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Re: fauxy meaning



>Chris, your messages have turned into a weird puzzle, where I try
>to figure out what you're replying to, how you've used their own words to
>reply, and what you are saying.

i was saying, darn, i'm sorry i missed spatula.

this is high praise. thank you.

you think too much. they are songs. background noise for doing your laundry.

occasionally, something might only seem significant to you.

>Whoever suggested that you start this
>large digest format of replying has started something i never expected to
>be so interesting.

well, derek, well, you, ah, see, sea, cee, i -used- to do this all time.
and that, anna coupla other things, like, o, certain words that get used,
uh, 'too much'; having, say, more than one voice to one's posts; uh,
liberal use of words rather than commas; presumed snottiness; editing
insufficient to pith the appearance of multiple meanings; and certain,
o, sacred cows getting tipped, got some folks sorta, uh, up in arms,
one might say. yeah, that's it. up in arms. a litany of arms voting a
list of griefs that wouldn't hold a dram's worth even if i'd stuck
around to appear to care about it.

i'd say, no need to live neitzsche's life over again, read the archives,
but, the archives seem to have disappeared and dejanews has a big hole
where my posts of that period used to be. this makes me sad. it seems
important to me. whassup wit dat? importance to me, that is. that other
stuff, too.

what do you think of the web archive proposals, she asked, that would create
time capsules of our culture. well, i said, i think they'd be important to
historians; i just can't imagine who'd pay for all that processing and
storage.

so, i went away for, uh, awhile. 'never to post again,' as they say.
i was less bold, one might assess. some believe if a cop is unsuccessful,
only an attempted cop, an impotent cop, then one is not a 'real' cop. of
course, we leave this belief to those who believe in the real, anywick.
but maybe i gave appearance to the assumption of reality by going away.
certainly, it seems in retrospect, i wasn't having fun.

later i decided to try to appear to care. this is difficult, as motives
of caring are at odds with one another. caring itself, as such, is faux.
alla that existential 'responsibility' and phenomenological 'caring' is
just a load of unadulterated hookum. i just try to appear to care because
it's all i appear to know how to do. i don't have any other greater forms
to follow. all the greater forms i can see are fauxked. see, i just don't
know any better. part of that, complicated, uh, coming out of my cave, or
going back into the cave, -depending on one's angle-, and posting again.

then we get the same shit all over again. except this time, be more bold,
just say, if one doesn't want me posting, in -whatever fashion i may pretend
with which to appeal-, one can just kiss my hairy ass with one's deliciously
fascist chicken lips.

but i at least listen to these complaints, anyway, just in case there's
any substance whatsoever other than some one's individual tastes and
preferences demanding to be catered. one complaint i found especially
hilarious was the one of too many posts. i took it as an excuse to do
what i'd wanted to do before, anyway, which is, on occasion, when it
suits me, roll up my replies into one post.

so, i suggested digest posts to myself. -and i took the hint!-

pulled the wool over my own eyes, i did.

anyway, i think it's just way hilarious that the thing that got some so
in a wad before is now so wonderful to others. thanks for the joke.

>I liked all your messages before (...snip...) and only sometimes meaningful.

well, one thing i love about civility, it's always delightfully consistent.

>Now, every message has become something worth pouring over.

well, thank you very much. and ruby, too. and whoever. i conserve the
privilege to say thank you and i choose to use it now. bless yourself.
please.

>But I wonder one thing in particular (n.par.tich.you.lair.)

in part, ich, you lair.

i wonder, if, when we wonder, is it in particular, or general?

>What, if anything, is real?

this appears as two questions: the general - is there real?; and the particular
- is there a real?

real and/or areal.

>And what, if anything, is real to you?

well, if i were to answer either above questions, it would have to be the
answer 'for me'. and as a question 'for me', that is -particularly- well
phrased, for what i might 'know' as real would be through -my- senses.
and as such, only be real as a sensation to me, which tells us nothing
about whether that sensation -represents- anything 'real' beyond that
sensation. even then my 'knowledge' of that sensation is simply echoic
of those sensations, fully self-referential, to things i've futhermore
just admitted were unknown to represent anything 'real'.

through sensation, we've correlated a lot of weird coincidences, that's
about what wecansay. i believe this is called 'science'. sometimes, reason.
logic is logically inconsistent. it's faux. so is alla that experience and
sensation stuff. as it make representations, it creates a science,
a language of recognition, a system of reason, an ideology, a mind, an
identity, an ego and beyond: complete constructions. imaginations.

all of what we know comes down to: i sense, therefore i imagine. the
implications of this essentialism dissemble the foundations of everything
we think we know.

so, to answer your question, in general, i dunno. maybe. who's the authority?

