I go to bed most nights feeling more and more like Doestevsky, or at least some character in a Doestevsky novel -- like 'Crime and Punishment', 'The Idiot', or 'Notes From The Underground'. It is the first time in my life that I have seriously felt like this. Call it a product of 'The Trial' or 'The Stranger' -- getting older, feeling it, and not being where you want to be.
Or call it 'PMS-C Disorder' if you will -- 'Pessimism, Misery and Miserable Attitude, Skepticism -- Cynicism'.
Hegel's Hotel is built on a combination of love, reason, passion, idealism -- and the personal experience of elements of its opposite polarity -- moral, social and personal, democratic rage and outrage, as well as a sense of 'powerlessness', ineffectualness', self and social alienation, on top of a 'socio-economic meltdown' -- and behind all of this, a lack of sufficient and necessary 'will to self-empowerment'. Except what I can muster up in Hegel's Hotel here...
You don't usually write 5,000 or 10,000 pages of philosophy, psychology, economics, law, business, and/or politics without something seriously gnawing at you from 'The Shadow of Your Spirit and Soul...
Sometimes, what may 'sieve out' of your Shadow-Id-Ego-Vault-Energy' (SIEVE) through its 'transference-sublimation' into your work, at other times can rush or flood out, like The Mississippi or Red River during the springtime. You could call this a 'Shadow Rush' or a 'Shadow Flood' which may take many forms of 'High Psycho-Drama' -- a 'rage rush', a 'grief rush', a 'panic rush', a 'nervous breakdown', a 'psychotic meltdown'... We could be talking about anything from a Nietzsche 'love meltdown' -- at least that is how I heard it interpreted recently -- to a Ted Bundy murder spree....
.................................................................................................................
Lou Andreas-Salomé (born Louise von Salomé or Luíza Gustavovna Salomé, Russian: Луиза Густавовна Саломе; 12 February 1861 – 5 January 1937) was a Russian-born psychoanalyst and author. Her diverse intellectual interests led to friendships with a broad array of distinguished western luminaries, including Nietzsche, Wagner, Freud, and Rilke.
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When Nietzsche Wept
By: Justarius on Apr 17 2009Category: Works
0 comments
I just finished watching the film When Nietzsche Wept (based on the book of the same title). It’s an interesting story that mixes some historical figures and events with Nietzschean philosophy and Freudian psychology. Although the movie has its flaws, it’s worth watching if you’re interested in any of these topics.
Revealing the story won’t ruin the experience, so here is a synopsis. Nietzsche suffers migraines and is depressed and suicidal due to a broken heart. The girl that broke his heart asks Dr. Josef Breuer (Freud’s mentor) to help him recover using both medicine and his new “talk therapy.” She has no romantic interest in Nietzsche, but she cares for him and believes that he will produce something great for mankind in the future.
The relationship between Breuer and Nietzsche proves mutually beneficial. Breuer helps Nietzsche recover, and Nietzsche helps Breuer overcome his own demons. They become friends in the end, and Nietzsche finally recognizes and confides his greatest fear to Breuer: he doesn’t want to die alone. And Nietzsche wept.
For all his complex ideas about ethics, social order, and the Ubermensch, at the most basic level, Nietzsche is simply a lonely guy. Of course, this is a gross oversimplification, but this idea is useful nonetheless. Philosophers come in all flavors, but they are plagued by the same occupational hazards, loneliness/alienation being the most common.
This got me thinking about the terrible toll loneliness takes on many visionary creators, whether they are thinkers, artists, or writers. They care about the world, yet they often express it in terms that people do not or cannot understand or appreciate. Their social ineptness or aloofness makes them difficult to love, and their insecurities make it difficult for them to accept love. Loneliness drives some to self-destruct, sometimes taking others with them, yet many simply vanish like shadows. Rare are those that weathered the storm and live long enough to receive acknowledgment within their lifetimes.
If only this were not true. Think of how many careers were cut short prematurely? How much richer would humanity be if these people had made their contributions, both great and small? Would a more stable Nietzsche be less brilliant, or would his thoughts be more balanced and accessible? Sadly, we will never know the answers to any of these questions.
Surely all creators want to live to see their work recognized; if only they would do more to help themselves. Or is this asking too much? Perhaps what drives creation invariably inhibits healthy social interaction as well; it is both a blessing and a curse. I don’t know. But I do know that everyone can use a friend at some point, even the father of the Ubermensch.
Life is a strange integrative -- and non-integrative -- mix of co-operation and competition.
Narcissistic Capitalism often exasperates the 'competition' end of things -- as well as 'dissociating' the 'harmonious co-operation' end of things....
