The Cudgel Argument

into the age of homo-rhetoricus we go

Three Pound Brain

Let’s get Real.

We’re not a ghostly repository of combinatorial contents…

Or freedom leaping ab initio out of ontological contradiction…

Or a totality of originary and everyday horizons of meaning…

Or a normative function of converging attitudes.

We are not something extra or above or intrinsic. We can be cut. Bruised. Explained. Dominated.

Reality is its own argument to the cudgel. It refutes, not by being kicked, but by kicking. It prevails by killing.

Who cares what the Real is so long as it is Real? It’s the monstrous ‘is-what-it-is’ that will strike you dead. It’s the razor’s line, the shockwave of a bullet, the viral code hacking you from inside your inside. It’s what the sciences mine for more and more godlike power. It’s out there, and it’s in here, and it doesn’t give a flying fuck what you or anyone else ‘thinks.’

Ideas never killed anyone; only Idealists, and only because they were fucking Real.

Realism is a commitment to the realness of…

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