If then I am capable, my own hands like dove's hands (or their wings, which, I am well-aware, are extended from their main body, which is also called the torso) readily opined to me, "What then is the witch's call, for us to put ourselves readily upon the side of the well? If then this might be overshadowed by a tender bombasticity (that of a bombastic nature) of goals, how can then can we muster our credences (that of qualifying actions which bestow credibility upon the individual-doer) and aloft (in that we handle ourselves to a high degree of standard)? Is it not true and false (by the very nature of words, being an idiomatic expression from the need to capsulate the complexity; which entertains both yes and no as a recognizable result; contrary in scope to which the clauses, by which all people have been made well-aware, so require it by the nature of their complexity)?" So my hands which was such a Speaker of the House was a speaker I recognized and placed upon a stand, because it was my aching muscles which attempted otherwise to beat out (like a heart in its quest to be released). So here I was aware of the strange nature of the hand's words, which I treated as the Speaker of the House, and who was so in my mind, indeed in my aching mind. So I said yes. The Speaker of the House, however strange his words were, were always accompanying. I did try to dissect it once. He did mention that the witch's call had a relationship with the side of a well. Though as to which well I did not know. I could have remedied this situation by asking for clarification, but even I was afraid the Speaker of the House would remove me by the Forces Which Are Bestowed (which he said were born and created from the very fabric of essences bestowed upon things and that that was the reason for their title). So with a patient tick in my demeanor, I shielded myself mentally and took precautions to clearing the space that I might stand ably so as not to fall, but even in such situations, additional precautions are pivotal. So I readily prepared a bat in case my hands might attach to me little dynamites and let them explode. I was not afraid. I was prepared to dye anything with blood. This was a staking process, as I would have easily placed an actual stake upon my hands if it so required me to do so. As for why I have not done anything in response besides mere internal composing and a yes to his strange words and strange nature of his existence, the Speaker of the House knew my thoughts to some degree, and I quickly abandoned any further thoughts on the matter; leaving them to be slaughtered in his captivity. The very folds of my hands carry therein a beautiful sound, and that was the reward given to me, as for each moment that it is heard, it rings truly that the ground shakes. If there was no more greater song then this, I would leave everything behind to listen to this perpetually. But I maintained a loose focus, taking care to avoid an overwhelming looseness and to avoid an excessive focus that I might be detected. But sooner or later, my home was invaded by a person with a pair of hands of his own. I did not think other thoughts; because I was enraptured by the nature of those hands, and they were to me like doves in the wind which freshly baked bread. In this senseless strangeness, I could not shake the idea that this earth has been born time and time again to accommodate my very hands, that I might call them "Speaker of the House" or exceed in my eyes, in my nose, in my ears. * Shifting to a more objective viewpoint, later on, the man and his hands was said to have contained a 'psychotic' affect, or a 'schizophrenic' condition.
I have written much from 2019, and I know that I need to pick them up quickly if I don't want to be separated from my past self so as to maintain the integrity of those novels. However, it is challenging, as I was not only experimental in constructing premises, but even my language was very so. This makes it a feat for me to consider deconstructing them within my recent brain as contrary to that of my younger self about 5 years ago; that in hopes of recreating a proper expansion (by turning over the very ideas dormant in my head at the time through imagination and streaks of creative spree) of the premises which frequently were only short enough to be 200 to 500 words, which despite the short length, carries a heavily unaltered tone, that which standard language from established standards and norms have failed yet to penetrate and linguistically disembowel; I do engage with the very facts of today's expansion of my linear self, which has experienced disruptions and cases of diversion throughout my evolution; of which details are substantial and plenteous. So I remain face-pointed to the details of to-day's methodologies that I have readily prepared in re-making within a construct: this day (session of in-depth and hardy consideration), by the hope which was bestowed through my time, casts a shield-umbrella, that of my recognition of the very details of the Sophistications of my younger self which spur me to action, for myself to be overshadowed, and my writings involved. Here then, I am well-aware of the very nature of my disposition, that to be called, is to be enthralled with the peculiarities of my time.
I think it's natural no? To desire optimism and a peaceful future? Even if reading about history and reading books, even fiction ones, from authors from the past can help achieve a grounded perspective, people want hope, optimistic, and peace. Pessimism is boring, and being scared of the future is tiring. Dystopia is something we all are aware of through modern interpretations of the future, but what we don't know is that people have hoped for peace in the past as well and knew the risks. But things went to shit anyway. "The War That Will End All War" by H. G. Wells is an example of that, a book that exists to resemble our hopes in the modern day, while being totally wrong as seen from history.
The pain of recency and the pain of history. When we rely much on recency so as to be completely blind, or when rely much on history so as to be completely unable to separate historical legacy from recency.
