Of Forms and Observers

Chapter 8: Lithos

The architecture of reason mimics that of reasonable thought—this is a fact of convenience not tautology. The orderly structure of the mind is fitting for the possibility of truthful knowledge. Developing propositions through the collection and methodical, progressive [The sun sets, the rocks are asleep, the drops of memories dry up, Hitler is alive, crickets colonize the world of sounds, they proceed towards the direction of forward, first there were many and diversity rejoiced, then they arrived, and as swiftly as their music came to be that of others ceased its course, he never killed himself] elaboration of data is much likelier (?!) to yield accordance with reality than if one were to gloss over those vital steps of synthesis.

And so I apprehend, and elaborate, and, at last, posit, hooray ! The aesthetic of a grounded architecture is soothing, it functions on the basic, clair et distinct, principle of post and lintel construction. The skeletal structure is safe and sturdy, as a stout Prussian lady, but within is disclosed the openness of possibility, the infinitely unknown as enclosed by the confines of the finite. The shaggy Mediterranean priest in the temple knows this, as does the famished indigenous warrior under his canopy; that the Mysteries can only unravel under the sacred protection of natural order is the self-revealing and self-evident disposition of the phainòmenon. Religious architectural design, as is no doubt the Amazon rainforest [How will the world heal from the wreckage? The phantoms of the European past return to haunt hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands.... A man to die in his hands (too much), who will refurnish Amazon warehouses ? Who will sow the sneakers of my athletically inclined young Joshua ? It's too early, we can't let Indonesia open the gates of Agartha, someone needs to stop him, but who will ?], is never coincidental, it is meant to resemble or direct itself towards the transcendent object of its worship. The Doric symmetry of the Greek temple is the foremost symbol of divine Apollonian excellence, and the canopy carries itself as the caressing maternal touch of an ethnically Papa New Guinean woman. 

It's within these boundaries that man can give form to all horrors and brutalities inherent to his character. The multivariate, unpredictable character of Being emerges, overwhelming the theoretical and presenting itself as primordial. This is the tripartition of ontology, as the Abrahamic God had most certainly and convincingly conveyed through some of the very first words uttered in the Torah of Moshe. When the dirtiest, nastiest, foulest man himself let there be light, the slabs of order were set upon the chaos of the darkness. And so it was that a lighthouse was erect in the mist of the storm, and many have spent many a word and many a day blabbering about the two, foolishly neglecting the tertium quid. The door opens [ is it too late ? ! ], there it is, the unpredictability of Being. The absence of structure is manifest, within the confines of reason. And so I revel in contingency, but am ultimately slave to necessity.

The passions of the sailor are revealed in the battles against Sturm und Drang, he is plunged in turmoil and trepidation, but at last, the light is shone. Hello? [It can't be], [It-it-it can be], it can-can is, it is. The ritual of YHWH commences.

"I'm a Runaway", said Joshua, with the exaggerated swagger of a black teen. Growing up in South Side Chicago, surrounded by crime and drugs, he knew better than to lose himself in those activities which benefited neither mind nor body. He went on, "Niggah, I 'as been through sum sheiit, I've lost two of mah motha fuckin' best niggas to gang violence, dat kinda sheiit messes choo up ! I've lived mah life bein' told to git through it, to push through, but maybe, i'on kno—maybe pushin' through ain't da answah. Is hard... is hard to find rhyme or reason when choo lack da time to think reasonably. Mah motha fuckin' luck gots fated meh to this beastly state, to fear gunshot an' not boredom. An' so i must think dat it be in da struggle dat mah reason arises, fo struggle be all i know, but be this not to surrendah myself to da very niggah who put mah ass in chains, this fickle, messy, gruesome void of pain. Da black niggah be defined by history, so i'm taught, but so i'm taught to be a black niggah. Be derr not more to niggah than his blackness? i've been deprived of da possibility to answah this question, an' thus i don' pose it, i ain't posin' sheiit. Fuck off."

"Joshua, calm down, you're losing your temper !", Shaniqua angrily replied. "I get it, I do... At least I think I do... Aaaaaah, who am I kidding, I don't get it and never will, how could I? But what's the point of this tantrum you've decided to throw? Do you want me to feel bad? You're a cruel man, you know that?".

Joshua let out a sigh of resignation, "I know baby girl, I know. I'm so sorry."

"You now, I wish I could help you, I really do, but, Joshua, you need to wake up, please, I'm begging you", he pleaded in tears.

Three days have passed, Joshua is still lost at sea. The last sighting of him was reported by a sailor at the Miami Coral Cove Marina, he mentioned noticing a distinct expression of determination on Joshua's face as he boarded onto his trusty motor boat. Earlier that same day a group of rabbis had exchanged a few words with Joshua at the dock, they told the police he had approached them to ask about any information they might've had on a Namibian politician running for office as a member of the South-West Africa's People's Organization. The rabbis had never heard of this mysterious man, but supposedly Joshua swore he had to 'stop him' before something 'bad' happened. This was all far too queer and convoluted for the lowly pay grade of two police officers, the missing person's report was filed away as a likely casualty in high tide. Overworked and underpaid, the MPD had bigger fish to fry than the oncoming dimensional merge, but Joshua was different. Joshua knew the real scale of this merge, this was nothing like the previous attempts, where no more than a dozen dimensions had converged. No, this was the first time that the Devil's plan would come to fruition if unimpeded. It was time to take up arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them. And so the fish spat.