Life through a laidback lens

Life through a laidback lens chap-2- by D. G. Lennon-
I know you don't like it when I get all premise hypothesis superfluous
waffle
confusion on your collectivised ass, so I will. To piss you off. If you
just want to
read the story, this bit is irrelevant and you can skip to alternate
asterisked passages.
I'm going to get all life-what-does-it-all-mean on you now; I'm in one
of my
meaning-of-lifey moods. You see, I'm a very shallow, egocentric, idle
person in
many ways, but despite this I have discovered (with absolute and
indubitable
certainty) the meaning of life. Throughout the centuries, philosophers
have strived
tirelessly to find the solution to this very conundrum. They haven't.
They spend their
time drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and playing cards; I've seen
them. They are
shallow, egocentric, idle people in many ways. Oh-forgot to tell you,
those people
who skipped to the asterisked passages before will miss the whole point
of the book.
They won't understand a word of it, so if anyone ever says to you 'I
read "life through
a laid-back lens". Didn't like it, it's weird. Didn't understand it.'
then just say to
them 'Yes it is a bit odd isn't it.' and leave it a that. You may not
believe me yet but
by the end of this book, I will have related the unquestionable meaning
of life to you
as the second universal truth and all I ask is that you accept the
validity of the first
universal truth: cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am) (Rene
Descartes). Firstly the
premise: for something to have meaning requires for it to have someone
or thing to
mean something to. If there is no entity to receive meaning, it means
nothing to no-
one. Life therefore does not have an inherent meaning that can exist in
vacuo. Now
consider that Cogito ergo sum means that I exist. Whatever else I may
be just
imagining (the way I look, the world around me, that the pope is
catholic, etc) the part
of me that is doing the thinking most certainly exists. Whatever part
of me is doing
the imagining exists. I can't say for certain that you are thinking, I
may be only
imagining that you are and that you look like that. So I can't say for
certain that you
exist; I may only be imagining that you do. That's cool though, I'm
happy to imagine
that there are people who read the shit I write (my mental product).
Life does not
have inherent meaning so it must mean something to someone who exists,
right. I
exist. I know this because I think. The absolute meaning of my life is
what I take it
to mean. Here we get to the complexity of the meaning of life. The
meaning of life is
subject/object-centric depending upon who are what it is meaning to.
Suppose that
nothing that I think I'm experienced is real and that I'm imagining it
all. In this case,
I have created all of this and it is mine to give whatever meaning I
like to. If you're
real, your life means something to you and that's the object-centric
meaning of your
life. If someone else is also real and knows you, your life means
something (even if
it's not much) to them, subject-centric. So am I saying that there is
no one meaning
of life? No. It's so much more complicated than that: the meaning of
life is not a
fixed and unifaceted commodity, but it is an absolute. You see if you
exist and life
means something to you, quite simply that's the absolute meaning of
life. At the
same time, if life means something else to someone else and they're
real too, that's
also the absolute meaning of life and you can never know that meaning
for certain.
Then again as life goes on, if you change your view of what life means
to you, the
new meaning replaces the former as the absolute meaning of life. The
old meaning is
no longer the absolute meaning of life, but it used to be. One more
thing, the subject-
centric meanings of other people's lives are many and various and are
not absolutes,
since I don't know for certain whether anyone apart from me really
exists.
*
The subject centric meaning of Dave's life to mad Stevie was about
equivalent to that
of a bluebottle as they sat in the wine bar. The dreary, dimmed
lighting and smoke
counterpointed the bright sunlight of the beautiful day Dave had
stepped from into
this sparkly, chrome-spangled dinge-fest. Ash and souring, stale
spilled beer filled
the nauseas air and dulled the senses. The subject-centric meanings of
Dave and the
bluebottle fluctuated in mad Stevie's esteem. The purposefully rolled
up newspaper
in Stevie's left hand competing with the hunting knife in reach of his
right as the
bluebottle flew close or as Dave made promises regarding repayment of
the money he
owed Stevie. Stevie scrutinised Dave's face closely as Dave spoke
earnestly of his
financial difficulties. He had an honest face: care worn at thirty-one;
the wrinkles and
that permanent, sallow, dirty tan; eyes that had had their "Off" switch
flicked from
within. It was the face of someone who had always struggled to make
ends meet.
