Almost to the Bone So Deep They Cut

I’m grateful for the new gash in my hand. Meeting it was both colorful and painful to be sure, but since our acquaintance has been made (and a resulting smallish scar may continue with me the rest of my days), I can only accept its invitation to my ownership. This (or could it be ‘that’?) moment becoming my own.

During the initial pain and blood (as well as my brief ‘foul mouthed’ excitability), I found myself repeating, almost mantra-like, a litany of self-blaming ’causes,’ ‘reasons’ and reasoning, for the position quite readily…at hand. That I was distracted, not focused, not paying attention, unaware, absentminded, spaced-out; in that moment these were the ‘reasons’ I attacked myself. Somehow, ‘I’ was the blame, the guilty party, the perpetrator against ‘I’! I had become, or perhaps maybe my self-concept still retains a bit of that old pulpit(-eer), a renunciation of my own life  despite my ‘best’ moments, my most joyous, grateful, moments.

On my ride home to fetch some yarrow to halt the bleeding, I realized that, in our ‘society’ one often stands against oneself as if in a court of law, as both plaintiff and defendant, with its ever present white-noise of guilt-finding, (that pervasive ambience informing us that anyone accused must have been accused for good reason).  We’re informed to do just this nearly from day one of our learning lives. It allows the shitty contouring of our lives seem so ‘natural,’ so inescapable, inevitable.

But is the latter the case?

Was I not at work? Was I not maneuvering my hands in a manner which has now become habitual? That is, were the conditions within which I was living, pulsating, sensing, not to some extent, dead, monotonous, repetitive, boring and through them my ‘mind’ may emerge almost as if somewhere else?

I’m not replicating a moralist agenda here. There is no blaming of my ‘boss’ (who, on the whole is a pleasant, generous, and empathetic person*). Nor is this any blame of ‘society’ contrasted with so-called ‘self-responsibility.’ I’m increasingly nauseated with these tedious, life-wasting, methods of moraloshakedownism! A choice between the false-dilemma of somehow essentially guilty (a ‘sinner’) and feeling guilt (also a ‘sinner’).


This is  a phenomenoludicist’s playground! A moment of sheer joy in rejecting acquiescence to miserablist ressentiment and gratitude toward that moment of blood and pain in bringing along with it a snap of just one more suture holding this ragtag monster of my enslavement together!

Hierarchie ist Gedankenherrschaft, Herrschaft des Geistes!” -Stirner


And now I can perceive yet one more layer of domination over me, my  unwitting participation toward that end through learned self-castigation, the belief in ‘I’ as concurrent accuser and guilty thing accused. Ownness can only become outlawry when the ‘rights’ and ‘duties’ of a moral legalis homo are recognized as no-thing at all. From where I speak now, my unwitting willingness to be an abstract faction against my ownness has suffered a blow against it. No more plaintiff, defendant, victim or perpetrator against myself!

For the rest of my days and nights My hand will sing me a wonderful story. The ideas of others, specters of control, vie with my desires for ownership my very flesh, imposing themselves upon me as the very habitat for ‘self’ to become alienated from my ownness; habitat which most people christen as ‘the norm‘ or ‘only natural.’ And so internalized these ‘norms’ may become for me, I may, at times, require such bone-deep wounding to recognize their power over me.


* That he’s a fairly ‘hands off’ type is evident in my being able to fetch the yarrow. I realize so many people have to work in far, far less favorable circumstances. I certainly have!



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