I JUST REST

I'm an explorer of inactivity. I delve deep into dormancy. Everyone else is obsessed with doing things and seeing things get done but I'm charting a sedentary ocean. Thanks to fugtheworld.blogspot.com, others can read about doing nothing and save themselves the bother of not bothering. It's a bit like reading about a mountaineering expedition but never embarking on one yourself.

Don't worry about me, sacrificing my goals is no sacrifice as I have no goals. I do not see the point in goals. Having a goal in life is not my goal in life. Somebody did once say that they thought I needed something to aim for but I aimed them for the door. Then I aimed myself for the bed and got back into it. I haven't changed the sheets since. I have my shopping delivered and I live on subsidies from academic bodies that are interested in the consequences of living an inconsequential life. Indeed, it should come as no surprise that the consequences of inconsequentiality are themselves inconsequential. That should have been obvious.

Some of those observing my shiftless existence have been inspired to embrace indolence themselves. One college professor spends his lectures napping and encourages his students to do the same. He considered writing a treatise on the formation of a new nation state for people who do nothing. He was going to propose that this state be called Inertia and not be a geographic territory but a state of mind, with citizens with rights – the right to do nothing. He didn't bother writing his treatise in the end because it would have required effort. Instead, he opted to lead by example and did nothing.

If your dream in life is to do nothing then you can easily make that dream come true. Sure, you'll eventually run out of financial means and be carried from your bed and placed on the street but you'll be moved to an institution where you'll be given shelter and fed. Rest assured, you will remain alive in your deathlike state and you'll be able to take comfort in the fact that you have achieved all of your ambitionless ambitions.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering what would become of us if we all did nothing and no one did anything to help those who had stopped doing anything because everyone was doing nothing, wouldn't we all end up dying destitute? Well perhaps but would that suffering be any worse than the suffering caused by the wars we wage and murders we commit when active? You see, lethargy is love and peace can only be achieved through the ultimate passivity - doing nothing.

Doing nothing with your time is better than wasting your time and wasting time is usually what people spend all their time doing. In fact, to do nothing with your time is to conquer time itself as it makes the concept of time obsolete. It doesn't matter what the time is when you do nothing all the time. The tyranny of temporality is overcome. You are there in bed, looking at the numbers on the digital display and pitying the pretense of punctuality. Ceasing all attempts to attempt anything is the only true way to 'beat the clock' and isn't beating the clock the ultimate goal of the deadline addicted denizens in your harried land of 'purpose'?

I rest my case. In fact, I just rest. 

ORDER!

Did you see the moon up there last night? It was like a discarded dirty plate and the stars were scattered about it like shiny white crumbs. I was looking up and I found it very messy. I found the sight slightly obscene. We'll put order on it one day. We'll line up the stars in neat rows, like the ones on the flag of the United States of America. We will look up and see a regimented, disciplined, and comprehensible night sky. We have brought order to our world and we will bring order to what lies beyond it. We cut the grass and trim the hedges. It's what we're all about. It's how we roll.

We even put time in order. We made it a series of numbers on a dial. When the pointer on the dial is at a certain number you know that it's time to get out of bed. When it points to the next number you know that it's time to leave for work. When it points to the number after that you know that you are late for work. A few numbers later and you know that it's OK to go home and watch the telly. Before us time was a sprawling mess, an intangible nuisance, but we captured time on a dial and when we put time in order we put ourselves in order.

Before time, humans were a messy. They just did things, all willy nilly and whenever. They would eat when their belly grumbled, sleep when they were tired, plant stuff when it was getting sunny and reap it when it was getting cold. Nothing really got done when it should be done and when it should be done is when we say it should be done. Proper order!

When we put time in order we put work in order and when we put work in order we put money in order. Yes, money. We gave designated times to the earning of money and with money we designated objective value to things. Before money value was messy and subjective and sentimental. Now it is certain.

We have order and we, ourselves, are defined by order. We ordered reality so it would order us. Without order there is only disorder. Have you ever felt disordered? Not nice is it? Scary isn't it? Did you know that there are those amongst us that hanker for the disorder that lies beneath order? Yes, it's true. Some actually feel an aversion to the numbers on the dial and to designated toil and objective values. These people are feeling the atavistic longing for a world before order. These people are subversives and seek to reinstate mess. These people are inhuman because to be human is to be ordered. These people must be put back in order so that they once again appreciate and obey order. You see, to stay ordered we must obey our orders otherwise we'd be a mess like the dirty plate and crumbs scattered throughout last night's sky. Without order we'd be an obscenity. An insult to human cognition. An anachronism. We'd be mad people or even criminals. Without order, well, we might not even exist!

There is no alternative. There is only order. We decide order and we impose order. We are order and we must have order and to have order we must obey order. So quit messing. That's an order!