The kind of face that a bullet could pass through unacknowledged and
uncared for by
the sender. By Stevie. A frequent sender of careless bullets.
*
A God though. What? What about a God? What about a God? Well, surely,
if there
is a God then there is something for an inherent meaning of life to
mean something to.
No there isn't, I've thought of that. You see, say you believe in God,
right. Yes. Say
you have absolute faith in a God. Yes. And suppose He created
everything and did
most or even all of the things it says he did in the Bible. Your point
is? I was getting
to that. God decides what life means. That's God's object-centric
meaning of life.
No it's not, it's the inherent meaning of life. Remember, this is God
we're talking
about. He knows everything. What he says goes. Ah no, here's the clever
bit of this
you see: you have absolute faith that He exists, but you do not have
absolute proof
that he exists. The only way you can absolutely prove the existence of
someone or
some object is by being it and doing the thinking from inside it. And
even then you
can only prove that it exists, you can't prove that it is what you
think it to be. So,
even if you met God, you could be just imagining Him. And even if you
could
become God and do your thinking from the mind of God and not from your
own,
you'd find that that was not God as we've defined Him just now. You
see, supposing
God is omnicognisant. Yes. And supposing that omnicognisant is a real
word and not
something that I've just made up on the spot-I think I've heard it said
somewhere
before but you never know. I really ought to buy a dictionary. Right,
yeah I guess
you're trying to say all-knowing, but I take the point, we'll say
omnicognisant for
now. Right, okay, he's all-knowing so he must know everything. Every
thought,
every imagining, every fact, lie, dream, hallucinogenic experience,
everything all
there without thinking about it. Yes. Would someone like that ever
think? What?
You know everything. I don't. No, not you, God. What about God? He
knows
everything. So? Well, he doesn't think. I know it sometimes says in the
Bible "And
God saw this, that or the other and thought that it was such and such."
but he didn't.
Not if he knows everything. Well if he knows everything then he knows
the inherent
meaning of life. No he doesn't. Look, the only way you can prove that
God exists is
to be God and to think. Yes. And if you became God you would not think.
Yes. So
you could never prove that God is real. So if his object-centric
meaning of life is not
the same as yours then life doesn't mean to you what it means to God,
yeah. Yes, so?
Well if you can prove that you're real and you can't prove that God is
real and God
cannot prove to you that he is real and you think that life means
something and he
says that life means something else, you cannot prove that He is
telling you the truth.
God's meaning of life-if there even is a God-is not inherent. How do
you know that
God's meaning of life isn't the same as mine? It might be. So it might
be inherent.
No it's not. If that were the case everybody would have the same
object-centric
meaning of life as you. God can't have the same meaning of life as me
and the same
one as you at the same time if my meaning of life is different from
yours. Yes, but
there's one thing you're forgetting here. What's that? I'm real, you
might not be.
Yes, good point. Anyway, shall we watch Dave for a bit? May as well.
This is far
from over though.
*
'I understand completely. But you have to look at this from my point of
view. I work
hard. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I'm kind to little animals and
small, furry
children. I make an honest living. I have to pay the bills. I can't do
that if I don't
have any money now can I?'
'Well, no. No, you can't. But I'll...'
'Ah! Ah. Don't say a word. I know what you're thinking. I know what
you're going
to say: "I sympathise with your plight mister Garrison, I really do. I
would love to
help you out mister Garrison but you must understand I can't give you
any more
money until I get it back." Is that right? Is that what you were going
to say?'
'Well... yes.'
'Please mister Filmore, I'm begging you. I'm an honest man. I'm kind to
furry
children and lickle, small animals. I give to charity. I'm a good,
honest, hard-
working man. Please mister Filmore, don't make me angry. Don't make me
turn
psycho. You really won't like it.'
'No. I... I... I... just another week! Another week. That's all I'm
asking. You'll
get your money.'
The fly buzzed in close and really started to ask for it. The left hand
tightened on the
Daily Star the eyes did not leave their slightly downward glare at
Dave. At the next
table Gary and Darren laughed visciously amongst themselves like ill
behaved
children and repeated salient lines of Stevie's mister nice guy speech
to each other in
mocking admiration.
'I give to charity.'
'I'm an honest man.'
There was a tension splitting splat and the all subject-centric
meanings of the
bluebottle's life meant 'That which happened in the past' to all
subjects there present.
Dave briefly experienced the colonic flow of abject fright at the slam
of the
newspaper, then all was eerily quiet save for his own seated squelch.
Mad Stevie's
face was a picture of triumph as he stared across the table at Dave. A
ridge of disgust
had formed itself between his left cheek and the smoothly shaven upper
lip, which
had curled itself almost imperceptibly into a sneer. But it was a
smiling, triumphant
sneer. The newspaper had slammed loudly in a single movement that
despite the
definite downward slam, had hardly appeared to have an upward component
at all.
The fly had realised the full potential of it's mortality and Dave had
precipitately
evacuated. Amazing, some of these newspapers nowadays.
*
Yes, but the thing about that is that even if you're not real and even
if no-one else is
real apart from me and even if God has the same object-centric meaning
of life as me
then that still proves what I've been saying all along. If the only
real person and God
both have the same meaning of life then there is an absolute meaning of
life and I do
know what it is. What is it then? I'll tell you later on.
*
It was the longest and most brutal pause of his whole life. The hunting
knife stayed
where it was throughout. At any time though, it could have investigated
the
possibility that Dave was it's ideal home. Dave sat in his own
excrement and stank.
His place in the grand scheme of things now obvious to him, he could
but wait for his
death sentence and pray a silent inner prayer for a commutation. God
probably
listened. God probably thought 'Fawning, obsequious little turd. Stab
the bastard a
couple of times for me, will you.' Because you know what God's like
sometimes.
Dave's subject-centric meaning of Mad Stevie's life was very much a
God-based
affair right now. Stevie's oversized left fist, which now had little
use for the tabloid
press, smashed down hard onto round, chrome-look table-top. A wonder of
evolution,
Stevie's oversized fists: nature clearly hoped against hope that this
might enable him
to hit more people simultaneously and thus increase his
productivity.
'I'll give you 'till Thursday of next week.' Said Stevie.
It was said without a blink. Dave was still alive and this was
something he had hoped
for. Something that irked him about Stevie now occurred to him. Stevie
was a fairly
large and broad-shouldered sociopathic nutcase with a monumental grudge
against the
existence of others and a relentless ambition to cause immense pain and
subsequent
death to anybody who defaulted payment whilst in his debt. The last of
these were
the two qualities that Dave had always found singularly the least
attractive in any of
the large and broad-shouldered sociopathic nutcases that he owed money
to. What
struck him now was the mere fact that Stevie had allowed him to
continue living for a
whole other week. What was with the magnanimity? Dave had a second
chance at
life. He would do things differently from this day forth. He would find
that money
from somewhere and pay it back. He would work hard and earn as much as
he could
in a sensible adult fashion. The relief swept through him as he stood
and showed off
his gratitude and grovelling skills on the way to the door. He got out
through the
door. He'd been alive before and now he was aliver than that even. They
had let him
go. He was alive indoors provided they had chosen that he wasn't dead.
Out here he
was still alive as long as they chose life, but they had let him out of
the bar and why
would they do that if they were going to decide that living was all a
bit pass? and
death was the new Rock 'n' Roll? They clearly had no intention of
killing him.
Today at least. Things would be different from now on. He was going to
be sensible
with money and repay his debts. The warm air chilled him. Thoughts
passed though
his shoulders and down his spine as to how close he had been to a swift
clog-popping,
whilst his stomach eat itself. Traffic rolled by with breaking wave
sounds. Dave had
just had one of those life affirming near-death experiences. Dave knew
the meaning
of life, he always had, we all do. As he hugged his hooded top his body
he pondered
the question of what does it all mean. He hugged himself harder,
shivered for warmth
in the baking sun and set off south-eastward on his regular Haj to
Mecca. He passed
the new Deli and the star of India. Fag-butt strewn concrete flags,
busy roads and a
general poverty and smokey filth guided his senses. Mecca where, the
week before,
two fat ladies and a house had stood between him and debt
repayment.