ETERNITY INVOLVES POLYTHEISM

Someone asked me about eternity recently.

The best way to understand eternity is to understand that eternity is a form of temporal infinity.

And the best way to understand infinity is to understand, first, that there are different sizes of infinity.

THERE ARE MANY SIZES OF INFINITY

Some infinities are small. Others are large. They are not limited, they are infinite. But some are differently sized.
This confuses me.

INFINITY REQUIRES POLYTHEISM

Perhaps the best way to think of infinity is using polytheism. The pantheon of gods exist for infinity. But some are older than others.

ZEUS IS OLD

Zeus is an older man. I picture him as midway between a bearded John Wayne and an older Kurt Russell. Unpleasant, and probably a bad person. Best kept at arm’s length because he is possessed of a presence and power and anger.

Here is a good idea of what Zeus looked like when he got mad. This is Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp in Tombstone.

(Watch that video, it’s important.)

ARTEMIS IS YOUNG

Zeus is an older man. Artemis is his daughter.

She is a young lady. One can picture her like Saoirse Ronan in Hanna, or like Rooney Mara of The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo.

Rooney Mara is probably more apt: Artemis dealt with an upsetting amount of attempted assault. if Artemis was mortal, she too would be tattooed. And she would put away the bow and pick up a pistol.

Watch the trailer.  (It’s important too). Imagine that black-haired girl, Lisbeth Salander, as an immortal deity.

MOVIES LAST FOREVER AND SO DO GODS

Rooney Mara and Kurt Russell will age and die. Tombstone and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo will exist for centuries.

But “Wyatt Earp” will always be a man in his 40s. And “Lisbeth Salander” will always be a young woman.

They’ll likely be broadcast on television, and the waves will be beamed into infinity.

And the images I have just shown you will go across infinity.

And “Wyatt Earp” will always be a man in his 40s. And Lisbeth Salander will always be a young woman. Until the end of time.

View high resolution

I did this the other week and feel that my arm is an instrument now. 

tphd:

Now that I’m writing longer fiction, I’m beginning to suspect all the voices I’ve carried around inside me, or which seem to otherwise arrive, have been seeking to inhabit me. They’re not things negotiating their release; They want their turn at the helm.

I know this is the latest in a string of reblogs from TPHD. He’s articulating a thing I have felt very strongly recently. I quit writing daily about two weeks ago, and I’ve never felt more liberated. I don’t feel less creative. I feel that the scenarios I would have previously conveyed via fiction are now being conveyed via my actions and interactions. 

I’m beginning to believe that writer is a transitional state. It’s the state of “self-conscious do-er” between unconscious do-er and intuitively conscious do-er.

TPHD: A BRIEF SURVEY IN REVERSE: MY MEMOIRS →

tphd:

WHEN I WAS 14 I CONSUMED AN ENTIRE BOOK BEFORE MY ASTONISHED HOME-ROOM AND CLAIMED TO HAVE “READ” THE BOOK GASTRONOMICALLY.

WHEN I WAS 13 I FELL FROM A THREE STORY WINDOW AND LANDED ON MY FACE AND PASSED OUT FOR THREE WEEKS. WHEN I WOKE, I FOUND THE WORLD STRANGE

FULL OF LIGHT AND COLORS AND…

TPHD: Important Things →

tphd:

We forget a lot of things along the way to wisdom.

We forget to carry ourself into things

We forget to be ready

There is a moment just past wisdom which is very much like singing

in an empty marketplace

or losing your shoes in the afternoon

You need to be ready to lose your shoes in the…

View high resolution

tphd:

untitled on Flickr.

TPHD: LANDSLIDES →

tphd:

If I had the power to command landslides, the annual rate of landslides would increase significantly and give rise to a new period of theorizing—a thousand hands deep in the wild anxieties of geographers, who thought they understood stone but now are challenged at their core.

I predict…

View high resolution

How Does It Look

How does it look, she asks him. It looks fine, I guess, he says. She slips up her underwear and reclasps her bra. He straightens in front of her. The conversation between her hands and her underwear looks like an accusation. He walks across the room to his crumpled boxers. They sit at his feet. He steps into them and pulls them on. She sits down and opens a diet soda. He stands for a minute then goes to the kitchen and scratches his face with the back of his hand. He stands in front of the stove fiddling with the range. I think our pilot light is out, he says. She sips her soda and slips her feet into rubber sandals. There are freckles on her ankles and a blotch of red pigment on her lower back. She thinks about gas leaks. The soda can stays rigid as she lays back, navigating her body around the fulcrum of her arm. The can would be cold against her thigh if it were cold, and if it were against her thigh. There’s a pillow nearby but she isn’t using it.

