Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Ok, no I’m not. Fuck that. I have no idea, and even if I did, you’d have to pay me at least 6 grand to even begin to go into it. Because once I got started, it would be this whole diatribe, and I’d have to know it was getting published in a very estimable or at least well read magazine or trade journal (for the psychological and/or psychotic community) and even then I’d have to think about it, you know, what delving too deep into such subject matter would or could do to my own psyche. I mean, am I ready for the answers I would unfold and thereby unfurl onto the world at large and myself in particular if I actually let my brain and soul & conscience begin to wrestle with that kind of material? The meaning of life, the whole ball of wax, and it’s relationship vis a vis our lives, deaths, afterlifes (if such a thing exists) and our karmic state of being in reference to ourselves, all those around us, animals, trees, plants, do they have souls, should we respect the dead, the living, the weak, the infirm, any more than the strong and the evil and the guileless? and then as a matter of rules of diplomatic logistic juncture, the issue requires address of whether any of these groups necessarily receive preferential treatment in the eyes of not only ourselves but our interpretation of what may or may not be God.
As you can see, no, yes, precisely, there is no way I could go any further without a check for at least 8 thousand, and I’d have to take it to my bank and have it authenticated and then brushed over with a waterproof marker to make sure that the archives could have a viable copy in case the internal revenue service came at a later date and asked me about it. It’s only common sense.