bobbydillenger - Tumblr blog

[bobbydillenger]

**more than friends: an index**

A Socratic relationship, in which you ask a lot of really difficult questions of the other person until they get annoyed and want to poison you. (I have a lot of those.)

A Hegelian relationship, in which the two parties disagree about everything but eventually achieve a synthesis. (Come to think of it, I have a lot of those, too.)

An Aristotalean relationship, characterized by an extreme interest in what category of relationship this is.

A Cartesian relationship, characterized by doubts about whether there’s really a relationship going on. A more extreme version of this is the Berkeleyan relationship, characterized by an adamant insistence that there is no relationship going on at all. Both of these can in time evolve into a Wittgensteinian relationship, in which the participants acknowledge that whether there’s a “real relationship” is an ill-defined question that depends more on the structure of their language than on the reality of the relationship.

An Aquinian relationship, that acknowledges that an exploration of the nature of the relationship is likely to strengthen rather than weaken it.

A Hobbesian relationship – solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

A Kantian relationship, in which you can morally do anything that it’s OK for everyone else in the relationship to do.

A Rousseaian relationship, characterized by the natural behavior of man in the wild, away from civilization.

A Nietzchian relationship, where both parties focus primarily on the will to power.

A Randian relationship, in which both parties act exclusively in their own self-interest.

A Heraclitean relationship, which you may as well not categorize since it’s not only different from all other relationships, it isn’t the same from one moment to the next. (You might think you’ve been in one just like that, but you’re wrong.) 

A Stoic relationship, which is also unique, but anyway it’s no better nor worse than any other. 

An Epicurean relationship, which theoretically isn’t very different from a Stoic one, but sounds like a lot more fun. 

A Humean relationship, in which what you see is what you get.

A Hillelistic relationship, which is platonic (in the vulgar sense) because nobody will do anything to anybody that they don’t want done back to themselves.

A Christian relationship, which soon degenerates into a platonic relationship because both parties are doing what they do want done back to themselves, instead of what the other party wants done to them.

A Marxist relationship, where each party gives according to – I’ll stop right there, it’s too obvious. Clearly *that* one is doesn’t become platonic. Let’s hear it for Materialism.

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Yin yang

Yin-Yang in the East --> dialectal method in the West - perhaps the most fundamental building block of philosophy....fire has the potential to be equally destructive and creative. In dialectical reasoning: 1. Everything is transient and finite, existing in the medium of time. Constant flux. 2. Everything is composed of contradictions (opposing forces). 3. Gradual changes lead to crises, turning points when one force overcomes its opponent force (quantitative change leads to qualitative change). 4. Change is helical (periodic without returning to the same position), not circular (negation of the negation). The concept of dialectic (as a unity of opposites) existed in the philosophy of Heraclitus of Ephesus, who proposed that everything is in constant change, as a result of inner strife and opposition. Hence, the history of the dialectical method is the history of philosophy.

[bobbydillenger]

Can blind people smell good and evil, or even cance? I think I can smell cancer in my aunt's urine when she leaves it unflushed in the toilet overnight.

[bobbydillenger]

