Listics

Here are three things that surfaced during the last week when I was using all my blogging power assembling the tremendous contributions from engaged bloggers in the "How do you Blog?" series.

1)  I want to write a post about authenticity and meaning.  AKMA has a serious perspective on that and I want to say what I think about it.  But it’s deep stuff, and any offhand post won’t be as meaningful, as authentic, as if I season the topic a little bit, do some more reading and then clarify what I really think.  AKMA says,

The Hermenaut article’s invocation of Philip K Dick

touches on the point for which I’m arguing. The relation between “the
convincing artifice of genuineness” and “heartfelt
painstakingly-devised prose” defies a binary taxonomy of authenticity.
I like hearing the mistakes and rough edges when some performers play,
the eyebrow-scorching graphic explicitness of some writers’ prose — and
the elegant precision in some performers’ recordings, and some writers’
fine, exquisitely-assembled literary compositions. I like them all, authentically. Or not.

2)  I want to write about being and seeming, about life and death, about insanity.  I want to riff off Ophelia, review Mike Golby’s Danish post, from Hamlet to Heisenberg.  Mike, the prolific genius says,

At the last, we must ask ourselves: are those
associated or dissociated from insanity precluded from reading or
interpreting it? In as much as we are disqualified from any objective
assessment of experience, yes. Also, it’s a question of degree; the
extent to which we associate with or dissociate from it. If we are to
qualify as interpreters of Ophelia’s malaise, surely those who can say
they have been associated with it—or something like it, i.e.
they bring both perspectives to bear, are best suited to doing so?
Otherwise, we should refrain from interpretation and, by extension,
identification, altogether.

3)  I want to write about what went wrong and how christianity has again torn the heart out of reason and how they are using this season to continue their implacable war against meaning and love and truth and beauty, about how close we were in the late forties to a clear understanding of our lonely place in the universe, and how the marketplace was manipulated to shut down the empowerment of existentialism, of humanism.  I want to dig deeper into something Beth told me about the big box churches, about how this year since christmas is celebrated on a First Day, the big boxers are not holding services, rather handing out videotapes and encouraging parishioners to honor the holiday at home.  I want to write about Madison’s Bishop Morlino and how he has taken a seat on an advisory board to America’s school for torturers, the School of the Americas, aka WHINSEC, about his decision regarding whether or not to sell the recently torched St. Raphael’s cathedral property to downtown developers or to rebuild, about the shame of allowing the brutish psychopathic misogyny of catholicism to influence the availability of RU486 among other reproductive health treatments.

But I have the day job, and the night job now, and my blogging is getting away from me.  And it’s the winter holiday season, a time for elaborate preparations and more socializing than I enjoy.  Perhaps writing about what I want to write about will help me get to the writing.

Perhaps not.