concerning that of which we cannot speak

so. i’m recently becoming
more vividly aware of my distaste
for the analytic method.

my reaction against the doctrine of
a-feeling-named-is-a-feeling-controlled
as promulgated by pop psychology?
now understood by me to be
closely related to my
marks-on-paper-cannot-denote-the-groove
reaction to, well, the whole notion
of a musical “score”…
the math-anxiety-for-music thing
i noted in the first post
of my last personal blog.
it’s *also* related to the
“tricks for getting along with people
become evil when studied for the purpose
of *selling* the poor bastards some
crap they’d be better off never having
heard of at all” vibe i noted, for example,
in a piece in my zine
over ten years ago.

in a word, it’s the classic
analytic/romantic split
at the heart of _zamm_.

and one would do much better to go off
and reread that masterpiece than to
continue with *these* ill-formed
gropings in the dark. so i’ll just remark
that in *one* thing, i’ll have passed
the master. phaedrus is obsessed
in _zamm_ with what he comes to call
“the metaphysics of quality”…
where “quality” is the great undefined
source-of-all that he navelgazingly
tumbles into in a horrifying
vanishing-down-the-abyss.

but, hell. *i* know about quality.
quality comes from *caring*.

and that’s a beautiful thing.
or had *better* be; i’m pretty convinced
that this is as good as it’s gonna get.

the *sad* thing is that
caring comes from pain.

this is why “passion” means “suffering”…