Let me just make this clear

The metaphysical absolute is the bear in the kitchen.

Proof of Infinity

Metaphysically, the knowlege of what something ‘is’ is impossible.

Or: No such thing exists as ‘the knowledge of what a thing is’.

Exaggerated Eyes

The typical big eyes of anime characters could be described as part of the feature set of a cultural emotional mask. (In big eyes = an emotionalism. Spock: “Emotion is exaggeration.”)

There is no naming of blanks

It is important that I should be able to put a name to a face.

The Face of Things

Part of me wants to admit that I ‘cannot recognise the face of things’ sometimes; so that despite being alive I do not see (or feel) that I am; such that there is no face to life, you could say.  Or perhaps what I mean is that I cannot recognise my own face despite its clarity before me – since I can only see it through others … where I only know myself in others in that they dictate who I am, in my mood and so on.  So that I am mechanically alive, just like a puppet: alive but not in me.

(Sometimes I chide myself with the thought: for heaven’s sake why don’t you use some of your inner resources as encouragement?  You should have a few of them by now!)

The Unfeatured Face

A film tells the story of a sentient computer.   Here one doesn’t imagine a face.  Or any face would do. Malicious or kind looking (for example), either would perform the same service in the expression of its machine mind since (as could be said) such a mind has no soul; it lacks the component that it can be recognised.  “For a machine is essentially faceless.”  (Imagine a kind-looking face overseeing some sort of cruel act.  Like locking the automatic doors of a burning building.  Where its mind takes on the guise of ‘anywhere / everywhere’.)

(Evil might be imagined as the annihilation of the human face.)

From Feet to Face

My eyes travel from feet to face.

Like a movie camera taking in a statuesque blond.

Magazine Robots

Suppose, I flip through a magazine: there is a photo of someone’s shoe clad feet. “Whose feet are those?” I ask myself. On the next page is the answer: the photo of someone – of their face. That is who the feet belong to. Imagine the same thing occuring with a pair of robot feet … Next page I see a metal visage. Is this the same sort of thing?

Or am I inclined to ask who the robot belongs to?

The American Dream

It is what American’s have: emotional simplicity.

Boo Boo

Emotionally we aspire to the condition of children.