This message was brought to you by the Society for the Maintenance of Chronological and Spatial Ontology, Kinnegad Main Street, County Westmeath.

BEFORE LATER, NOW?

(pictured: Ugger having the craic with his biggest rock)

Did you know that there were bloggers during the Paleolithic age? Yes, there were. Of course, prehistory was pre-internet so Paleolithic bloggers had to engrave their blogposts into the bark of trees or the walls of caves. The following is the last entry of one such Paleolitic blogger, a blogger that went by the name of Ugger (uggthewoods.dryandwarmspot.cave). Ugger's last post provides a fascinating insight into early man's struggle to grasp the existential consequences of chronology and cause and effect. Here is what Mr. Ugger had to say:

'I live in a cave. It's a nice cave and I like it. It is cool and dark and I can hear the dripping water echo and the wind enter and leave. I have lots of nice things in my cave. Things like rocks and stones. I like to place the rocks and stones into little arrangements. It's grand. It's a grand pastime. Sometimes I look out and watch the others. Two of the males fighting over some female or the whole lot of them gathered around the carcass of some creature, gutting it and preparing it for the spit. After they are finished eating, I pop down there to scavenge whatever meat is left on the bones. If there's nothing left then that's fine. I have my berries and they see me through. I get by. I rarely get any trouble from the tribe or the big cats or the bears or anything. I am safe. I just hang out here arranging rocks and stones and thinking about stuff. The others think I'm wasting my time thinking but I enjoy it. Thinking is good. It's interesting. I think about lots of things. I often think about Booglarrr. Ahh, Booglarrr. Booglarrr of the long limbs and swaying hips. Kind Booglarrr. Gentle Booglarrr. Oh sweet Booglarrr. Boooooooooooooogllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr. Booglarrr who never gives me a second look. Booglarrr who longs for Kunk. Kunk who has followed the river. Kunk who has seen the far trees and brought back the rare vinyl. Kunk of the decks.

Thinking of Booglarrr takes up a lot of my time but I've recently started thinking about something else a lot too. I've started thinking about something I don't think anyone has ever thought about. I have started thinking about a time. A time that is not Now or Before. I have started thinking about another time. A new time. A time after Now. I call this time Later.

Later confuses me. Why, if I can know what is happening in Now and can recall what happened in Before, can I not know what happens in Later? There must be some way of finding out. If there is a Later then something is happening in this Later. What is it? Are the big cats back in Later, jumping out from the trees? In Later, has Booglarrr finally noticed me and seen Kunk for what he is: a source of complimentary tickets to the tribal ball and not much more. What shape are the clouds in Later?

I look to the clouds Now and imagine them in Later. Do they hint of their Later selves by the way they are changing Now? Can they tell me other things about what is in Later? If I scatter the rocks and stones of my cave, will they land in a shape that depicts Later? Will the random rock arrangement speak of Later? Later has come to absorb me completely. Even when I am thinking of other things, I am not thinking of them in Now or in Before but in Later.

I have come to understand that there are two ways to get a decent idea of what is happening in Later. The first way of getting a better idea of what is happening in Later is by taking part in Now and trying to shape Later. But that thought makes me uncomfortable. That is an uncertain way of finding out what is in Later. If I go messing around with Now in the hopes of shaping Later I might end up not enjoying Now. I might ruin Now. I might make a mess of Now. I might make a fool of myself in Now and Booglarrr might laugh at me. I don't want to risk Now for Later. Now is all I have and Later is not here yet. I really like Now. I like to spend Now thinking. I like to spend Now thinking about Later.

Continuing to spend Now thinking about Later and making sure I remain spending Now thinking about Later is actually the second way of getting a better idea of what happens in Later Now. It's quite easy to predict: In Later, I will be here in my cave, arranging my rocks and stones, and thinking about Later. Booglarrr thinks no less of me in Later. She doesn't think of me at all in Later. The clouds are changing shape in Later as they are changing shape in Now so nothing really changes in Later and Later is the same as Now. To control Later, to keep Later the same as Now, all I have to do in Later is not do anything but think about Later. I am getting by in Later. I am not getting any trouble from the tribe or the big cats or the bears or anything in Later. In Later I am safe. I have my rocks and stones and the echo of the dripping water and the wind entering and leaving...

...argh, who am I kidding? The dripping water and the drafts are driving me crazy. I must've placed these ugging rocks and stones in every arrangement possible. I've got to get the ug out of here. I'm off. I'm getting the ug out of here ...Now!'

The blogpost ends abruptly there. Ugger's well-preserved remains were found scattered about the mouth of a cave in southwestern France. Examining the evidence, we might ascertain that our troglodyte proto-blogger finished his blogpost and departed his den with a new sense of purpose, only to be immediately pounced upon by a saber-tooth tiger and torn apart, alas becoming an artefact of Before that we can study Now.

OK, that's all for today. See you ...Later?

