Showing posts with label THE RETURN OF KING ARTHUR. Show all posts
Showing posts with label THE RETURN OF KING ARTHUR. Show all posts

Monday, 29 August 2011

EPISODE 17; IN WHICH APOPHENIA IS DISCUSSED.


Welcome to my blog. It is unique.

I have been reading ‘The Apophenion, A Chaos Magic Paradigm’ by Peter J. Carroll. For those that find the word magic provocative, he suggests replacing it with ‘psychological and para-psychological technology’ instead. I’ve always had a dual relationship with the word magic. In the past I’ve written stories and scripts essentially embracing magic as a part of life and have, I suppose, characterized it as a bumbling benevolence that somehow makes things either beautiful or bearable. In my late teens I came across Aleister Crowley’s, Magick, and was very influenced by the ideas while not caring for rituals of personal power designed to influence events or others. Maybe it was my catholic background or my experience with the black pigs at night but for all my rebranding of Merlin (cf my novel, ‘The Return of King Arthur’), modern magicians struck me as a bit dirty or entirely dishonest. In turn, however, I came up with an Indian guru and for a while attributed to him powers well beyond the scope of the magicians I mocked.

I wouldn’t mock Peter Carroll. He’s far too clever for that and far cleverer than me. His book is stunning. Here’s a taste of his style.

Apophenia means finding pattern and meaning where others don’t. Feelings of revelation and ecstasis usually accompany it. It has some negative connotations in psychological terminology when it implies finding meaning or pattern where none exists; and some positive ones when it implies finding something important, useful, or beautiful. It thus links creativity and psychosis, genius and madness.
The second chapter, ‘Panpsychism – Philosophy,’ begins with a deconstruction of the concept of ‘Being’ and in it he states, ‘We inhabit a universe of events, not a universe full of things. Phenomena can give the macroscopic impression of having ‘being’ or ‘thingness’ but only because they actually consist of ongoing processes.’

Of course ‘being’ does imply doing; a doing of existence. It is true, however, that we tend to think of things existing apart from their doing. Rather than saying this concollocation and coincidence of vibrations we call ‘stone’, we imply that a stone has properties. (I must point out that in Shaivism, Shiva-Shakti, being and doing, sat and chit, are inseparable. As is ananda, bliss, but I don’t understand that yet.) For Carroll ‘being’ is a redundant tautology; doing will suffice. “I conclude,” he writes, “that I do not have any sort of ‘being’, I consist only of the totality of what I do. I proceed through time as a process.”

  Dismissing ‘being’ as a ‘neurological and linguistic illusion’, Carroll proceeds to outline the consequences, in his opinion, of the solipsism of the being-doing dichotomy that include ‘the misconception of a spirit-matter dualism…and to a mind-matter or mind-body dualism…that gives rise to insoluble but illusory problems and paradoxes in philosophy, psychology, and in our ideas about consciousness.”  He then posits, ‘Perhaps mind constitutes a fundamental property of matter, and all matter does mind activity of some kind and we should not regard it as dead and inert’.

   As Carroll says, the idea that all ‘things’ are alive, or are possessing spirit or being possessed by spirit, is not new to mankind and indeed is close to being a definition of pantheism. With industrialization, science, enlightenment et cetera, mind/spirit and matter split and theism became to seem rather silly. Modern physics, especially quantum theory, has, because of its findings, had to describe quanta in terms of what they do, rather than what they are. Is it a wave or a particle? When it does one thing it is a wave, when it does another it is a particle. What decides what it does? Is it random, predetermined, willed?

   Carroll writes: Quantum Panpsychism (i.e. ungodded pantheism) ‘depends on the idea that the basic quanta of matter and energy exhibit mind-like behaviour. Both mind and quanta exhibit a mixture of apparently causal and random behaviour.’

   Mind, like being, should therefore be regarded as a doing word, as a verb, for after all we can only detect mind by its activity, i.e. thinking. If we permit all matter to do minding then we no longer have to explain how minds ‘emerge’ in complex biological nervous systems. Rather than being some epiphenomenon of matter, minding is intrinsic to matter.

  On page 35, Carroll turns his attention to the construction of the Self and I would describe his description of the social defining of Self as masterly. Of particular interest to me is his observation of how much the singularity of Self is emphasised.

   ‘The singular self remains a defining feature of monotheist and post-monotheist cultures. It confers a greater sense of personal responsibility than our pagan forebears would have felt comfortable with.’

This saddling of responsibility on the self is bewildering to us, is it not? Even those with the stiffest of upper lips will find themselves saying, ‘I don’t know what got hold of me’, ‘I wasn’t my proper self’, ‘I was stressed,’ when they’ve behaved inexplicably. Crimes of passion can still engender sympathy and leniency. Is it personal irresponsibility, economic hardship, mob mentality, self-sabotage, moral degeneracy or deliberate bloody minded wrong doing for the sake of it, that caused the riots? Is depression an illness or a selfishness? Is obesity ignorance, laziness, or genetics? When studies show how early upbringing affects the workings of the brain, how can we possibly hold anyone responsible for anything? Do any of us know what we might think in three thoughts from now? And so it goes.

   Thirty-five years ago, my guru told me (and everyone else for that matter) ‘to meditate on your Self’ and he ran a program, called an Intensive, in which he said (according to his translator), ‘I promise you an experience of the Self.’ I still don’t know what he meant. For a fairly long time I kind of concluded intellectually there was no self while continuing to experience myself as being something. Whatever I was, I thought contentedly, would die when my body did. Recently I began to reconsider this. I don’t yet know what death would be, if anything, in the hyperspherical universe that Carroll talks about but if I ever get to have an opinion, I’ll surely let you know.