Red colors now fill the air. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be a human again, but I did know there were things that only I could appreciate; but now I am here again, singing this simple song: "Wait a minute, what am I doing here? Why am I here? Why am I here?" There I was, and there I am again, singing a song until the endless becomes norm. Should I even imagine anything beyond this point? What then is this but an exercise of frustration? The mere mention of anything then leads to an exploration and complexifying of those ideas, but at one point, everything falls to the ground. I know that. I know well the difficulties of maintaining coherence and congruence despite everything. I sit down because I know well what it means to be a human being. I know that everything comes and goes, and everything falls to the ground. At one point, everything falls to the ground, and everything I know becomes a repetition, an end to itself. That is 'which it is.'
I saw a hundred voices in the air. Hundreds of them rushed toward me. I was overwhelmed, but not broken. Here I found myself incredibly beautiful, nuking them with my hands which looked like missiles. I jumped and leapt toward them as if levitation; there I touched the tips of their fingers; our fingertips touched. We hoped to be free from all this mess. I sat down, hugging the voices as if they were one person, and there we sat at the porch of a Japanese-style house. I hoped that maybe this place might be my abode, but I did not know exactly what determined whether it was so. I did know that these thought exercises are those of futility, so let me describe reality. Colors; beauty; ashes; cries; tiring; hope; dreams; pain; watch; sand; colors; "No!"; death; pleasure; hopes; dreams; pain; "god!"; wishes; pain; loss; damn; sin; great; wish; no; please; wish; demand; dream; wish; kiss; me; goodbye; death.
Red colors fly about like doves emerging toward the sky; what then is the man who attempts to dissect his own soul, that he might hope to achieve great things? That he might consider himself better than all those who came before. That all things again upon the sun, upon the little tops, upon the places whence all things flow. Here, in this little pie of life, I think, maybe I have to go and let it flow. There is nothing like cars roaming about, where dogs know to leave their feet out, hundred awakenings incomparable to this strange everyday event. The ways of life as it is committed to memory can only serve to be awakened here in this little pie. I mention again that I am sick, weakened to the driest parts of the bones, if there ever were any. The point is, I lost myself, [a] long time ago. Some time there I was waking and walking around there. Somewhere there. It became gone, like [the memory of] fresh baked loaves, no time wasted for this fleeting flight. And time stood still to a halt. There I was, there I am again, naught remaining, naught surviving. I cannot be but still. There is a grace to my suffering, but in all these things, let me remain unhindered, in the flow, in the flow, where all things go, where all things I know, where all things they know, where all things summarize themselves, until old man gone, until old sun come, until I fall down, until sensibilities break down, until all is lost in the charade of a man sitting neatly upon the chair of a diner. There I was, there I am again! Let all those who fall come to life, but here, where my feet touch and tap against the surface of the water of the pool, is everything is lost. I am thus gone, like freshly baked loves smelled fleetingly. I could not be so; I could not be so. I could not be anything but so. There I am, there I am again. Broken like a man eating a dove, or a person attempting to do a mischievous strange thing (like eating a dove). A man that attempts so is thus repetitive, because in all these transgressions (transgressive actions), I am then futile-made and futile-formed. Ready swords lash out at me, and strike me down that I may know my name-identity-form. "Let me know what is it that ails me," I said, while I was seated. There I knew that I was unable to be anything but myself. What was once my epitome is now my little shed. What was once the world is now a dying sun. Tell friends. Tell friends. All they know is a little tiny dove. Shining above the world. We all go. There is no semblance or appearance that mimics anything of value. The very nature of reality is to commit-die. But that is how we interact with ourselves, and with our groanings, that we may demand a result. The fresh letters tapping about, sun-dried mangoes, pleasurable acquaintances, sun-letting people's faces There we grow, go, know, so let me speak with a pleasurable demeanor. I am thus gone, all-forever gone. Nothing is here, no, it is a dream-like statement, a purview of all things [that] were. Kiss me Goodbye. I am letter-dealer, hope-stealer, and touch-maker. I am gone again, into the 'again,' into the last. Let-me-all-fall, as a song with a nice 'dovey' (dove-like) sound; gone again; repaired again; no again. Shut; open; closed; singing; letters; cars; shine. The world knows no peace, and I am free. Huff-huff, huff-huff, huff-huff. The man goes huff-huff because he is well-prepared for his ill-defined death as a milk man. The life that he could have lived instead of merely bringing milk to the people at the apartments and houses past the gates in the closed communities. Here he is, here he is again, like letters clasping their hands: its fingers trying to outsmart each other. That maybe in hopes they are altogether faithful to each other in further convergence and unity, by the nature of clasping or the entering-into-each-other. Let it all be gone then.
So new ideas are not necessarily as much as they are now established within a framework which is conformist in its own regard, despite its origins based on challenging existing frameworks and forms of conformity?
