Chris wrote:
>Moral disquiet is the eroticism of the middle classes.
I should be pleased at this statement as it seems I have acheived an
unexpected social promotion.
Or possibly I have a taste for luxuries beyond my means. Like poetry.
Or 'high culture' in general. It would explain why I've always had this
feeling of being an uninvited guest at a party.
I have other tastes beyond my station too. One is for speculation, though
not of the financial kind. I often notice how discussions in this kind of
area assume an absolute validity of science. Now I suspect that the universe
is not only strange, but stranger than we can imagine. If consciousness
exists, as it appears to, then it is, intangibly, a property of matter. And
possibly too matter at a quantum, polyvalent level, which is what,
indeterminately, one appears to find at the bottom of the pool.
I can imagine too that physics is created by consciousness. So that the
apparent universal physical laws perceived through our telescopes are maybe
locally created, that we are not so much discovering the universe but
building it outward, as our culture stretches its awareness. Expanding our
bubble from within.
But I can imagine a lot of things. Like a soul, or, preferably Psyche,
waking into awareness last.
And each night, as long as I'm lucky, I go mad. I mean asleep. Into a
universe where the dead resurrect, space breaks out of causality, and whole
lifetime can elapse in a flutter of rapid eye movements and a few seconds on
the clock.
I am even suggestible enough to believe in poetry.
But am extremly fearful of nothing.
My headmaster always said I'd come to no good.
david bircumshaw
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