>This is important to me.

why do you ask me about what's real if you place value on the answer?
i only claim authority on the faux, which is all i appear to know.

of real, i dunno. but...

occasionally, i have faith. i try my damnedest, maybe because my faith
is damned, i dunno, to have faith only in that for which there is no
reason to have faith, for my extensive experience in the faux assures
me that anything that can be explained through words, reason, or preference,
is surely fauxforalltime. so even then, we can't call this a phenomenlogical
leap of faith, because there's some trace reason of experience left behind
in in this appearance. certainly, to me, -i have been goaded by my experiences
into this admission-. so i try to be absent of words, reasons, or pretty
morals when it comes to faith. i can only try, because as i breath, these
things invade and corrupt my every attempt to make them absent.

things, areals, in which i try to have faith (understand, i corrupt myself
as i give names to these, as you would have me -point them out-):

christa, she rocks. no explanation needed. but you already knew this.
nobody has ever appeared to care for me so much. i take it as an omen
from where, i do not know, that she appeared to me as my agent of
caring, two days after i, myself, decided to appear to care.

'myself'. be bold, he said. through me, i experience things of faith.
things fuck up constantly. but i am charmed and have great luck. what
ever 'it' is, 'i' will get through it or around it.

you. your movie advice is impeccable.

the future. what happens is what will happen.

this group. it constantly refines my limited capacity to expend energy
working on the artifice of appearing to forgive faux peeps. and there
are people in this group, some who only lurk, to whom i owe more than
i can ever repay. alec and ltlpop are chief among them, if i were to
pass out medals i don't have. goshdurn john daniels is right out there,
too. ri i'm just dang fond of, but he's done nothing to deserve that,
the fool, he's just fucking good-looking. tenacious inclusivity are
their marks. you see, i don't have a life, and you are my family. maybe
this makes you uncomfortable. but not half as uncomfortable as i plan
to make jay huber. anyway, i am not just one person writing.

the past. it makes the future that happens.

absence. i can't explain this. it will not be named. i only defile the
secret by attempting to describe it. but i can tell you this, anything
which claims absence is a lie. absence will bend your mind more than
the faux ever thought about.

the words 'every thing is faux.' i'm not sure that there's not a certain
platonic rejection of particulars in that statements. but i'm comforted
that it's faux particulars that imagine, embody, and embrace faux ideals.
so i don't -draw any lines- about what the word 'thing' might refer.

these are some things in which i have place some importance. i may be
misplaced. certainly i am as i assign values, make chiefs, etc.. but,
fucked i am, beyond all recognition, by words. this doesn't excuse me,
no, but it is my confession. in fact, it is what i believe to be the
great postmodern hoax, the flexing of value and lack of value, either,
as being 'ok'. it just is, a thing, and as such is faux, wrong, evil,
whether one seeks the great unified ideal end or celebrates the excess
of possibilities. one is consigned to this shop. it is at a time such
as this that i feel paradoxes: nothing is becoming absence. three times.

anyway, thanks for asking, i think, i dunno. i'm sure i'll change my mind
about any of this in the next few seconds. and i can assure you, i've posed
more problems than answered questions with these words, as words are as
imperfect a container of meaning as any pretense towards real responsibility,
caring, or forgiveness. in 'fact' words carry more mean-ness than anything
else. words are quite e-vile to einkorn. i'm sure that this is the quality
of words that leads some to take such vehement exception to mine, the
quantity, arrangement, and choice of them being faux and deceptive. the
pain of what words point out is blamed on the words themselves. ha! well,
not ha, but whatever. quantity points out our lack of tenacity and the
selfish economy to which we apply our inclusivity. arrangement points out
our need for correct interpretations. choice points out our belief in
scales of shallow moralities, where we place ourselves at the center of
what we will an will not allow. i dunno. as the king of comma said, truth
is rude. i always 'knew' this. but further suspect, if there is such a thing
as truth, which i doubt, one can bet, it's amazingly impolite.

i do hope my meanings are faux, for in that, i might be saved the violence of
the mean-ness. my one and every word here carries more inconsistencies with it
than an eternity of words might seek to rationalize away. but i go ahead and
say 'idunno' anyway, rather than fall prey to the analytical trap of notsaying.
for some reason i'll avoid letting myself onto, it is important to me to vote
the testimony of one's ignorance. something about the correctness of making
mistakes in broad daylight. if words did not exist, we'd have to invent them.
as words exist, we must destroy them.

in short, i am poop, an idiot, a complete fuck-up, but i have the advantage
of 'knowing' this. let there be rock.

thank you and please, enjoy the buffet.

3.2.3

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