Phenomenological By Kyle Scott

Kyle Scott

Professor Shaw

Advanced creative writing


Haven’t you ever just simply known the truth about something, without ever having had any actual formal training? I mean, you’ve heard about it somewhere; before, of course, in some setting, you can’t quite remember. A little, small piece of something–or that of something’s overall patterned function. An algorithm, in short, but coming at you with inhuman accuracy at what appears to be the speed of light;–that which your brain can now only be seen of its crest, but not possibly latched on-;to, and it’s almost as if one has fully disappeared inside of their self on being swallowed up into a universe so absolute by feeling simply because of a purely true aesthetic. And you’re probably lacking the terms made or unmade-to describe thus aesthetic. So then mysticism is what you, leaping forth claim & declare [cue the church-room chorus]. And I say no! No, No, No! But Science! Science is your own completed answer. What you have done actually is catch but a glimpse of the overall design;–even if thus could only mean that the overall design of you is a systemic neurosis. And, I never kid; the question itself, for all of us intellectuals inside the adult world, is ever-debatable within the confines of our own individual, self-induced solitude. O.K., I’m getting to the point now. I have three. First, madness is knowledge. Second, that Darwinism is true. And third, that Eve showed courage but not damn near enough!

So, I grew up in a strictly religious home. We were Pentecostals, and my mom, sister, and I, all went to church together on damn near every Sunday morning while my father was out nailing the mentally-ill fem’ out in Jackson where he worked as a social worker. Mom was a social worker as well, and so I figure she must not have paid very close attention while achieving that bachelor’s degree for Sociology,–. But there’s another question: Must one be a follower of Marx to become a sociologist? Or was it just that a single mother would naturally latch onto such a communally-special preserving mechanism as religion? I’ll leave these ones open for the reader’s analysis. And getting back now to point A.;– I was raised up to believe that there was a God of myself and whoever else prayed to him-and/or- was written about inside of the Bible. Me: German/English-Michigander exploding out of the womb in Dearborn Michigan, anointed to carry on the legacy of our father Abraham and the ‘new-Jew’. As you can probably tell, thus was all very exciting for a guy like me. I was convinced that God had a genuine plan for me;–one which must naturally supersede that of everyone else’s. (Note to the reader: I have a very subtle wit. But [hint: Look for words such as ‘naturally’ and you’ll typically spot it]) So here, I am, overall genuinely anointed by the father, son, and holy ghost, and I never really think about much of anything- (though, I’ll admit- I never really did want to follow God, [even when I did believe in him])- and I go on for quite a while, just that way. But then, every school year, I was
obsessed with people (I’ll admit, it had become quite an extreme thing). I guess you could say this strict religious thought control reared a bit oLuciferianrian complex inside of my Self. In the
second grade,-I would go across the street to my friend Jordan’s house,-typically my sister and I both,- and there, at Jordan’s, the four of us [me, Kayla(my sister), Jordan, and her little sister (Cassidy)] would all sit around together in Jordan’s bedroom and listen to the brand new Eminem CD: Curtain Call. I knew my mom wouldn’t want us listening to the Eminem CD. I knew that God was probably watching me-from up above, overhead-with shame. It made me sad and kind of wanting to cry. But instead I just sorta’ let the Eminem tracks soak on into me. And I liked it! The cuss-words were funny; and even in the second-grade I wanted to bang Jordan! Although I no longer want to bang her, for, now she has two children;–one of which belongs to a heroin addict/male stripper while the other belongs to a fireman. And Jordan was attacked by a German shepherd dog, in our 8th grade of junior high, so now she has these hideous scars all over her face. It disgusts me.

So anyway, I guess that I did become pretty ‘worldly’. That’s what mom liked to call it, being ‘worldly,’ or ‘of the world.’ Like yeah, because that was a bad thing. But the world was a part of me, mom and the pastor said, on account of the original sin, when Eve had taken a bite from the apple plucked from the tree of knowledge. And mom said that when we did things like listen to Eminem’s music, or fornicate, or talk back to our parents, that that was a sin. And the pastor said that committing sin was like turning on the bathroom light after getting up to pee in the middle of the night. And the more and more you sinned the more you got used to it, like your eyes adjusting to the light in the bathroom. But I’d found a loophole. See, I committed sins anyway, because I liked it (the act of committing sins), and then I would ask God for forgiveness immediately after. And so I pretty much strutted around inside of the grace channel for years 1-17 or so. And I would pray and ask forgiveness every night before going to bed, just in case if I died overnight. And I never really liked school all that much. What I most preferred in-fact was playing videogames while trying to get all of the popular kids to like me. But it always seemed like the more that I tried the less they went on liking me. So I applied a sheath of sublimity over my lies. And sublimity became my lie. And even my high school’s science classes were flawed because they showed me no real honest tale or story of how or why. Not like with Adam and Eve. Because what I wanted to know was why was I here; not some puzzle on a stapled sheet with a limited number of veritable options, four of which having already been to given me on an ugly scantron-paper. And so I never cared much for their puzzles with their terms, and failed a couple of classes. And my mother had written a lengthy letter to my Biology teacher, demanding that I be excluded from all sections taught on evolutionary biology. So I never really got a grasp on much of any of it. Then, inside of my junior year of high school, my father died, and I went through a bit of an existential crisis. And I guess you could say that I never came out of it, really.

