why wonder what it is you want

We do not know what other purposes life may eventually generate, but creativity offers us our best chance of reaching them. p.414  On the Origin of Stories:  Evolution, Cognition and Fiction

Boyd’s book discusses the idea that evolution doesn’t start with a purpose and work towards it, it is only an intricate system for problem solving, which  relies solely on variation, forever transcending established models.  The purposes (hands that grab, throats that sing n swallow n swallow n sing, etc.), come later, after millions of years.  I wonder what purposes we are working out now, which we don’t even need to find the words for because they will evolve intuitively from our perpetual play.

Whether the ultimate point was preordained and gradually discovered; or created itself out of a vacuum, fashioned itself painstakingly slowly, through trial and error, with endless devotion, until the perfect project occurred, (see notes on Dennet’s cranes vs. skyhooks) – would one be any less meaningful?

I’ve spent a lot of time regretting not having had a focus, like if I had only seen some clear picture of what it was I wanted, I could have arrived so neatly, I could have sifted through experiences and funneled out only those relevant to my goal, I could have saved myself some time, or something.  But looking back this bottom up logic works with individuals too, it was only through all that varied experimenting that the goals even appeared, way after the process had already been set into motion.  On some level it’s just another example of how none of this seems to really need to be talked about (or figured out)…it just happens of its own accord.  I slow it down and try to picture it out of some slowly evolved sense of wanting to feel in control, but the wiring’s all there anyway, whether I chose to participate actively or not.

Actually, I’m lying cause I happen to know that aliens or angels are whispering all of the answers into our ears when we’re sleeping or sleepwalking.  Actually, the black hole gods are just tickling our earlobes with their strangely familiar death-breath, teasing us closer to the bridge we’re gonna fall from, when we realize that the steps just end cause no one found a way to finish it yet.  Actually, if we just pick apart our thinking and reprogram ourselves for immortality then we have it, just as simple as the museum of eterna’s novel…oh what novelty!  To just swim…with.you…with.in…this consciousness…forever… Actually the thing with the museum is you only get to live there if you never get to die, and who would really want to trade in all those little everyday deaths, those fuckingfightingcryingfests, that get you through the day and make the leaves outside glint that much greener.  Actually if we don’t jump off the hamster wheel with all this work and reaction not action and stress than how are we ever gonna have the space to play…without it will our evolution just grind to a halt and hover at mediocre machine?  Actually since when am I in my body at all and not just on the ceiling or spinning somewhere just underneath where the blades of the fan pass nicely over the air like slicing a layer right out from the atmosphere, since when am I not the green leaf if I want to be, since when can anyone tell me where the fuck to be?  Actually, I think I just remembered, what I wanted, if anything, was to make a way to never forget.

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