He opens the oven and sticks his head in. Do I remind you of Sylvia Plath, he asks. Don’t joke about that, she says, not raising her head or her voice. Sorry, he singsongs from within.

She gets up in a fluid motion like a dog waking from a nap and walks into the kitchen. There are windows but she walks past them mostly naked.

The pilot light’s below the oven, not in the oven, she says as she washes her hands.

He pulls his head out and says, Really?

Really, she says. She puts her hands around his neck.  They drip on his shoulders and down his spine. He bats at the moisture in the small of his back. She nuzzles his neck. They think about taking their underwear off but decide they are happy in the perfect temperature between the stove and the refrigerator.

View high resolution

For mind on fire?

View high resolution

Bright, angular day in Seattle. 

The Disposal of Hearts

“The human heart is not compostable,”

said the garbageman to the janitor,

 “Hearts aren’t mulch, they don’t decompose in a way that plants like.”

“They don’t nourish a thing.”

The janitor opened the trash and cocked his head in inquiry - “Here?”

“It’s all wet and sharp,”

said the garbageman smugly,

“That bag’ll break if you put a heart in there.”

“Look,”

said the janitor,

“I’ll just put it in the recycling, okay?”

“It’s not marked properly to be melted or transformed, but

someday it’ll be part of something useful, like a car or a yogurt tub.”

The garbageman nodded, said,

“Yeah, okay.”

“Just wash it off first.”

Hypothesis

If…
…emotion is communication
…communication is data
…the internet transmits data

Then…
The internet can transmit emotions

And

If …
We can make people feel *bad* online,we can, via meanness and insults and trolling

Then…
We can make them feel *good* too, via support, tenderness, and humanity.

The fact that we can use the internet to make people feel bad is proof of concept that we can use the internet to make them feel good.

Form Letter: Father Addressing Child

Dear INSERT NAME OF CHILD HERE,

POSITIVE STATEMENT REGARDING CHILD’S PRESENCE IN FATHERS’ LIFE OR ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF FATHER’S NEGATIVE PRESENCE IN CHILD’S LIFE.  CLEAR DECLARATION OF GOOD FEELING OR INITIAL INDICATION OF REGRET. 

WISHES TOWARDS FUTURE OR SORROW ABOUT THE PAST. STATEMENT ALIGNING MOTHER TO THESE WISHES OR EXTENSION OF SORROW TOWARDS MOTHER. IF MOTHER IS ALIVE, INSERT DETAIL REGARDING MOTHER. IF MOTHER IS DEAD, INSERT VAGUE ALLUSION TO HUMAN MORTALITY IN GENERAL/SPECIFIC ALLUSION TO PARENTAL MORTALITY. 

RECOGNITION OF CHILD’S POTENTIAL AND INABILITY TO UNDERSTAND LETTER’S CONTENT AT TIME OF WRITING, OR CHILD’S INNOCENCE AND INABILITY TO UNDERSTAND TRAUMA OF CHILDHOOD. WISHES TO ADHERE TO FATHER’S VALUES OR WISH TO HAVE BEEN A BETTER FATHER.


THANKFULNESS REGARDING EXISTENCE OF CHILD OR BITTERNESS REGARDING CHOICES MADE AS PARENT. HOPE FOR CHILD TO BE THANKFUL FOR PLACE IN THE WORLD OR HOPE FOR CHILD’S FORGIVENESS.  

EXPLANATION OF DREAMS OR EXPRESSION OF ANGUISH.


ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF DIFFICULTIES OF THE WORLD.  POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE PREDICTION REGARDING CHILD’S ABILITY TO COPE WITH SOCIAL, ECONOMIC, AND EMOTIONAL TURMOIL OF LIFE.


DESIRE TO CHILD TO REMAIN PSYCHOLOGICALLY STABLE IN FACE OF SAID DIFFICULTIES/TURMOIL OR DESIRE FOR CHILD TO FORGIVE FATHER IN THE FUTURE. .

DECLARATION OF LOVE OR SINCERE APOLOGY.

Love,
FATHER’S NICKNAME HERE