I spent the greater part of-both my junior and-senior-years-doing drugs, mostly. I liked the drugs a lot, and they were great, so long as I had a way of getting money. But then,-out of high school, only a couple of years later,- I had just gotten out of rehab that past summer for opiate addiction, and- I decided, under the advisor-ship of my mother to sign up for some classes at the local community college, Schoolcraft.. I was depressed, to say the least. Slam your brain time and time again for 2+ years with false joy and you’ll quickly -on withdrawal- recognize that all of the pain
and sadness must be levied-in somewhere at bay, just waiting to fulfill its natural naturative recourse. I just made up that word: naturative, or ‘of nature.’ And so that winter, I signed up for classes, Biology, Logic, Speech & Communications, and some other of which I cannot remember. And at this present time I had lost damn near all-track of whatever was true or wasn’t. I showed up for my first day of classes completely loaded. But that’s not what I wanna’ talk about. It was about two weeks into everything that my Biology teacher, this fine Arabic woman who I fantasized sexual relations with, taught our class on evolution and natural selection.-And In class that day- I had hardly paid attention. It wasn’t until later that day, after I’d left school, that it happened. My half-sister was coming in from out of town for dinner to visit both my sister and I. And the dinner was held at my sister, Kayla’s house. And my half-sister had brought her large, menacing boyfriend with her. And the boyfriend offered me a joint-to be smoked with him-, as this was our first time of meeting and he wanted to express to me a proper friendship-gesture. And so upon our having smoked, I immediately—[as has always been my own psyche’s affected status as result of the smoking of weed]–became borderline-psychotic. And I had not wanted to show thus seemingly utter impotence (ie. Virgin lungs), as Darrel (my half-sister’s boyfriend) appeared to me as a true pioneer of this blunt-rolling stuff, as are most of the Jackson-, Michigan-crowd.

So I’m tripping; and we’re standing together out in the snow, which makes thus all the more better and worse, depending on one’s own state of control over one’s own present environment. And I see Darrel’s foot moving up and down a little then. Why was it moving up and down in that way? I wondered. And then I had a glance down at my front-side-and noticed how my stature swayed, slightly, to-and-fro. Why was I doing this?! I wondered, was it just the weed? No, I thought; the way that I, myself, am presently moving my figure is only describable as a boxing motion (but then I looked back again at Darrel’s foot). It was no longer moving. Why? Because my own consciousness had taken over, further replacing all presence my own, and so then my body’s swaying had ceased to continue. And it was then that I knew. Both animal Self’s of Darrel and my own, had been conferring within their own neurochemical make up as to whether or not to kill each other’s other, which was I or Darrel; or maybe it was that I had wanted to run away so badly [swaying to turn] that Darrel saw this and was triggered to run after me for the kill [tapping foot to run]. Fight or flight, hunter-gatherer, I had heard these type-words before, all of the time in general conversation. And so I became a little happier then upon this realization, going inside with Darrel to get dinner, the munchies rapidly setting in upon me. And both my sisters were speaking together inside of the kitchen, dropping food on plates and laughing together at old story retelling. The women together laughing, the guys together ‘bonding;’ was not all of this phenomenological in nature? Although I did not yet know the word, it was. And at that point, I was so brilliantly overwhelmed; almost as if the levies had broken and an entire life’s experience before me had come rushing back now in a flood. I felt like Darwin himself, though I wasn’t. I had heard the theories but had yet to have discovered them all on my own. I looked to my half-sister who sat on the couch before me, went sprinting across the room and leapt onto her, “WE’RE ALL APES!” I shouted, staring directly into both her eyes. And she thought me absolutely mad. Everyone did; so much so that nobody in the room said anything for another couple of minutes. And maybe they all had thought I was a little crazy, and probably still do. I guess maybe that to have a bit of knowledge can make one crazy; because all knowledge is madness, really. It’s considered madness, as to not be unconscious to what our human bodies are doing, finds any thinker inside of a general minority. Darwin is true, and we-in academia- have long established that categorical truth classifies the common man as nothing more than that of a common, unconscious, normal, herd-animal. And so, since I’d rather avoid the introduction of anymore ‘what-ifs,’ I’ll simply say, this: knowledge is a game of all or nothing. Is thus apple, in-fact, sitting there on the reader’s desk still half-eaten? If it is then, we all might as well be following the leads of Adam & Eve. We might as well just simply take one, single bite before going running back to safety. But, I ask, what if all of the world’s madness is unformed and unarticulated knowledge, simply, in the science of all things?

Author: Kyle Scott


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