To what extent does conformity affect? To what extent does the truth encompass? To what extent do new (avant-garde, transgressive, or progressive) ideas have its place? I don't want to hear, "This is your own truth, this is your own truth..." But I also don't want to hear that there's objective truth. I mean there should be an objective truth in terms of evidence. What I mean is that to what extent does conformity affect? The relationship between truth and conformity is complex. New ideas have a place, but to what extent as it relates to conformity and the truth? The issue of new ideas is that they can create conformities, dismissing nuanced and complex ideas by oversimplifying them to the either-or framework of polarization. Where there are new ideas and there are old or traditional ideas and there is an increasing polarization, complex and nuanced ideas can be forced to pick a side and represented by fallacious strawmen through which both sides perceive the other. This is the issue of new ideas as it enters into complex world where one can consider certain ideas conformist and others can consider other ideas non-conformist or translatable into the new ideas framework. As a result, some complex and nuanced ideas can be shared by both sides simultaneously. When the Anpo protests occurred, both progressives and conservatives worked together against the US-Japan agreement. This is an example of how ideas can be shared by two opposing sides. However, as I mentioned, the issue of new ideas is that they can create new conformities. Even within the civil rights movement, there are feminists (people who identity as feminists) who oppose the trans movement. And there are feminists who were proponents of this movement. Consequently, the fight here is that these former feminists are being excluded and considered invalid with regard to their identity as feminists. Now, as you can see here, nuanced and complex issues can arise, and unlike the immediate exclusion of the former feminists ("easy and fast" solving), these issues can create within sides within sides, facets within facets, or oppositions within oppositions. It can complicate otherwise simple issues and turn them into spiraling ones; however, there are established agendas in place to ensure that both sides are easily identified and polarized, that moderate ideas are forced to pick a side, so that anything that occurs becomes immediately thrust into the extreme ends of either side for the sake of clarity and streamlined promotion and marketing (social media posts). This results in a new conformity, that which is constituted of conformities within new ideas, and of conformities within old ideas. In short, new ideas are not necessarily as much as they are now established within a framework which is conformist in its own regard, despite its origins based on challenging existing frameworks and forms of conformity. In the US, progressivism could be considered now to have one half of the pie, with the other being conservatism. Previous thinkers' attempts to create new movements have been subsumed into one of these two portions, so conservatives in the past will easily disagree with conservatives today, possibly considering today's conservatives progressive. Legacy is the key word here. Conservatists cannot appeal to legacy, just as much as progressives cannot appeal to legacy. There is a high chance that conservatists from the past would easily disagree with today's conservatists, and progressives from the past can easily disagree with today's progressives. Nonetheless, today, they might consider these older conservatists and progressives as invalid, while still claiming legacy support. For example, the US does not represent the Western legacy necessarily. The US might be full of things Western thinkers and figures of the past will disagree with. There were many Western thinkers like Kant who had racist views. So claiming legacy here does not make sense because even the very concept of "Western world" is completely subjective and has changed so many times. It probably did not even exist the way it does now 300 years ago in the 18th century. Weaponizing legacy is incredibly political and opportunist. Even the very term "avant-garde" has been used merely to mean "excellent" at this point, even without intending to necessarily. Even the term "punk" when viewed from an anti-establishment perspective establish conformities by and among its proponents. Simply, this is selective interpretation of historical views to fit current agendas, ignoring the broader context and evolution of those ideas. Furthermore, modern appeals to legacy often omit the inconvenient aspects, such as Kant's now-racist and -regressive views. This fits within the concept of historical revisionism, the reinterpretation of the past to serve current political needs and the distortion of the understanding of history. For example, mentioning names can be a way to get points, even if the audience only knows their prestige and legacy as token names and are ignorant of the actual content of their contributions. Even the very nature of citations can prove useless if 99% of readers are ignorant of the actual discourse and sources that they might apply critical scrutiny effectively. I have seen people citing Youtube videos and magazine articles, which is not necessarily problematic, but can be weaponized to give a feeling of credibility. In Wikipedia, it does not immediately signal a difference between a mere magazine article of The New Yorker and a highly regarded peer-reviewed scientific journal article. This creates an impression of equivalence that is not warranted. Furthermore, I have read articles from social sciences journals with writing blended with the use of quotations to mask a particular political lean. In addition, I have read textbooks that blend objective facts with dogmatically written statements at the start which signify a political lean. So even academics can be colored by our social constructions in a dogmatic manner. It is frequently much better to avoid mentioning legacy-bearing names and focus on the very content of their ideas, as long as their works are cited, but quietly. This way, it is not mere masturbatory convolutedness to hide political or ideological lean or to feign credibility. Nevertheless, convoluted language can arise out of the need to cover comprehensiveness the subject, but it can be weaponized as well. In the end, mentioning precisely relevant scientific articles, alongside describing concisely (tactfully) the content of ideas, with the omitting, placing aside, or deemphasis of the legacy of terms and names, is essential. This necessitates the acknowledgement the historical context and the lineage of ideas as well.