or that it is not something to consciously do. Only that if it is Work that you are doing, it is not Love that you are doing, even if it is Work in the interest of Love.

This is another way of talking about truth. Truth is, it simply is, and it can only be experienced in being, not in will. Love and truth are, in fact, the same thing. You cannot make them do your bidding. When you try—you fail, and you make the world more gray, more bleak than it was. To try to force love and truth to obey your will is to either lose them or to capture and hold them captive as shadows of their real selves.

Either way, under such circumstances, you cannot have them. You cannot have in control and captivity that which you glimpse and are edified by in the wild. They will not be what they were; they will not be what you hoped to use or to capture when you try to do so.

There is only one thing—to let them be free. To protect, in fact, their freedom, fiercely. Because your world and the worlds of the people that you love are darker places without them.

(more…)

“Stillness is what creates love,
movement is what creates life.
To be still,
yet still moving—
that is everything!”

— § —

Also:

“A little bit of enlightenment is a very dangerous thing.” (Richard Rohr)

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” (Oscar Wilde)

That which is wild.
Hammer—the hammer.
The wind.
The torrent, under thunder.
Darkness, spreading.
Light, revealing.
Initiative, initiative—
inheritance of men.

It’s a degraded world, isn’t it?

Time to fly.

We live in an era of unprecedentedly unhealthy people who believe themselves to be unprecedentedly healthy.

World, I gaze about myself now in search of signs and wonders.

Have you any to offer?

In adults, love and need are orthogonal. They may even be opposites.

That is to say, you cannot truly love that which you need, and if need is allowed to enter the picture, love leaves it in equal measure.

Because need is an expression of underlying risk, and when love is a hedge against risk, the question of whether or not it is freely given becomes unanswerable for all involved. And love that is taken—whether by force of body or by force of emotional blackmail—rather than being freely given? There’s a word for that. It’s an ugly word, so I won’t repeat it here. But it is the result of need—when one party’s need can only be fulfilled by another party’s emotionally unwilling sacrifice.

I realize that interdependence is held up as an ideal of interpersonal relationships, but in fact tremendously mature and enlightened people are needed if interdependence is to occur without its covertly being a matter of mere mutual dependence. You can tell them apart by noting that the former is a way to multiply the effects of each party’s strengths, while the latter is a matter of each party relying on the other to hold them up.

— § —

“…just can’t be happy together anymore…”
“…has run its course…”
“…just aren’t compatible any longer…”

All of these kinds of things are euphemisms in a self-absorbed culture for one simple thing: adults that are too immature to fulfill their responsibilities and to manage to get along well with others. I hate this bullshit wisdom that people feed me.

I have no illusions. Nobody gets married thinking “We’ll be married until it’s run its course.”

Few people these days are honest enough to admit that they failed at: getting along with the most important person in their life, sustaining and nurturing the most important relationship in their life, fulfilling their commitments and obligations, being a good parent, and just plain being a grown-up.

Well I am. I failed at it. We failed at it. It is a personal failure of both parties, always. To say otherwise is indulging in self-deceptive excuses for your own inability to get what you want out of life. Oh, it just happens. No. You let it and made it happen. You did not get what you want and now in your minimization you are living out the most famous of Aesop’s fables.

Admit it. I do.

I swear, people have no integrity any longer.

— § —

I should never have given in.

My biggest weakness as a man: I give in to the women that I am interested in, or that I love. Over and over and over again. I let that feed the “white knight” part of my ego. And it is, over and over and over again, my undoing. For decades.

— § —

Even with everything said above, when you love someone, you invariably try to fulfill their needs.

If the need is great enough, however, then there is nothing you can do. Love becomes meaningless when the need cannot be met; it is a fool’s errand to try. The day that you realize this is the day that need comes out into the open as the destroyer of love.

