A letter to Kierkegaard:
Enchained to the supposed realisation of a representation, I realise I am not representing anything. It is beyond representation. I am not manifesting anything. I am, also, not simulating anything. What remains to be represented? Simulated? The implosion of meaning presupposed that the ripeness of meaning must eventually self-implode as the outside is filled. But is the outside empty? Is there a possibility of an outside to even occur? Must meaning venture inwards that is finite?
Instead, let me make that leap and think outside/inside as only a pretext for something indescribable, indeterminable and in other words, unknown. This unknown is ecstasy. This is a venture that knows no infinite end, but paradoxically must only be experienced while alive.
Am I then encountering an aporia, where the general space we can encounter is, in a sense, not general but limited? There are limits, no doubt, Cartesian as it may sound, but there is some value in the Cartesian mindframe in that the limit of doubt makes possible the potential of reaching some other narrow way into the discourse of Encounter. As a primary rule, we find ourselves dealing with aleatory encounters that apart from making an appearance by chance, we find no way to thematize it. What is left is precisely the doubt that affirms its existence. The trouble usually occurs at the point when we refuse to allow it to be chaotic, and to run its own destructive course. In other words, we doubt doubt. Is destruction really that bad? We find ourselves, from time to time, and from place to place, exercising destruction to the very things we love and hate.
I am not championing doubt as some divine rule in which everything must be met with doubt. The ruling principle here is that in everything there is always an element of surprise and doubt, depending on how you wish to view it. The aleatory nature of encounters is its interval when and where a subject encounters a supposed Other within the infinite framework of the Encounter. In other words, we imagine the other, in spite of it being strangely close and familiar to you.
If you ask me, I think it is self-satire and self-irony that makes the encounter so insanely beautiful and deliriously evil. One actually finds him- her-self embodying both the satire (laughing at oneself) and the melancholy or despair that accompanies doubt. Within each reference, is that parody and truth. Truth must be ironic. It is as if we cannot escape the consciousness that if we take ourselves too seriously, we immediately unveil our insincerity. How true can we be, when we venture to present a universal and general answer to all things and all encounters? The utterance of an answer, immediately makes us vulnearable, just as I cannot predict when and where a lightning will strike the ground.
If I am not making sense here it is because I do not know what sense I can make of my encounter. Paradoxically, I must both assert a point by virtue of my wordy venture, and ultimately sacrifice my presence to another presence which is a mediation - which includes my own death that mediates my presence into an absence. I try to make a point now, but I must also doubt that the point can transcend and be immortalized into an eternal and absolute outside.
But I must prevent it from being outside.
To be outside, I lose the chance of being inside enough to deal with the immediate context and circumstance of my presence and surroundings. I would have made it irrelevant. One cannot escape the responsibility of being thrown into the inside and being fundamentally present to oneself as long as one consciously lives. The irony is that the responsibility is also one that is responsible to a future death. Why live if the only end is death?
Perhaps, death is the enclosure that makes the outside impossible to thematize. But rightly so, since we can never know what lies beyond death in both the figurative sense as well as the literal sense. I am doubly responsible - to live and death. The in-between consists of my labour and rest.
Therefore, let us no despair. The leap occurs precisely at the moment of non-theatricality and non-representation. Each repetition of the circle somehow seems to both enlarge and shrink our possibilities. We other ourselves as if that is the an unspoken imperative but surely, as deterministic as it may sound, we are given into chance, in a very determined and temporal way.
There is, thus, no such thing as an Other, other than our imagined sense of something or someone present/absent we possibly and ethically are responsible to. The actual responsibility one should be busy with is actually the indwelling possibility of surprise and doubt. Without any doubt. That is temptation or the potential to do exactly what a human being will do. Temptation occurs just before the movement, whcih is the post-event of an encounter, whether internally or externally.
What this movement leads us to, only time will tell. Perhaps, it is temptation that is responsible in creating the Other - which we must master or avoid. The choice is yours.
At this moment, I have no answer.
