There Is No Spoon

The Universe cannibalizes itself, recycles itself.

Everything is made from Everything else.

Elements fit together, atomically, tiny building blocks like Legos combine to make Everything you can see—and even more you can’t.

Only different combinations exist. Only a few tiny molecules separate margarine from plastic.

Copious similarities exist between physics and language. Discourse alchemy, as above so below. Letters combine to create words, phrases and sentences. Construct, deconstruct and reassemble, ad infinitum.

Words and ideas. Elements and energy. Recombined and redistributed.

Evolution.

Life evolves. Language breathes.

An organic architecture persists, assimilating one into the other.

It’s only Elements that constitute the Universe. Words depict the Natural elements, assembled into various configurations, create symbols, foster understanding.

Human beings, both part of- and other, revel in their affiliation and their otherness equally. Conflicted. Dissonant.

As such, there are no new ideas—knowledge is only really ever rediscovered, remembered. Knowledge has always been- and always will be- there.

Words are only performatives. Slavoj Žižek said that.

Homo sapiens sapiens use words and language to identify and differentiate. To organize and ostracize.

To identify and separate the inferior from the superior. Thus to designate each in kind.

To this end, Affiliation breeds Elitism. Words are used to create the Other and determine, detract [to/from] the Other’s worth arbitrarily. Used to value and de-value in kind. Words are tools. Are symbols. Are nothing.

Desire is threatened by disillusion. Slavoj Žižek said that too.

Elements are assembled arbitrarily. Or seem to be. Created in the furnace-like core of stars. Chemical makeup assigned by the Universe, all equal in Its eyes, unwavering in Its equanimity.

Beyond human comprehension are the number of elemental combinations. Possibilities only seem infinite. It is likewise with letters, language.

Perhaps a collective unconscious, a database of information exists outside our tangible Reality. Our memories our only access to this database. Everything that can happen, has happened. Encode, re-encode, reassemble.

The Human Condition. Our History. Our Future. One in the same.

Postmodernism is every artist coming to terms with their History in his or her own way. Paul Fry said that.

Thus History is just words—combined to make stories—passed down, from one Human to another.

He lived. He thought. He died. The rest in anecdotal. Derrida said that Heidegger said that about Aristotle.

Everything is energy, the interaction of energy, transference of energy. Interconnected energy.

Mind over matter. Energy over mass. Reconfigured.

Order from chaos. Its name is Entropy.

Words can never truly be your own because they already exist for symbols for something. Derrida said that too. To only see one’s self is blindness. Derrida said also that, too, as well, etc. and so on.

Paul Fry said something else, too: The eye exerts a kind of tyranny over what we see; the tyranny of focus distorts what we actually see.

Three dimensions feels constricting now. Nothing is ever lost forever.

Nothing is ever truly forgotten.

If you wait long enough, Anything is possible.