I spent much of my time as a Ph.D. student and then as a Ph.D. candidate pushing back against the luddites, and in particular against the people that were critical of social media. I felt that their blanket assertions that social media was dehumanizing an “artificial” (an implicit critique if ever there was one) were based on now obsolete cultural and social assumptions, and on a misunderstanding of technology rooted in old structural dichotomies like alive/not-alive and biological(social)/mechanical(un=anti-social).

In some ways I still feel this.

But I am also evolving on the topic. Over the last several years, I have come to see and understand what I imagine to be psychosocial properties of social media that perhaps I didn’t before—properties that are maladaptive for social processes and thus for society.

I still doubt that there is an “essential unhumanity” to technologically mediated interaction. But I do see, to the contrary, an “overdone humanity” to technologically mediated interaction.

One of the founding precepts of civilization, whether one likes to admit it or not, is the repression of certain evolutionary propensities, a way of “disowning the animal portion” of human person(s) in the interest of the command-control-coordination-cooperation facility that is our capacity for culture. Civilization is the emergent order that results from our late-developing cerebral cortex, much lauded for its ability to sustain humans’ uniquely high levels of executive function and judgment.

My reading of social media is that it increasingly subverts the dominance of this aggregate wing of the brain of humanity, in the process short-circuiting the useful repression and better judgment that collectively enables durable, deliberative, and productive civilization in the first place. In short, it’s not that social media is dehumanizing, but that it is overhumanizing—that in an social sphere characterized by social-media-interactive dominance, we regress to a state of eros/drive overexpression, failing to sublimate any longer the most animal portion of our natures.

The presence of an endlessly sympathetic audience in conceptual positions of nearest proximity, combined with the similarly guaranteed presence of antagonists slightly farther away, encourages the overexpression of all kinds of impulses and habits of thought unmoderated by high-order-executive function, interpellated by conflict and ego-negation and supported and encouraged by positive reinforcement patterns that traffic in more primitive or infantile forms of ego- and wish-fulfillment. We come to present ourselves in ways that encourage sympathy, pity, outrage, tribalism, and that are motivated and sustained by the portions of our cognitive apparatus (with apologies to those who rightly suggest that Freud is somewhat obsolete, and with the hope that this use is taken to be conceptual rather than clinical) that correspond roughly to id and ego functions.

In short, social media is anathema to any superego-like impulse, or to its gestalt at the social level, and as such structurally corresponds more to the kinds of thinking that lead us to the ill-reasoned but “unavoidable” (read: impulsively powerful and difficult to emotionally regulate) conflagration of World War I than the reasoned and uncomfortable (but highly necessary) detente (and comparative collective maturity) of the Cold War.

Put more simply: social media takes the progress we’d made as a species toward being a collective of “adults” and writes it off, returning us to something more akin to a global population of emotional teenagers—perhaps more “human” rather than less “human” overall, but in a way that lays bare the limits that are at issue when discussing the positive facets of “humanity” as a thing.

Or, another formulation: real grown-ups don’t use social media much, not because it’s dehumanizing, but because it emphasizes the parts of human existence that maturity has evolved to switch off after puberty in the interest of the big-picture species-being—not because it’s dehumanizing but because it is all too sustaining of the most fundamental human frailties.

Or, even another way: on social media, the point is not to unify, but to divide; not to empathetically understand but to incredulously reject; not to persuade through debate but to proselytize or, in case of failure, to disconnect.

Social media is in some ways an advanced tool to enable us to get what we need from others without having to entertain the (often phenomenologically demanding) “better angels of our natures.”

This is different from the “narcissism” argument in that I don’t think that social media inherently leads to self-absorption. Rather, I increasingly think that social media inherently leads to individual and collective emotional dysregulation, to emergent collective action that is irrational and counterproductive, rooted in fears, prejudices, drives, and dis-integration rather than in goals, generosity, and social integration. If the mass media was the high media of fascism and early technomedia (ala Usenet and early Internet) the high media of socialism, then social media is the ascendant high media of late-stage, divide-and-conquer, fulfill-the-drives by obscuring-the-lives capitalism.

I used to think that social media was a family reunion while those around me thought it was a padded cell. Now I increasingly think it is a privileged high school—or even middle school—quad.