TIME

(pictured: Dickie Davies, time is a trap)

Instead of stopping passers-by and asking ‘excuse me, do you know what time it is?’ my brother thought it was hilarious to stop passers-by and ask ‘excuse me, do you know what time is?’
‘All I have to do is remove the word ‘it’ from the sentence’, he laughingly used to point out. It was half a joke, half an experiment. He kept a record of the replies he got in a journal. His favourite answer to receive was also the most common. This answer was: ‘I’m not sure’. With this answer, the passer-by had set themselves up for my brother’s killer blow. ‘I’m not sure’, a passer-by would say and my brother would roar at them ‘why do you wear a watch then, you big eejit?’

There was one occasion when an elderly gentleman entertained my brother’s question and attempted to answer it. ‘Time is the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future, regarded as a whole’, said the man. My brother stared at him and said nothing for a moment. Then he spoke. ‘Don’t be so fucking naïve’, he told the old man before going on to explain that ‘time is a trap’. The old man departed, perturbed.
‘What did you mean by time is a trap?’ I asked my brother.
‘Ah, it’s just something Dickie Davies said on the telly’, he replied before going indoors to catch that day’s sports results.

Passers-by rarely took issue with my brother accosting them. I think it was because he was such an intense looking kid. It wasn’t that you’d be in fear of physical violence from the guy. It was more a feeling that he could cast a spell on you, a hex or something. There was something in his eyes that hinted at incomprehensible knowing, even though he was only eleven years old at the time. Whatever time is.

HELSINKI

All the clocks in my house are set to different times. None are set to your time. They are set to different time zones. I have a few that have completely stopped. When people ask about the stopped clocks I tell them the clocks are set to Helsinki time. When people point out that the clocks are all stopped at different times I just laugh and say ‘that’s Helsinki for you’.

There’s a strange smell in my house. Actually, there is no smell. No smell at all. That’s what’s so strange about it. You probably think you wouldn’t notice the lack of a smell but you do. It’s like when fridge buzz stops and you’re suddenly aware of the silence. When you walk through my door you are suddenly aware of the lack of smell. People say to me ‘hey, why doesn’t it smell in here?’ and I answer ‘maybe no one farted’ and give a little laugh.

People get a bit freaked out at my house. There are no pictures on the walls. I have no curtains or blinds or light shades or even lights. When I have guests and the sun goes down I’m usually asked to turn on a light or at least get a torch or a candle. I refuse. I tell my guests we’re better off in the dark. ‘You don’t want to see what’s in here with us’ I say. They ask me what I mean. I tell them they know exactly what I mean. They say they don’t and get worked up and demand to know what’s in the room with us. ‘Each other’, I tell them. ‘Isn’t that bad enough?’ I ask.

I keep this huge owl in my bathroom. He’s kind of the boss in there.

There’s a room upstairs in my house that people sometimes wander into by accident while looking for the bathroom. There’s a trampoline in this room and a really skinny lady is bouncing on it and weeping. ‘I’m so hungry’, she pleads. Visitors tell her to come down off the trampoline and get something to eat. I tell them that there’s no use trying to reason with her. ‘That’s my wife’, I explain, ‘she’s addicted to the endorphins released by the bouncing. She’s like a crack addict. She can’t stop. I’ll throw her a sandwich later. She can eat it while she jumps.’

I have an office in my house. I’ve got a lot of files in there. People wonder what’s in the files. I tell them that files are in the files. Then they ask what are in the files in the files and I tell them more files. This usually goes on for a while until they discover that there are a never ending amount of files within files and that the office stores infinity. The files have names on them, ‘MacCruiskeen’, ‘Pluck’, and so on. ‘Why do the files have names on them?’ I’m asked. ‘Why does anything have a name?’ I ask back. I’m pretentious that way.

My house has no garden but I mow the lawn daily. Just to be on the safe side.

As you enter my house, you see a huge electrical pylon to the west. When you leave it’s to the east. Everyone notices this. No one mentions it. It makes me laugh.

People tend not to stay too long when they come over to my house. They grow tired of my cryptic pronouncements. The constant squeaking of trampoline springs plays upon their nerves. They can’t piss with the owl staring at them. They usually end up bumping into something when it’s dark. Even when it’s daylight, the strange architecture of the place makes them uneasy, spatially discombobulated and a little dizzy.

People don’t stay long and rarely visit but that’s OK with me. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got clocks to unset and owl shit to clean up. I’ve got to make a sandwich for the wife and sort through infinity by name. Don’t let that put you off though. I mean, it would be OK if you wanted to pop around for a cup of something. You’ll take the cup and put it to your lips. Then you’ll spit the contents out in disgust and say ‘what the hell was that?’ I’ll just laugh and shrug and answer ‘something’.

Why not come around on Wednesday? I’ll be pretending that it’s Tuesday. It’s always Tuesday in Helsinki.