The Impossibility of Possibleness

Men are so expendable. We puff ourselves up into heros or villains, and the only thing we're really necessary for is procreation and as killing machines. Birth and death. I went to my daughter's wedding a few weeks ago out in Seattle. I realized even more strongly that men don't even matter at these sorts of affairs. They don't even need to be there. Particularly in this case. They had already been legally married for over a month.

I'm pretty sure I was just summoned to make an appearance for-the-other. I was used in this ceremony for reasons I don't even know are about. All I had to do was show up. For the most part I was literally ignored. No blame. The whole deal didn't have anything to do with me, and now that it's over I can just keel over and die as far as any of those people are concerned. How could I have ever thought I ever mattered to them in the first place?

I don't remember exactly where I read this. In some astrology interpretation book or the other. It stated that a person with my natal configuration would have only female children, and it is true as far as I know. I've heard rumors that I have some male bastards around, but that's never been confirmed, and it's likely that I made the whole thing up. I don't know anything about what's what in this regard. I'm beginning to wonder if it was just my name these women needed. That's why I only gave all three of my daughters just one name. None of them were given middle names at birth. Why bother? They were gonna have a string of names before it was all over with. Names are not what matters to women except in relation to their children.

There is a positive side to being dismissed by my second family. I'd already been dismissed by my first family. No blame. I don't think men like being dismissed by their so-called "family". After all, most of them really are bread-winners. That's the price they pay for hanging around after they've contributed all they really have to give. Sperm.

Men can apparently produce sperm for practically all their adult lives. Women are born with all the eggs they're ever gonna have. That puts a different slant on the idea of waste. Men are perpetual sperm-making machines. They think nothing about spurting out their seed on infertile ground. They'll make more. Billions more, and in a relatively short amount of time. That's not true for women. Just that one difference in their procreative systems could be what makes a difference in the psychology of the genders.

I don't know if the women in my life who arranged for me to go to my daughter's wedding even knew consciously why they brought me there. They were not the only people involved. I literally didn't do anything to make that trip happen but to pack my bag. The story of my life. I never chose any of these people to be a part of my life. They just showed up one day and made things complicated.

Exercising choice and volition is just not how things panned out for me. Besides that, sometime I can be as stupid as a box of rocks. All because I wanna feel important. The need to feel important is the original sin. It's not the species flaw Sartre implied. That's another dealio. A significant dealio, but not the original sin. The original sin is a social facticity. The species flaw is a singularity waiting to be discovered and the recognition of it brings about gnosis in it's train through atonement.

Every mistake I've ever made came about because of my desperate need to feel like my opinion counts. I've traveled around the world asking people to confirm this for-me. I've made a habit of going up to perfect strangers I think oughta be unbiased by familiarity, and ask them all, "What about this? What about that? My thoughts on these matters counts, right?" I should have worshiped the ones who laughed at me and my idiotic notions, and been very afraid of the ones who appeared to agree with me.

One of the problems I need to take care of (but probably won't) is that I don't have any screens to keep flying bugs out of my house. I don't have any screen doors, and I need 'em as much to keep my brother's dogs out of my house as the bugs. They just waltz right in here any time the door is open, walk up to where I'm sitting, and demand to be petted. Then, they usually turn around and leave soon after. If I were laying in here dead, they would drag my body out into the yard and eat my rotting corpse.

I don't worry about that eventuality too much. I'll be dead. The bugs though, drive me crazy while I'm still alive. Especially while I'm writing. That's another can of worms altogether.

Life can be so weird. I keep getting the impression from all the significant others in my life that they think I oughta become a "nice" person in my dotage. How can I do that and struggle against the dying of the light? I don't wanna be "nice" for the convenience of others, I want them to gleefully and joyously sing, "I'll be glad when you're dead, you bastard you."

I seem pretty sure I'll outlive my several nemesis'. I probably won't know it, and not necessarily because of dementia. Some of them have died already, and when I did find out about it, they'd been dead for a few years. I didn't even get to go to their funerals and gloat. My real nemesis don't die with the body they formerly occupied anyway. Usually, by the time I discover that they've changed bodies and become my new best friend, they're on their way out, and that gives me a chance to mourn them before they die.

It's that business about the species flaw that interests me presently. I have to do something with my time now that I'm no more use to my progeny or their supposed bearers. True, no matter what I do with my ti-me, it won't make me feel important. I've given up on that. I hope I've given up on that.

The species flaw is that homo sapiens can't know their possibles (future) in real time. They can create abstract possibilities with alarm clocks on them that warn them that what they created as their future is right around the corner. They can give the appearance of possessing prophecy by planning ahead, but doing that occupies the specious present in such a way that real ti-me is lost ON them.

How can a person recognize the future when they're occupied in real time with looking for possibilities that can only be recognized as history? I seem convinced one can only BE in the specious present by eliminating the future and the past. How can a homo sapiens remain in the specious present and entertain abstract strategies simultaneously? The only solution I'm aware of is to consider the incoming as plausible, but unconvincing. If the incoming future convinces you it's worth paying attention to, then how can you not follow it into the past, and thereby be lost to the eternal isness of right damn now?