Daybreak. The Sun as Egg. The Golden goose of large gametes. From Liszt to Led Zeppelin ... Onesidewaysthey/themship.

 

 

The Dawn.

 

The dawn of the  modern age begins with the introduction of zero.  Think of it, the Pillars of Hercules were inscribed with "nec plus ultra," a middle aged and ancient antiquity-aged  so-called "Stop!" sign.

 

In ancient/medieval time "the year one" was the first year. There was no "year zero."

 

This muddled thinking persists as a crude curiosity in our language, like a plastic 'glass.' Or a "crescent" Moon  on the wane. "Year" is itself a word cognate with "get," as in to "get" ready, to organize one's "gear."

 

The Dawn Goddess was "Eos,"  note the same Eo root as can be found in "eocene" or "eohippus," it likewise is the root of "early" and "yearly." The 'year' is the very beginning, and begetting.

 

One's first birthday is celebrated at the beginning of one's second year. 

 

Yet one's first birthday is celebrated at the beginning of one's second year. Think about it. Think about that.

 

One's first year leads up to one's first birthday.  The day you are born is your zeroth birthday, not your first.

 

This brings us to the Achilles heel of what had been, and is no more. Legally, laws being not mathematical here, nor "biological," but purely and only socially "constructed," in "good" faith, but, legally, in your first year, you are 'zero' years old, rounding down. Down down down into nothingness, unconsciousness as it happens. One becomes conscious in one's third year. "Life" begins in the third year in humans. This would seem a scored point for the Left.  Including Liberals. And yet. ("Yet" meaning literally "too early"), and yet...

 

During the entirely of your eighteenth year you are now (until 1972 one became legally adult on one's 21st birthday), legally "a child." 

 

So far so good for "social constructivists" (in reality antisocial deconstructionists/destructionists/vandals/Barbarians). 

 

Age, like race, "is a social construct." 

 

Only ... only never mind, later, later ...

 

And like sex, doesn't exist. We just made it up. "Assigned it at birth." Reality, we all know, is defined by "gender." 

 

Anyways (sic) ...  

 

Every evening the Sun is drowned in the Ocean.  And is reborn in a new Day.

 

Fiery Heraclitus could never "step in the same river twice." 

 

Clouds Gather ...

 

 

 

Nuages ...

 

Nuages,  the Sun dips into the Sea, and dies every evening, and yet is reborn, but not in the (evaporating) Narcissus waters of a Nietzschean Ocean, rather not in a "groundhog day" of "eternal return," or recurrence.

 

The fact is, race is not "a social construct." Gender, in the own words (Own Words!) of one of its most ardent "theorists," is but "a phantasm." And you (or me or he or she or even "they/them") are not in the event "as young as you feel."

 

Age is a social and legal construct. But so what?

 

So what? 

 

The Sirènes Song  of wishful lying is a dysfunction, a dis-ease, an unnecessary gratuitous wheels-within- wheels-within-wheels-within- ... of pointless self-reference.

 

Age, and ageing are also, so much more.

 

The cure to Romantic Music is ... Debussy.

 

The cure to the "long ago and far away" is the 'here and now,' Impressionism. The prescription for wallowing in self-absorption turnt out to be the Überpersönlichkeit: A Floating, like Heinleinian gas-bags, above mythic Centaurs/Buckaroos of Science Fiction.

 

 

 

The cure for "rock-and-roll" is ...  

 

(to be continued) 

... 

 

If Clouds and Sirènes were, with Fêtes, of course the cure for Romantic reverie, along with maybe Rebecca Clarke, fellow traveller artistically, and Ravel, the maybe an analogous rock and rôle was played by, I don't know, Sitar music, the classical sound with Tambura, of Aryan India.

 

Sitar music was for rock and role, playing the rôle played by Debussy in the move from Tschaikowsky. In the visit advisory to the sanitarium, for a cure.  The here and now.

 

The move away from the Orange Cow? 

 

 

                                    Jordan Peterson, and ... some lady.

...   

 

From Liszt to Led Zeppelin, whose medicines for were respectively, Debussy and Vichitra Veena resonances.

 

And recapitulating, from Love, to Sex, to Gender.

 

From Reverie to drug trips to hormones on demand, even unto "life saving gender affirming" cultishness.  As if a Junior Golden Bough were imprismed in sacredity.

 

The colorful beyondness of it all bears all the tell-tale birdy beauty of an arms race, a run-away competition of onesidewaysmanship.

 

Onesidewaysthey/themship. 

 

So the question is unanswered, so then what is exactly the "sitar music" of our time? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ...