i gave her no pause -

i gave her no pause -
today the sun stood still -
I felt the day freeze frame -
but i gave her no pause,

meditation on the phenomenology of boredom/solitude

in moments of silence & solitude i find the unity of my mind, instead of cohesing, often fragments from convergence, creating a synchronously present postulating-speaker & a distinctly separate analyzing audience other-self; the internal narrative becomes an empty solitary theatre populated simultaneously by a phantom performer & the apparitions of its reflecting audience. What is this, dialectical Schizophrenia?

-B1, "is this propensity symptomatic of brilliance, or of mad
ness?"

-B2 "Maybe both, probably neither?"

B1. "in the absence of otherness the consciousness (an i/o alga-rhythm) becomes empty. "

consciousness, [1] when in a state of emptiness is stripped of its intentionality [2], and so becomes both empty and denied of the fundamental property according to which it is defined. Consciousness becomes unconscious, the mind becomes a non-mind."

. " ... and so, in a necessary act of self-perpetuating/self-sustaining self-preservation. the mind - when stripped in sensory, phenomenological or intellectual deprivation of the input of otherness that fuels the engine of intentionality - will tend towards fracturing anti-thetically in order to sustain the dialectal cognitive reaction cycle that sustains the computational life-support of the conscious mind."

B2. " Brilliant. Can we finish the lab now?"

[1] defined in terms of the intentionality of its-self as predicating on to an object-other, ie. Husserl: 'any consciousness is always necessarily a consciousness of some object x' ] ...

[2] for there can be no intentionality towards the absence of a preposition, and because a negative ontological state is not a coherent object- property

How do i feel

melancholic
hopeful
worried
motivated
resolved to be disciplined
disciplined
mindful to self-correct
respectful
engaged
attached but un-attached
uncertain
uncertain of my own wants
uncertain of what would be maximally for the best
almost certain that this isn't
vulnerable
practical
loving
wanting to prove my own worthiness to myself
wanting others to eventually conclude that i am valuable to have around
wanting to earn both of those things.
misgiving how much hope to hope and the price of disappointment
a little scared
and a little lost
and a little resolved not to dwell in, and thereby cultivate, the negative
wanting to find myself telling myself "see, it's not that hard."
wanting to be content
wanting to be happy.

this is how i feel, for the moment, this is how i feel.

When my dad was a four-year-old boy

When my dad was a four-year-old boy, before he was shipped off to Ely to fend for himself and eke his way to manhood through the strange foreign rainy panacea of English teeth and solitude and headmaster and rugby drills... further back, before all that: when he still lived with his mom and dad in the Anglo-Iranian oil oasis of Abadan by the Persian Gulf, on one particularly hot summer's day his father, my grandfather, asked him if he wanted to come with him for a drive to a nearby town.

After a long time of sitting quietly in the 1959 Benz beside his father, my dad asked him: "Baba, does God exist?" My grandfather, without looking away from the road ahead, answered quickly "But of course..."

Perhaps another thirty seconds or more passed in silence on that bumpy road as my boy-father tried to reconcile this confirmation in his head. Finally, having taken notice and acknowledging his son's sensitivity of perception with a subtle smile, my grandfather completed his clause:

"God? Of course God exists Khosrow-jan. Man created him."