Comic I Marquis to Justine | excerpt II
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Marquis:
..and I shall have nothing to me but shamelessness of the lowly if I am not one already; that I should see you nothing but naked and shameless. I summon my angels to guide me, as beauty of your veil engulfs me to no respite. In you, I see what is beyond me, yet a familiar story carved in your bones. We can start with dirty jokes as I allow my lowly traits to show. One of them many, is to have “all or nothing”...a space which can accommodate our dark matters and make them white again, as the world which has a habit to paw its fur for a faulty sense of an internal cleanliness, would say.
Much as in the case of love, an experience is a given. A door that leads to a world where even a worst crime is done in pursuit of some passion, lest in an hurried effort to hide the consequence of something more excusable than the Embarrassment. Could you imagine a mind with no motive even in a millisecond of muscle contraction, and relaxation that follows? I am not contesting existence of such an entity but exhibiting my own incapability to comprehend such a thing, must it exist I admit. My perhaps inadequate guess would be that in such a scenario, it is our point of reference that is lost than the intent of the madman. Would this confusion not extend to the madman's world too, as a failure to connect, harms both parties? The bewilderment when one looks around oneself and nothing looks like an objectifiable thought or substance, a snap. In such a situation, safety of the body as a collective investment takes first priority and the world quarantines itself from such entity as much the entity is rewarded an immediate solitude.
Knowledge is a double edged sword. It cuts the strings as readily as it pokes the hole in a mask or a veil; its own enemy. I beg a pardon for my enthusiasm for a space beyond anybody's liking but I find myself quite shy of calling it madness if it exhibits a graduation to itself. Then I might just be exhibiting my own laziness and joining the dots to make my favourite picture. The mad cannot be known, thus cannot be judged. I am afraid this world might end up wiping itself out with that inadequate and unskillful cancerous habit of reduction, though there will be more madmen than ever. If such quarantine was a great gateway to a world envisaged, let me remind you about my cell where my madness and art is practiced, mastered and cherished in its purity, a madman's heaven. Can a madman envisage heaven or a hell though? Or do you in your pursuit to pacify your own kind, declare the neuro-divergent the madmen, as a easy way out? Have you heard about things which grow faster in isolation, as it purifies their resolve? As much I am curious about the desire and motive of a true madman, I am afraid the "single-file" reductionism will kill not only the artist but everything that once touched his soul
If you still are with me, I hope your are able to see the struggle of philosophy to expand the cogito to a plural state. When multiplicity is applied to Descarte’’s “I” to observe interaction between many such “I”s, a subtle lag appears to pose itself as an irreconcilable ‘the other”.
Only madman can have a universal value, as he owns only one pair of shoes; his own. The falsity of his truth is discovered outside of his singular impenetrable universe. Such cognitive system built on a “self” and “I”, demands isolation to function; a problem of multiplicity of “x” which refuses any constant value because only way to measure it is by its function f(x) on a Cartesian plane. So far, only Deleuzian rhizomatic framework offers a window where “x” is still dependent on its past and future dispositions, albeit with an approximation on a two dimensional space, yet its derivatives are easy to locate as such investigation is applied to a surface where x could exist as a single vortex.
(Excerpt from “Asking Ms. Lynn Out”, chapter Marquis. Copyrights reserved with the writer)
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