Power and money often distorts, perverts, poisons the truth -- and yet makes it real anyway -- creating a 'smoke and mirrors' show, an 'ideological and/or marketing fascade' where we really don't know who to trust, or what to trust, because the people we want to trust, want our money or our time and labour -- more than they want our friendship, our well-being, and our goodwill. Thus, narcissistic capitalism breeds a very lonely, alienated, 'Lord of The Flies', world....making it all the more important to hang on tight to our family, friends, and loved ones...Because once you lose your family, friends, loved ones -- what do you have left? -- a very, isolated, lonely, alienated existence -- and sometimes a 'moral rage and outrage' against the type of 'Narcissistic Corporate and Government Environment' that created such an isolated, lonely, alienated world we live in....with people not really caring about each other's problems -- we have enough of our own -- and going into the 'marketplace' each day to often 'rob and plunder' each other, to greater and lesser extents...
In this context, we try to find something meaningful in life....maybe we can find something meaningful in our work, and/or we 'cringe and defend ourselves' through each day, in order to get home to find something meaningful with our family, friends, loved ones, at night...And/or when that goes, what do you have left? A spiritless soul?
Or perhaps a 'spiritless soul' in a 'spiritless environment' -- still striving for a 'spiritual soul and a spiritual existence'....a dangerous, conflicted, ambivalent existence....and a dangerous 'abyss crossing' from a largely meaningless and spiritless existence to a more 'meaningful and spirited one' where we can perhaps feel more like a 'Superman' or 'Superwoman' with an effectual 'Will to Power and Self-Empowerment'...
And then maybe we have our Schopenhaurean, or Doestevskean, or Kierkegaardean'
moments when we shake our personal heads at the 'absurdity' of it all -- this often rather brutal dialectic interplay between 'Being and Nothingness'...
.......................................................................................
Last Thoughts on Woodie Guthrie
- Songwriters: Bob Dylan
When your head gets twisted and your mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When you're laggin' behind and losin' your pace
In a slow motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what you're doing, if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of your cup
If the winds got you sideways with, with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slippin' and the feelin' is gone
And your train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the woods' easy findin' but you're lazy to fetch it
And your sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know it's wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from your pony are slippin'
And your rope is a slidin' 'cause your hands are a drippin'
And your sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And your sky cries water and your drain pipes a pourin'
And the lightnin's a flashin' and the thunders a crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin'
And the roof tops a shakin'
And your whole world's a slammin' and bangin'
And your minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself, you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born?"
And you start gettin' chills and you're jumpin' from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And you're knee-deep in the dark water with your hands in the air
And the whole world's a watchin' with a window peek stare
And your good gal leaves and she's long gone a flyin'
And your heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And your jackhammer falls from your hand to your feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And your bells bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think your ears might been hurt
Or your eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterday's rush
When you were faked out, an fooled white facin' a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin' you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's somethin' on your mind you wanna be sayin'
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on your tongue and sealed in your head
And it bothers you badly when you're layin' in bed
And no matter how you try, you just can't say it
And you're scared to your soul, you just might forget it
And your eyes get swimmy from the tears in your head
And your pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and your starin' at his teeth
And his jaws start closin' with you underneath
And you're flat on your belly with your hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself, ‽Just what am I doin'?
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hangin', on this pathway I'm strollin'
In the space I'm takin', in this air I'm inhalin'"
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard?
Why am I walkin', where am I runnin'?
What am I sayin', what am I knowin'
On this guitar I'm playin', on this banjo I'm frailin'?
On this mandolin I'm strummin'
In the song I'm singin', in the tune I'm hummin'
In the words I'm writin', in the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours, I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helpin', what am I breakin'?
What am I givin', what am I takin'?
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground or make your heart pound
But then again, you know why they're around
Just waitin' for a chance to slip and drop down
'Cause sometimes you hear 'em when the night times comes creepin'
And you fear that they might catch you a sleepin'
And you jump from your bed, from your last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of your thinkin'
If that was you in the dream that was screamin'
And you know that it's somethin' special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop your brain from bleedin'
And you need somethin' special
Yeah, you need somethin' special, all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been bangin' and boomin' and blowin' forever
That knows your troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at your looks, your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need somethin' to open up a new door
To show you somethin' you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need somethin' to open your eyes
You need somethin' to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that you're standin', that space that you're sittin'
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy, no matter how many times
You might get kicked
You need somethin' special all right
You need somethin' special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner, 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need, man and you need it bad
And your trouble is you know it too good
'Cause you look and you start gettin' the chills
'Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dim lit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Rantin' and ravin' and takin' your money
And you thinks it's funny
No, you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell, you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a gonna find it on your ticket stub
No and it ain't in the rumors people are tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin', ‽Ain't I pretty?†and ‽Ain't I cute?" and "Look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cryâ€
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No, you'll not, now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out a paper mache
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty star generals and flipped out phonies
Who'd turn you in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind your back, my friend
The one's that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no talent fools
That run around gallant and make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent
But think they do and think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down your hat
Sayin', "Christ, do I gotta be like that?
