…is it that sometimes we look and feel as children. Imprints on adult brains translating in feelings of amazement and deception, associations of material reality blending into emotions of confusing nature, that's the one, that's the human one.
Layers upon layers of impressions. Then going on to sublimate these into some type of reasoning, steering bodily interference to submerge in more reality, ever shaping outcomes of even less coherence. Then ever in a while the occasional illumination knocks, a desirable consequence of trying to comprehend and steers our cheers and hoorays.
a straight line, a hold-out till the next problem does away with any sense of being in control. The drama of yet another cycle of complexity playing out. Most perceptions, building naive linear correlations between what we see as cause for inspiration fade or implode. The dreaded resulting 'post hoc ergo prosper hoc' situations, heuristics and sub-conscious reductionism, playing into static, binary logic. Even worse, a reality of the harsher kind, the trade-of being a net loss of coherence, all but a resulting complexity of obtrusive trash and gaseous waste, clutter of the brain translated into physical mess.
Then once in a while materializes a local marker of original thought, a product, a tool to leverage reminiscence of cohesion, comprehension, harmony, then out of it we drift again, floating on to yet another run-away reality. The cycles are unending, markings overstepped by filters of biology, of the individual proper, environmental imprints, markers on loops at best, to yet another cycle of interference.
The human individual, in any kind of cluster or group, from narrow traits, then overstepping genetics, to the broad and large, influenced outside of own biology into the notion of belonging then being impressed upon. The process repeats unending, translating into ill related reality, let alone whatsoever comprehension of the itinerary of getting there. Of the biology of me, of us, the circumferential drafts and notions of surroundings, results to each, the notion of life itself.
On any level, in our feeble glands, in chemical signalling and synaptic drip, conditioned by outside interference of the most primitive kinds, hunger, thirst, chill or heat, within the genomes of our family and tribe, the extended family of race, society. From spatial perceptions, perceptions of time, limited by our frontal brain-lobe, emerges the momentary consciousness of infinite malleability of felt reality. Grasped in a blip, we gorge on the sum of clutter made comprehension, decide away any momentousness choke, whatever it is running out of the biology of oxygen, we play as is, at hoc, to date, a game of discourse for the better and hidden primitive emotional wants.
Welcome to the biological world of inner man, the indistinguishable outer layers of genetics of society, the engineering effects and continuous relaying of man and 'monde', the overlaying blob of in-comprehension. Welcome to the complex reality of life. No ambitions of measurable science here yet, any fact, deluded by some ephemeral genetic drive and some bent pheno-typical circumstance translates into misery or joy. No better to compare the human state of affairs but to a messy grasp of momentary delusion on the full scale of better to worse.
The story of yeast cells, gorging in a bath of sugary juice, eating at hart, the case of restraint by some of those, the temporary abundance inciting the others to reproduce their genetic drives of growth …to ever more alcohol, accelerating the process of suffocation, all cells left to hope for an externalized god of sorts, some illuminated consequence of science, sugary dope. Philosophical comprehension, some binary dissertation of growth, progress, even optimism in itself in an outlet of fear… to drain the alcohol of menacing concern, and fill up the bath 'at infinitum' with always fresh sugary paste.
Playfullness aside, reality is a complex, human history made it worse, it is individually comprehended, or not, socially acted out, the symbolism's and reductions are made up as we humans go. It all whirls out in an accelerating tumble, will these wits of ours be sufficient, question asked.
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