  An alternative to the monoself model is a multi-self model which is managed, says Carroll, with ‘stochastic’ techniques. This model I recognize and have done since I was 14. (One of my first guides being Herman Hesse’s books though he, as I recall, was dualistic in his picturing.) Only today the retiring head of Apple was complaining about the lack of polymaths. Could this be connected to the monoizing of the individual?

  ‘The Mono-Self type acts predictably and with restricted creativity, and has a cellar full of demons and discarded angels. The full-blown Multi-Self type can act creatively and unpredictably, but erratically and dysfunctionally if communication between the selves breaks down.’

   The Apophenion is published by Mandrake.

   Now back to completing my corrections to Sad Sam’s Sexual Adventures in Cyberspace. I so hope my publisher likes it.

  




Sunday, 21 August 2011

EPISODE 16; IN WHICH THE AUTHOR CELEBRATES AND ALSO LOSES HIS TEMPER.

Welcome to my blog which is the visible manifestation of my self-obsession(s) although it claims to be a regular dip into the life of a writer as he closes in on his goal of success. Or doesn’t. In between irregular and inaccurate reports of his progress, we learn far too much about what he has been thinking about.

Two days ago I completed the first draft of a novella that I shall perhaps advertise as the 21st Century Portnoy’s Complaint. It is titled ‘Sad Sam’s Sexual Adventures in Cyberspace.’  I actually began it, writing 13,000 words, sometime last year and then put it aside because although I thought it was going well, I couldn’t imagine a publisher taking it on. Indeed when I began this account and drew up a list of what I might work on, Sad Sam wasn’t even on it. I don’t know why, therefore, I sent along the unchecked first bit on spec to a publisher asking for submissions. He said he loved it and would like to make an ebook of it when it was finished. I’ll know soon whether, now that it is completed, he will still want to do it.

On July 10th I re-read the first 13,000 words. Since then I have added a further 17,000 and brought it to a point whether it can either be the end or the end of part one. Mostly I am pleased with a day if I can get 1,000 words done.  Towards the end, however, I speed up because the plot all comes to a head and suddenly I can feel the final pieces of the jigsaw in place. In fact I probably finish too quickly (no jokes please) because a few scenes from the end I start to intuit the last lines and they pull me forward.

When I write ‘THE END’ I feel both happy and sad: Happy to have being on the crest of a wave, in the zone as it were, and to have brought things to a satisfactory conclusion: Sad because I’m suddenly bereft of my companions and the tension that has remained within suddenly collapses. I know there are a host of emendations and corrections to make but once the first draft is done the uncertainties are over.

If my potential publisher deserts me I will turn this into an ebook myself. Quite what an ebook is, I don’t know. Obviously it isn’t the same as having a publisher invest in you and make sure your book is reviewed, displayed, and hopefully bought. On the other hand an ebook puts me in a global market straightaway without the need of anyone’s permission. It’ll be particularly appropriate for ‘Sad Sam’ because it is partly, or mostly, about internet porn, and partly because it is utterly filthy.

At some point other than now, I’ll apply rasa theory to the novella. Right now I can’t think about because the head gasket has blown in my car. My car that I’ve only had two weeks but had already come to love. For three and half hours I have been waiting for the garage from six miles away to come and do something about it. At six in the morning I have to go to Birmingham for two days to look after my grandson. How am I going to do that if they won’t give me a courtesy car?

And it is raining yet again. No summer, yet again. Vitamin D deficiency all around.

Yesterday I was told that someone has discovered a link between lack of vitamin B12 and cancer. Must be good if true, no? Okay, I’ll get informed.

Last night I got home from a day’s looking after my grandson in Birmingham and an hour spent in a traffic jam in Bristol and parked opposite my house to unload the car (which is now working again). This small Council House estate road has a convention that we park on one side of the road, the other side to mine. Since the building the road in the 1960s car ownership has become the norm and many people have turned their front gardens into car parks, thereby preventing the road space in front of these gardens from being used by anyone else for parking (as well as taking away the land which is meant to drain the water). Consequently finding somewhere to park on the road is becoming increasingly difficult. On the day I first moved in here, some twenty years ago, I’d been here about five minutes when there was a thunderous knocking on the front door. When I opened it I was greeted with a torrent of angry abuse from the man who lived opposite because, he said, I was blocking the entrance to his car park garden. Did he need to get out or in at that moment? No. Unable to get sense out of him I probably responded in kind. Over the following ten years the scene was repeated two or three times when friends of mine, not realizing the heinous nature of the deed, would briefly park in front of his house. He died. His widow doesn’t drive. I moved away, came back eight years later. For moments during the moving-in process we’d block the entrance, then move the car. No problem. So why did the stupid woman come sailing out of house last night to whinge about the entrance being blocked when it fact it wasn’t at all? Maybe I shouldn’t have immediately shouted at her, ‘Don’t start woman,’ and maybe I shouldn’t have called her stupid cow and maybe I should have remembered about petty tyrants but for fuck’s sake…

…Then some other neighbour shouted at me that I should calm down. Twat. It’s a weird place to live, this street, with its super inbred rednecks and a few spaced out hippies. Not a happy mix.

So this morning, even as I continue to fume, I buy some flowers for the cow. Can I bring myself to take them over to her?

...I did but she wasn't in. I didn't try again.