This is not meant to be a novel academic argument; I’m sure someone somewhere has said this already. It’s meant to be a kind of admission and concession on my part.

Alamy has accepted my lasted test submission shot entirely with the Lumix CM1. This means that one can, in fact, shoot editorial stock with a camera phone and get them listed at least somewhere. I am in business again. This thing is small enough to come everywhere, and the 28mm equivalent field of view is perfect, really matches my composition style.

I’m stoked.

And I’m down to only 96 images in the keywording queue, after having hundreds and hundreds left over from about 2009 when we found out we were pregnant. I am moving on the imaging side of things again, and if I can do, say, 5-20 a day, that’s somewhere between 1,825 and 7,300 images a year. Let’s make it happen.

Recently switched from a Galaxy Note 4 to a Panasonic Lumix CM1 because I wanted to take photography seriously again. Apparently they did not sell well because they are being liquidated right and left at a tiny fraction of original cost (it may soon be too late to find one at all) but they’re sort of a dream for shooters because they have a 1″ sensor, just a tad smaller than Micro 4/3rds sensors of Olympus fame. The camera is pretty damned good and the Leica lens in particular does very well for its size as a 28mm equivalent f/2.8 prime.

But the phone half of this phone sort of… sucks. Some things can’t be fixed, like the omission of an ambient light sensor. Oh well.

But some things that suck can be fixed with root and xposed framework, and despite some nail biting, everything did in fact work. Steps I took:

1. OTA update to Android 5.0.2.

2. Kingroot in-phone to root.

3. SuperSu-Me Pro to switch from Kinguser to SuperSu Pro.

4. Flashfire (you’ll have to join the Google+ group to get beta access to the app store download) to flash the Xposed framework, since there is no custom recovery.

5. Get SDK21 latest version for ARM32 (just regular “ARM”) of the Xposed framework, install via Flashfire.

6. And then… App Settings and GravityBox!

This lets me set (most importantly) device DPI on a per-app basis, to fix the weird FisherPrice-ness of the giant onscreen elements. I used build.prop to set to 400 instead of 480dpi initially, so I know that at least 400 is safe, but what I discovered is that then the very, very custom camera app on this phone doesn’t adapt well, so the camera app needs to be run at 480dpi.

Caveat: I realize that this means that I am probably forever stuck at Android 5.0.2, to avoid brick-risk with any further OTAs. Whatever, it works for me.

No.

No, no, no, no, NO!

Stop the clock!

STOP IT!

“Bright light almost blinding, black night still there shining,
I can’t stop, keep on climbing, looking for what I knew.
Had a friend, she once told me, ‘You got love, you ain’t lonely,’
Now she’s gone and left me only looking for what I knew.

10

Night 14,679. Talk. Good talk. Eastern melodies. Supplies and stamina run short. I am waiting on the dusk face of the planet (this, I realize, is a nonsensical statement, yet phenomenologically I believe it to be true at a subconscious level) for reinforcements to arrive. I am reminded of the time in a place called India that I never spent, and of the pilgrimage to a monument known as Yo-Yang Tower that I never made; this planet is dotted by spatial markers that have been in this way named.

I have sent messages ahead by various mediated forms, but I am unsure about the fabric’s ability to deliver them, or about whether there is anyone to deliver them to. Meanwhile, I wait, entranced by the influence of so-called “magickal” harmonics in regularized atmospheric disturbances. I never was a believer in resonance-habits, yet the cognitive import of these sequences of physicality is mathematically persuasive and undeniable.

At no time have I picked up the pen again; I remain afraid of what may issue from its movement. Gods willing, on the final day I’ll pick up pen and put it to paper. Until then, I await resupply. I presume and hope that our story will someday be told, we at the outer fringes of what has, in this epoch, been possible.

Steampunk baby steampunk baby irony’s retreat is cognitive gravy. Simple, simple, simple, complex.

I await 14,680 with all the faith I can muster.

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