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty, that stuff ain't real"
No, but that ain't your game, it ain't your race
You can't hear your name, you can't see your face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that you're seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a burnin'?
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'?
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'?
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere?
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist and turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion, I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both in Grand Canyon, sundown
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When you're laggin' behind and losin' your pace
In a slow motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what you're doing, if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of your cup
If the winds got you sideways with, with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slippin' and the feelin' is gone
And your train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the woods' easy findin' but you're lazy to fetch it
And your sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know it's wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from your pony are slippin'
And your rope is a slidin' 'cause your hands are a drippin'
And your sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And your sky cries water and your drain pipes a pourin'
And the lightnin's a flashin' and the thunders a crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin'
And the roof tops a shakin'
And your whole world's a slammin' and bangin'
And your minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself, you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born?"
And you start gettin' chills and you're jumpin' from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And you're knee-deep in the dark water with your hands in the air
And the whole world's a watchin' with a window peek stare
And your good gal leaves and she's long gone a flyin'
And your heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And your jackhammer falls from your hand to your feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And your bells bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think your ears might been hurt
Or your eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterday's rush
When you were faked out, an fooled white facin' a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin' you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's somethin' on your mind you wanna be sayin'
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on your tongue and sealed in your head
And it bothers you badly when you're layin' in bed
And no matter how you try, you just can't say it
And you're scared to your soul, you just might forget it
And your eyes get swimmy from the tears in your head
And your pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and your starin' at his teeth
And his jaws start closin' with you underneath
And you're flat on your belly with your hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself, ‽Just what am I doin'?
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hangin', on this pathway I'm strollin'
In the space I'm takin', in this air I'm inhalin'"
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard?
Why am I walkin', where am I runnin'?
What am I sayin', what am I knowin'
On this guitar I'm playin', on this banjo I'm frailin'?
On this mandolin I'm strummin'
In the song I'm singin', in the tune I'm hummin'
In the words I'm writin', in the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours, I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helpin', what am I breakin'?
What am I givin', what am I takin'?
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground or make your heart pound
But then again, you know why they're around
Just waitin' for a chance to slip and drop down
'Cause sometimes you hear 'em when the night times comes creepin'
And you fear that they might catch you a sleepin'
And you jump from your bed, from your last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of your thinkin'
If that was you in the dream that was screamin'
And you know that it's somethin' special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop your brain from bleedin'
And you need somethin' special
Yeah, you need somethin' special, all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been bangin' and boomin' and blowin' forever
That knows your troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at your looks, your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need somethin' to open up a new door
To show you somethin' you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need somethin' to open your eyes
You need somethin' to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that you're standin', that space that you're sittin'
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy, no matter how many times
You might get kicked
You need somethin' special all right
You need somethin' special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner, 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need, man and you need it bad
And your trouble is you know it too good
'Cause you look and you start gettin' the chills
'Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dim lit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Rantin' and ravin' and takin' your money
And you thinks it's funny
No, you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell, you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a gonna find it on your ticket stub
No and it ain't in the rumors people are tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin', ‽Ain't I pretty?†and ‽Ain't I cute?" and "Look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cryâ€
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No, you'll not, now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out a paper mache
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty star generals and flipped out phonies
Who'd turn you in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind your back, my friend
The one's that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no talent fools
That run around gallant and make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent
But think they do and think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down your hat
Sayin', "Christ, do I gotta be like that?
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty, that stuff ain't real"
No, but that ain't your game, it ain't your race
You can't hear your name, you can't see your face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that you're seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a burnin'?
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'?
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'?
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere?
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist and turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion, I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both in Grand Canyon, sundown
-- Bob Dylan
.........................................................................................
I find my spirit in 'Hegel's Hotel'....
Freud found his spirit in 'Psychoanalysis'....
How did Freud 'lose his spirit' -- before he 're-found it' -- in Psychoanalysis?
Stay tuned for Part 2 of this essay...soon to come...
-- dgb, Jan. 7th, 2012,
-- David Gordon Bain
-- Dialectic Gap-Bridging Negotiations....
-- Are Still in Process....
