Being right

Of course, behind the question of, ‘Am I right?’ is the question, ‘Why Am I Thinking [WAIT]?’

What possible purpose does it serve?

Almost all thinking is redundant. Sifting. Judging. Assessing. Planning. Recriminating [= responding to a perceived attack with an incrimination of others in an unholy La Ronde {cf. Schnitzler} of anarchists’ exploding pass-the-parcel, hoping that the bomb, when it goes off, will do so in someone else’s lap]. Regretting. Ruefully rueing [the day or other things]. Refuelling the mind thus starved with bleeding chunks of flesh from the media and the [anti]social media.

All predicated on the idea that the eyes can see [they cannot], the ears can hear [they cannot], and the physical brain thinks [it doesn’t: it is artificial intelligence, but not even intelligent: look at the {insert outside issues: most people cannot even look after their own bodies remotely adequately, let alone each other or the planet}]; what makes you think that anyone sees right? Oh, occasionally you meet someone who does, but they’re difficult to look at in the eye, because they see through the eye not with it (cf. Blake), and you know you’re wearing the emperor’s new clothes.

Thinking can proceed only on the basis of the materials it is supplied with. You can’t eat a cardboard apple, or, if you do, you can hardly call it eating. It’s a parody of eating. What can thinking achieve when its feeding trough contains grit and sawdust?

Real thought comes through (a) revelation [from above] and (b) a sudden shift in an interaction with another person that leaves both of you way ahead of where you started.

My aim is not to be distracted by FM radio stations like KFIU [Keep eFfing It Up] and WRUK [Why R U Krazee] but to tune into the Higher Powers circling constantly, whispering, showing me precisely what to do next.

So, complacency is being satisfied with an inherited welter of facts and figures about a material world that is downstream of consciousness rather than being quite quiet and still still until the ether crystallises into some palpable truth.