this is the only conclusion i can come to luke's invented some strange concoction between ibn-arabi type annihilation in the divine and scarface.
So actually he is God.
He's safe sometimes he brings a bit of rocky round and we just play ps3 and blaze for the whole session., don't talk about my problems at all.
Is one of your problems that you have a PS3 and not a PS4?
Of course the gods were invented. Consciousness demands concepts. Animals dont 'believe' in gods, they simply exist within nature. The expulsion from the garden of eden was not a loss of innocence but the dawning of the self, after which we were as babes forced to learn everything anew, to rationalise existence within a pathetically diminished conceptual framework, debauched in it's paucity.
This is a topic that requires a certain degree of tact, patience and openness in order for a constructive discussion to take place
Yahweh off here Luka admit it
Well nah, it's more like...
With the advent of writing and the final consummation of the separation of head from hand and the ability to document a tribe or a clan outside the old forms of collective mnemonics, the gods themselves become used to justify sedentarism. If you look at old turkic nomadic religion before the conversion to islam you can see the idea of tengri (or tanri) is basically a very non-orthodox, abstract thing more analogous to totality in Hegel or whatever.
Which brings me back to my point again, there was no Islam in Muhammad's time. there was being a hanif, submitting to the one god, and that is why abraham and Moses were called Muslims in the qu'ran, but there was no islam as an institution. I'm not sure if created in imagination is the right word but neither is god or gods preserved in aspic. and organised religion is very good at giving us that comforting opiate illusion.
I don't think it's something that can be communicated in any way other than through art. It's the only thing that cuts through and hits the same spot, the way we engage with something like an explanation runs counter to what it is.
There's a section in Gravity's Rainbow where one of the characters is in what would become Kyrgyzstan, bringing the "New Turkic Alphabet" to the indigenous tribes, and there's mention of something called the "Kirghiz Light". As far as I can tell, it's some sort of mystical state/experience and something to do with the oral traditions of the tribes, something which can't be contained or accessed by the written word and as such will be lost to linguistic imperialism. I can't help but feel similarly about art in general, nothing else really performs the same function. You can't communicate the same sense of what it is through something like science or mathematics, you just end up with a crude outline.
This is from the Kevin Nolan essay 'Capital Calves http://jacketmagazine.com/24/nolan.html
The Kirghiz Disasters dramatises this process of silencing at some length by re-enacting a particular process, the historical destruction of the Kirghizian language not once but twice. A disaster is ‘star damage’ but no longer ‘at home’, since the life-world of the C20th has become the world proposed by Heraclitus as its opposite, the anticthonic ‘counter earth’. These images are displayed earlier in the book, but with the concrete example of the Kirghiz people, the destruction of earth resides precisely in that loss of collective narrative which can explain what ‘native soil’ actually means. Thus the poem proceeds as a mangled bulletin, intercutting ‘news from the Tarim Basin’ with domestic trivia from the home front.
And at that the fringes wither
With tight creedal echoes, bringing fear into the homely
Recital. Swear at the leather by the knee-joint
Shouts Jerome, crumbs ready as a favoured bribe.
The epic tales (Albert Lord’s ‘return songs’) of the Kirghizians now survive in only mangled form, the rubble of medieval and later Soviet purgations and enforced migrations. In the wasteland aftermath of Thomas Pynchon’s post-war reconstruction zone, the ‘Kirghiz light’ is an emblem of visionary absence, everything that cannot any longer be viewed or comprehended within the constraints of contemporary political domination, as the landscape is cleared for its reconstituted inheritors, IG Farben and ICI. Here Prynne’s contrast with Pynchon is especially striking. Both Gravity’s Rainbow and Brass make intermittent use of the angelology of Rilke as an ulterior guideline through the wastes, though Prynne’s text, counterposing revelation with millennium in ways that Pynchon merely confuses, takes on a wider range of spirit-doubles and his moments of self-parody are freed of the whimsical topicality of the novel. And just as ‘the darker fields’ of Into the Day, deliberately summon the last cadences of Lycidas in order to banish them, the mock-apocalypse at the close of Brass deliberately leaves open the question of how any purely ‘visionary’ process can wage itself against the evasions diagnosed by The Ideal Star Fighter. Are these swerves all part of the same psychic economy, two faces of the same coin flipped by Melville’s disappearing trickster at the close of his Confidence Man.