A bit of the other

A bit of the other
When you smile into a camera, who are you smiling at? When you�write a letter to the internet�or a mailing list, who are you writing to? When you put a picture on the internet, who are you showing it to?

Have we known all along about the conversation? Has it always been there, an itch on the underside of our subconscious? All those thousands of years we spent trying to deal with our lonliness… didn’t we always know that we are never truly alone?

Self and Other. Words that philosophers have struggled with for centuries. Words that we have struggled with for�millenia. They identify something in the real world – you and me – but they are also abstract contradictions. There can be no me without you. How can I understand myself without understanding you? How can I know myself without knowing you?

Who am I writing to?

Who are you?

from synthesis

Is The Pope A Catholic?

Is The Pope A Catholic?
The fact is that the world is divided between users of the Macintosh computer and users of MS-DOS compatible computers. I am firmly of the opinion that the Macintosh is Catholic and that DOS is Protestant. Indeed, the Macintosh is counterreformist and has been influenced by the “ratio studiorum” of the Jesuits. It is cheerful, friendly, conciliatory, it tells the faithful how they must proceed step by step to reach – if not the Kingdom of Heaven – the moment in which their document is printed.

from MacNN via Scottish Lass Seeks

Ooooh…. he’s so good. Vox

Ooooh…. he’s so good.
Vox populi, vox dei, someone said, and getting the equation backwards, we were lost in gods. For a thousand years or a million. For as far back as we can remember. Unimaginable, they must have dreamed us, we dreamed. Must have dreamed these sounds and these maps and these endless rhythmic meanings. And even then, it was only starting. Only then it was getting even with itself. Catching up with what had already come. Been said, been mapped, been vocalized, been spelled. For once called, it cannot be unbidden. Such is the way it takes.

And the way it takes leads where it likes. Whether we like it or not. Whether we continue or try to go back. Back to what, exactly, it might taunt. Whatever calls, whatever asks such things. There is only onward, only more. Combination and recombination. Names unhinged from the things they once named, set free, gone native. Simile, metaphor, idea, abstraction. Fa, ka, bo, ro. Ma, re, lo, tu. But modulated, shifted up a couple octaves. Natural languages, natural musics. Natural wonders of the world. And naturally, what is called, if called often enough, eventually replies. Be careful what you wish for.


A Senecan Praemeditatio [The wise]

A Senecan Praemeditatio

[The wise] will start each day with the thought….
Fortune gives us nothing which we can really own.
Nothing, whether public or private, is stable; the destinies of men, no less than those of cities are in a whirl.
Whatever structure has been reared by a long sequence of years, at the cost of great toil, and through the great kindness of the gods, is scattered and dispersed in a single day. No, he who has said ‘a day’ has granted too long a postponement to swift misfortune; an hour, an instant of time, suffices for the overthrow of empires.
How often have cities in Asia, how often in Achaia, been laid low by a single shock of earthquake? How many towns in Syria, how many in Macedonia, have been swallowed up? How often has this kind of devastation laid Cyprus in ruins?
We live in the middle of things which have all been destined to die. Mortal have you been born, to mortals have you given birth.
Reckon on everything, expect everything.

from The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton