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Vimalakirti432
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Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2015 12:44 am

More comic relief

Post by Vimalakirti432 » Fri Sep 25, 2015 8:49 pm

Nagarjuna (a fiction, to be clear, making fun of the modern cult of deconstruction, not of Nagarjuna)



A latter-day Nagārjuna promotes himself as an authentic being of the left. But every being who has ever taken anything apart, or knocked anything into pieces, or turned anything inside out (whether city, castle or overcoat) promotes himself as an authentic being of the left.
But Nagārjuna is a magician and a ringer and not a being, and therefore the one true and authentic being of the left.
A latter-day Nagārjuna thinks of himself in this era as the one true being of the left out, of the left out of account, and so authentically a true being of left. Yet he is not a magician and so lacks all witness, and so his claims cannot be confirmed, and therefore cannot be denied. And if his claims cannot be denied they cannot be true.
All the bhikkhus chant that Nagārjuna is the one true being of the left, of the left out, of the left out of account.
Yet they also chant that Nagārjuna is not truly a being of the left, that he is not truly (as above), that he is not truly (as above).
Ultimately, all the bhikkhus chant and record such formulas and sayings innumerable times in their singsong and reiterative way not to remember but to forget. They chant to forget the 84,000 conventions of birth and death.
They say that every morning Nagārjuna eats a breakfast of rice gruel with an egg fried in ghee. Conventionally, he follows good yogic practice, modified by the philosopher’s intensified love of protein. Ultimately, a sparrow flies beneath his canopy and across the sky, unsupported, as if it knows where it is going.
Conventionally, Nagārjuna is a great magician who entertains at court and gives sound advice to those who have seen, heard and done it all and now want to see, hear and do it all with a little more flare.
Conventionally, Nagārjuna meets all the expectations of his day and is as well attended by ritual, bureaucracy and authority as any pope.
Ultimately, Nagārjuna sings off-key, misapplies the day’s ragas, melodic modes and rhythmic patterns and subtly spoils all the fine rasas of Maheshvara, the Lord of Dance. Nagārjuna always evades the perfectly executed and never colours within the lines.
[There’s that awkward moment when something new emerges, when it’s still wet, lumbering and baldly expressed, like the first delta blues (which was never recorded), or the first rough wheel (which never rolled under a cart). This would be Nagārjuna’s moment, were he to have one.]
[Yet that’s all wrong, badly put and misleading.]
[Yet nothing is more fatal than a finished product and fine craftsmanship. Everything agreeable and digestible leads to heartburn.]
Conventionally, Nagārjuna produces his liberating vaccines and serums from the indigestible venom of cobras, rightly held.
Ultimately (as below).

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