Yours,
your Other
Enchained to the supposed realisation of a representation, I realise I am not representing anything. It is beyond representation. I am not manifesting anything. I am, also, not simulating anything. What remains to be represented? Simulated? The implosion of meaning presupposed that the ripeness of meaning must eventually self-implode as the outside is filled. But is the outside empty? Is there a possibility of an outside to even occur? Must meaning venture inwards that is finite?
Instead, let me make that leap and think outside/inside as only a pretext for something indescribable, indeterminable and in other words, unknown. This unknown is ecstasy. This is a venture that knows no infinite end, but paradoxically must only be experienced while alive.
Am I then encountering an aporia, where the general space we can encounter is, in a sense, not general but limited? There are limits, no doubt, Cartesian as it may sound, but there is some value in the Cartesian mindframe in that the limit of doubt makes possible the potential of reaching some other narrow way into the discourse of Encounter. As a primary rule, we find ourselves dealing with aleatory encounters that apart from making an appearance by chance, we find no way to thematize it. What is left is precisely the doubt that affirms its existence. The trouble usually occurs at the point when we refuse to allow it to be chaotic, and to run its own destructive course. In other words, we doubt doubt. Is destruction really that bad? We find ourselves, from time to time, and from place to place, exercising destruction to the very things we love and hate.
I am not championing doubt as some divine rule in which everything must be met with doubt. The ruling principle here is that in everything there is always an element of surprise and doubt, depending on how you wish to view it. The aleatory nature of encounters is its interval when and where a subject encounters a supposed Other within the infinite framework of the Encounter. In other words, we imagine the other, in spite of it being strangely close and familiar to you.
If you ask me, I think it is self-satire and self-irony that makes the encounter so insanely beautiful and deliriously evil. One actually finds him- her-self embodying both the satire (laughing at oneself) and the melancholy or despair that accompanies doubt. Within each reference, is that parody and truth. Truth must be ironic. It is as if we cannot escape the consciousness that if we take ourselves too seriously, we immediately unveil our insincerity. How true can we be, when we venture to present a universal and general answer to all things and all encounters? The utterance of an answer, immediately makes us vulnearable, just as I cannot predict when and where a lightning will strike the ground.
If I am not making sense here it is because I do not know what sense I can make of my encounter. Paradoxically, I must both assert a point by virtue of my wordy venture, and ultimately sacrifice my presence to another presence which is a mediation - which includes my own death that mediates my presence into an absence. I try to make a point now, but I must also doubt that the point can transcend and be immortalized into an eternal and absolute outside.
But I must prevent it from being outside.
To be outside, I lose the chance of being inside enough to deal with the immediate context and circumstance of my presence and surroundings. I would have made it irrelevant. One cannot escape the responsibility of being thrown into the inside and being fundamentally present to oneself as long as one consciously lives. The irony is that the responsibility is also one that is responsible to a future death. Why live if the only end is death?
Perhaps, death is the enclosure that makes the outside impossible to thematize. But rightly so, since we can never know what lies beyond death in both the figurative sense as well as the literal sense. I am doubly responsible - to live and death. The in-between consists of my labour and rest.
Therefore, let us no despair. The leap occurs precisely at the moment of non-theatricality and non-representation. Each repetition of the circle somehow seems to both enlarge and shrink our possibilities. We other ourselves as if that is the an unspoken imperative but surely, as deterministic as it may sound, we are given into chance, in a very determined and temporal way.
There is, thus, no such thing as an Other, other than our imagined sense of something or someone present/absent we possibly and ethically are responsible to. The actual responsibility one should be busy with is actually the indwelling possibility of surprise and doubt. Without any doubt. That is temptation or the potential to do exactly what a human being will do. Temptation occurs just before the movement, whcih is the post-event of an encounter, whether internally or externally.
What this movement leads us to, only time will tell. Perhaps, it is temptation that is responsible in creating the Other - which we must master or avoid. The choice is yours.
At this moment, I have no answer.
Yours,
your Other
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