home page confessions section  
line1
 

welcome the alien
september 2011

  line1
 

I need to distinguish psychoanalytic interest (which is individuationally therapeutic) and
my psychalanalytic interest (which is inquirial, but not standardly psychological—psycha-literary might be better). But I’m going to let the need stand for awhile. I’ll just say:
I’m writing to an innerdirected sensibility, going toward an academic degree of that.
Writing to an innerdirected sensibility might feel alien to an outer-directed sensibility
(e.g., a very-sociocentric person), just as writing academically is easily alienating
to many persons.

My alienness results at least from writing freely prior to re-processing things into a stepwise curriculum or well-formed discursive presentation. I’m sharing backstage points, trekking toward interpersonally-apt presentation. (“See Gary in his developmental pretense of
our evolving.”) But the alienness may also result from the pervasive (“normal”) noncon-sciousness (and unconsciousness) of our outer-directed, sociocentric, tangible lives,
which depend on a relatively shallow common ground that is widely pertinent to acquaint dailiness, like marathon running is alien to a sundry jogger.

For so much of life, innerdirectedness of mind is minimized (left largely unarticulated)
over the years (childhood onward)—we don’t talk with each other “deeply” (so called, which must stay within one’s comfort zone), let alone really deeply (intimately, if not depth-psychlogically). So, much of discernible psychal life (an aesthetic education, a psychological sophistication) implicitly remains (or, in reflection, explicitly becomes) a confusion of emotion, value, and belief (i.e., emotional value, value-led belief, belief-dependent emotion). It’s the norm: economic organization of social time keeping things functioning, because we usually can’t do more than marginally thrive (beyond covering basic expenses of time). There’s a politics of time that’s profoundly elusive, and the political economy of it all colonizes lived time manifoldly.

Memory and imagination may remain/become anxiously confused (rather than fruitfully enhancing each other). Occasions for self reflection may easily evoke anger.

So, innerdirected writing may be uncomfortable to read (or is kept confined to special occasions), as its individuality may be indistinguishable from trivial (so “marginal,” alien) idiosyncrasy or subjectivist eccentricity—in any case, impertinent to “real” life.

So be it. I know the validity of where I’ve been, but I’m not going to bother warranting myself presently, to bring along you who don’t wonder to me where I’m going.

What there is to later warrant to you—these excursions themselves as you find me
matter now, as if this would call for warranting.

Anyway, warranting’s best done relative to your expressed interest, proximally relative to that (our event of appropriation).

Let’s begin a conversation. I’m easy to reach.



That’s part 3 of “elations of solitude.” Here’s part 4.

  line1
  Be fair. © 2017, gary e. davis