I spent most of yesterday plowing through old posts, locating ones that can be “trashed” but also finding those that are worth updating or reworking. Many I don’t remember posting, and there is a core group that is consistently popular, at least in numbers of visits.
It’s the traditional time of year to “take a look” at files on my PC. Cleaning out .doc files is like overhauling my verbal memory, since my “organic” verbal memory (time-based, history-type) is poor. I would not have a clue as to when and where certain episodes of my life occurred, especially dates and details, if I hadn’t kept a journal, which I no longer do, and kept those details on the PC. My father used to get really peeved at my “lack of documentary memory” because he claimed to remember each detail of his own life, and the contents of every book, article or conversation he had ever had. Ironically, he had no visual or aesthetic appreciation for the “visible artistic universe” which is my reality; we met on the vast plane of science, where he gradually began to recognize that mathematics and art meet as faces on one coin: human potential.
He is always “in my mind” even though I can’t remember the date or year he died. It’s of little importance to me – mental pictures maintain timeless contact with who he was; what fathers ought to be: an introduction to the wider realm of knowledge and action beyond the domestic doors of home. The “how to part” of living, whether or not one’s own father is an engineer like mine, or a musician, or a business person. Fathers are a bridge to somewhere; if they truly love you, to places unknown, and of your own choosing. It must be terribly frightening for a father like mine; an Asperger, for whom the social universe was a chaotic and unstable sea of mystery and terror. What would I do without the armature he relied on? The beauty of mathematics and the machines it made possible, safely enclosed his daily experiences.
“The Arts” for him were the “property – domain” of treacherous people; a common social belief that persists: crazy, out-of-control, dark side types who contribute little to mankind’s progress (except for promoting products and socio-political schemes). I received this news as profoundly ignorant opinion: What “progress” was he imagining? The industries and technologies that spread convenience – indoor plumbing, refrigeration, electrical devices, vehicles and other products, or the ability to destroy cities, homes and entire nations with the perverted power of nature as a weapon of mass genocide? It was the time of the Cold War and atomic bombs, of intercontinental ballistic missiles, of engineers laying the groundwork for today’s state of imprisonment for humanity within a global communication system of behavior and thought control – and instantaneous remote death.
The age of pornographic demotion of human existence is upon us: individuals have become objects from which data can be extracted; data that has no meaning nor intelligence; data that rules a supernatural, quantified abstraction, the product of social manipulation that serves to enrich and empower the worst of our species: sociopathic predators.
This state of human affairs is a “done deal” that underwrites the future of Homo sapiens and the fate of earth. It is “our asteroid” – created by our choices over thousands of years of Civilization and domestication.
Art began our inventive journey – cave paintings and tools, sculptural manifestations in bone and rock, bits of protective “jewelry – adornment” that reveal curiosity about the environment and awe for “what is given” as challenges and opportunities for survival.
This stage may have been the apex of human thought. What we call progress may have been a quick and brilliant descent into insanity.