Awakening

Anxiety and depression can be crippling and in the worst case scenarios even spiral to the depths of suicide so it comes as no surprise that those facing them see the avoidance of such as a mere matter of self preservation - as primitive as instincts to eat, sleep and keep sheltered. As someone who has personal experience with depression the best I've can arrange words to describe it are inspired by and cited below (reworded) by pulitzer prized novelist Donna Tartt. Depression doesn't even begin to describe what even Shakespeare himself could not. Anyone who has felt heartbreak knows that even excruciating physical pains are nothing compared to those of the soul. If Byron, Proust and Shakespeare fail to do it justice then why even try? Because I, like all writers have the same goal - to describe a universal human experience in my own words. I use other great writers as inspiration with hopes it might enrich even one reader's life in a way no other writer has been able to do. My two biggest influences, David Foster Wallace and Donna Tartt have touched my soul and enriched my life in ways no other writer could and consequently become my most kindred spirits THE DARKNESS It dawns unexpectedly as an unendurable sopping black curtain of horror. A psychic darkness like nothing you've ever dreamed. It is an icy plunge encompassing sorrows and revulsion far beyond the personal: a sick, drenching nausea at all humanity and human endeavors from the dawn of time. The writhing loathsomeness of the entire biological order. Old age, sickness, suffering, death. No escape for anyone. Even the young, the famous, the beautiful are like soft fruit about to spoil. And yet somehow people keep breeding and popping out new fodder for the grave, to suffer...like it was some kind of redemptive, or good, or even somehow morally admirable thing: dragging more innocent, sentient creatures into this lose - lose game. Squirming babies and plodding, complacent, hormone drugged moms. Oh, isn't he cute? Awwwww. Kids shouting and skidding in the playground with no idea what future Hells await them: boring jobs and ruinous mortgages and bad marriages and hair loss and hip replacements and lonely cups of coffee in an empty house and a colonoscopy bag at the hospital. -DT You begin to hate yourself for the same reasons you are unique and interesting and beautiful. You just wish you were like everyone else, like those that seem satisfied with the thin decorative glaze and artful stage lighting that, sometimes, make the bedrock atrocity of the human predicament look somewhat more mysterious or less abhorrent. The mornings are the worst because the new day brings only more angst and fear, you can't find the same hypnotized complacency that others do in meaningless chores and busy work. Cursing yourself, cursing God for keeping you from enjoying the things others find so fascinating. You begin to curse others too, you curse them because they are enjoying the life you can't. Their time, which is the true equalizer - the one thing you may have more of than others regardless of class, money or social standing - is now literally worth more than yours. Why? Because at least someone is enjoying their time. People gamble and golf and plant gardens and trade stocks and make love and buy new cars and practice yoga and work and pray and redecorate their homes and get worked-up over the news and jog and fuss over the children and gossip about their neighbors and pore over restaurant reviews and support political candidates and dine and travel and distract themselves with all kinds of gadgets and devices, flooding themselves with information and texts and communication and entertainment from every direction to try and make themselves forget it: where we are, what we are. But in a strong light there is no good spin you can put on it. It is rotten, top to bottom. -DT Putting your time in at the office: dutifully spawning your 2.5, smiling politely at your retirement party; then chewing on your bed sheet and choking on your canned peaches at the nursing home. It was better to have never been born, to never have wanted anything, to have never hoped for anything. All this mental thrashing and tossing gets mixed up with recurring images, PTSD, half dreams, nightmares, regret, self pity and bad decisions self perpetuating it all. You become callous, hollow to the core, fragile, desperate and scared to death of some unknown impending doom. Maybe those of us who experience depression and anxiety were born more in-tune and emotionally robust. I imagine we are much less easily distracted from the realities of the biological trap and the inevitably of humanity’s rampant, relentless human suffering. The more clearly we see it, the more cynical our worldviews become and the more we seek an escape. This feeling, perhaps just a phase, perhaps a lifelong trap, is an unfortunate disposition that is distinctly dark, dysphoric and anhedonic. For some, sadly, it grows into a complete inability to enjoy life or feel anything for that matter, which is an almost peaceful void in comparison to the next stage - a complete inability to endure life - to which the only escape is the eternal. Luckily there is a remedy, but it is a gift given without prejudice. The gift can best be described as an awakening. It is either written in our destiny or not, we do not chose our paths. I'm not sure where it comes from or who chooses the intended recipients, but it manifests as nothing but a belief. Not a truth nor explanation, just an unquestionable knowledge that love is the whole meaning, nothing more, nothing less. A telltale sign of those given the gift is an almost visible glow, a palpable charisma that makes them magnetically comfortable to be with. The good news for those who suffer from depression is that same emotional pain you have endured is exactly what will make the gift a possibility. This awakening is far from true enlightenment or Nirvana but rather a freedom from seeking. Those emerging from the darkness no longer need the mindless distractions that occupy the other people. They can finally begin to find enjoyment in the things money can't buy. They don't need new cars or Paris or a yacht or Las Vegas because they have sunsets, the ocean and a child's laughter. In conclusion, my best metaphor for it..the realization you are actually wearing the pair of glasses you were frantically looking for the past 20 minutes. Joy without pain, hope without despair etc. To anyone out there struggling with depression or feeling hopeless, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, you will find the happiness and meaning you seek, just don't give up, know you are not alone and don't forget to look right in front of your face.

[bobbydillenger]

[bobbydillenger]

Dozens of Dinosaur Eggs Discovered by Construction Workers in Chinese City

Construction workers unearthed 43 fossilized dinosaur eggs during road repair work in Heyuan city in the southern Chinese province of Guangdong on Sunday.

Nineteen of the eggs are completely intact, with the largest measuring as much as 13 centimeters (5 inches) in diameter. Researchers said they will continue to examine the fossils to determine which dinosaur species they belong to. (Source)

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[bobbydillenger]

Ladies and gentlemen.Introduci #newproduct

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WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?

Is my smartphone inanimate?

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[bobbydillenger]

Lowpoly Space Shiba for a thing

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[bobbydillenger]

Becca

Rebecca Cuntingham,

  Also known as “Becca”, was a mean, slightly retarded, frustrated and dirty piece of white trash hailing from Worcester, MA.  That may sound harsh, using the words 'white trash' to describe someone, but it is really spot on.  I searched and searched but couldn't find a more accurate description. 

Like any young woman her age, she had her insecurities, and perhaps as a defense mechanism she put on this act, the tough chick from the mean streets of Worcester, the hood, the ghettos of Worcester. 

She was good.  Really good, in fact, she had me believing her act.  That was, until her parents came to visit for brunch one Sunday morning.  That was when I the true Becca was revealed to me.  Her parents were well dressed, very well dressed, the mother in a pant suit with an expensive diamond studded brooch affixed to the lapel, an exotic hair pin and spotless pumps.  Her father wore pleated black slacks, tassled loafers, an oxford polo, a merino wool sweater and a herring bone blazer.  These people had the style of the upper middle class, no doubt. Moreover I heard stories of teacher's at Becca's private boarding school, "Choate" asking after her. An to top it all off they left in a sparkling, brand new,  silver Mercedes Benz S500, a $80,000 car.

Didn't she know, that we all knew, that she wasn't gangster having caught a glimpse of her parents, having had some insight into her real home life.  Apparently she was oblivious, maybe she was just stupid because not ten minutes after brunch was over and family members were asked to leave, she began talking about her beau back home, and from the sounds of it he was a real tough thug, a drug dealer in a gang with a rap sheet a mile long. 

You could often catch her glaring at other girls in the cafeteria, or telling stories of fights that included pulling hair, (yes pubic hair), scratching, biting and spiting.

That was her favorite thing to do in the world, spit, she loved to spit.

She was in her twenties, but acted like that girl in High School you were in awe at how little she cared.

This was her façade………………..

Every night, she would go into the bathroom in her room, lock the door and drop to the floor.

She would thrash her arms and legs, slam her fists against her head, kick the tiles with her heels and yank clumps her own hair out

She would foam at the mouth and attempt to knaw at the flesh on her shoulders.

She would scream profanities, incoherent babble and maybe even some Ancient Latin.

She would then lay there and sob herself to sleep on the cold tile.

Later she would awake, go out to the kitchen, and spread creamcheese and clumps of hair onto a bagel and eat it.