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  • Sartre, the Gaze, and the Impossible Escape

    You cannot escape — not if you approach the problem as a simple matter of technique or strategy. The Self is always caught within the gaze of Others. It is mediated, distorted, pinned down. In this world we appear as objects, frozen in judgment, stripped of the freedom we imagine we possess.

    Yet in a Sartrean sense, “escape” takes on a different meaning.

    1. Re‑owning the Self

    Instead of fleeing the gaze, we confront it. We accept that others will objectify us, but we refuse to let that objectification define us. We reclaim our subjectivity through action, choice, and transcendence.

    Hell, in Sartre’s formulation, is not an active torture — it is a passive one. A shy hell. A quiet suffocation.

    This is why Sartre warns against la mauvaise foi (bad faith). Every day we lie to ourselves to avoid responsibility: pretending others don’t matter, pretending we are fixed, pretending we have no choice. But that, too, is a trap.

    The real escape is to act as if we are free, even when others try to pin us down.

    (Key & Peele captured this dynamic brilliantly in a sketch that dramatizes the absurdity of the gaze: https://youtu.be/9-GRzu6zbS0?si=-oGvs60_Tf8VLYxY)

    2. Art as a Counter‑Gaze

    People often dismiss contemporary or modern art as nonsense. But art, writing, performance — these are ways of bending the gaze, distorting it, reflecting it back. They are acts of resistance. They destabilize the objectifying look and reassert the creator’s freedom.

    3. Toward a Collective Ethics

    In his later years, Sartre shifts from individual existentialism to a more collective ethics. We do not escape hell by fleeing others, but by transforming the social conditions that make objectification inevitable.

    There is a line of his that has shaped my own path:

    “I cannot take my freedom as a goal unless I also take the freedom of others as a goal.”
    (Je ne puis prendre ma liberté pour but, que si je prends également celle des autres pour but.)

    Freedom is never solitary. It is relational, interdependent, and always under construction.

  • Under Cover

    • Numbered Discourses 3.131
    • 13. Kusinārā
    Source: Sutta Central

    “Mendicants, three things are conveyed under cover, not in the open. What three? Females are married with a veil, not unveiled. Brahmin hymns are conveyed under cover, not openly. Wrong view is conveyed under cover, not in the open. These three things are conveyed under cover, not in the open.

    Three things shine in the open, not under cover. What three? The moon shines in the open, not under cover. The sun shines in the open, not under cover. The teaching and training proclaimed by a Realized One shine in the open, not under cover. These three things shine in the open, not under cover.”

    Numbered Discourses

    A sensible translation of the Aṅguttara Nikāya

    translation by Bhikkhu Sujato

  • Self Destruction

    If I could condense all the mornings that I’ve lived until now into a list…

    It is one of those interesting thoughts that you get while you are on the ceramic throne.

    So, picture this guy with his hairs looking like a thick fern bush,

    Sloppy eyelids with slimy green jellified lacrimal tears,

    Traces of heavy night drooling.

    His ten years old t-shirt that’s so comfortable for sleeping looks like a loose fish net.

    He is here making disgusting noises with his anus while yawning even more disgustingly.

    His face is making horrible grimaces due to his excess love of spicy and fatty food.

    Picture him well, make a mental note of each of his features.

    His swollen feet that look like a dead fish in these tiny ridiculous thongs.

    He look like an anachronism.

    There is something stupidly primitive in his [stature],

    And on the same line the level of sophistication in his body language contrast heavily with the latter,

    The bottom lip falling and failing down like a small sausage,

    Eyes dead with no sign of intracranial activity …

    His smart phone in his left hand is vibrating intermittently from the accumulated notifications that he’s missed during the brief moment before dawn when he switched it off.

    After the last bit of defecation reached the water underneath his sweaty anus he starts to feel the usual burning.

    He will sit there playing with his anus,

    Contracting the ring and relaxing until the pain and burning stopped.

    It’s been a ritual these last ten years.

    Excesses transformed his body into an old mechanic that needed warm-up

    And [idling] before the engine start to [roar] smoothly.

    It’s not that old to the point of [bedridden] but like a good wine (decant) you have to let it breath a bit so that the chemistry may start.

    He’d then wipe his bottom,

    Light up another cigarette,

    A bad habit that his body is urging him to lose,

    He may wash his hands or forget,

    And to complete the ceramic throne ritual he will sit himself in his favorite leatherette arm chair,

    Yeah, he’s old enough to have a favorite arm chair.

    Eyes closed he’ll led his mind into the morning maze of a new day.

    Must not forget to buy the little one’s inhaler

    Phone office for that report on last week query from the technical department

    What’s the state of my week budget…

    Budget! What budget? You’re already in the red.

    What if the universe was one small joke, a mind game of some silly dumb super being?

    Does it make the universe less? I mean whatever it maybe, it is…hum

    Do we really have time for this?

    The phone will start ringing,

    Hello it’s Jane Doe from technical. [body bag corpses walking and talking]

    I’m sorry to fall on you for this so early in the morning (meaning it’s nine thirty you lazy old ass) but you know we have a deadline on this…

    Yeah, Yeah, I’m working on it.

    He sighs heavily while raising his fat buttock from his favorite leatherette arm chair.

    That leatherette arm chair that knows his bottom so intimately that it has a print of it.

    [Who spoke about memory foam? Wasn’t invented yet when he bought this]

    Now get up, get down.

    Exercise life.

    How useless.

    What a lack of perspective, meaning or whatever.

    There’s no meaning to this.

  • The sublime and the bold

    Rise

    Here in the rise
    We shade from the sun
    Evade some light entity that will eat our soul

    Fall

    Here in the fall
    We feel the cold
    we are weary and old

    the street lamp poets
    howling like their pets
    The despair quartets

    Descent

    Here in the shadow
    In the corner of the door
    I watch unwatched

    Here in the shadow
    I stand awaiting
    The end
    Weeping on
    Stupid things

    The sublime and the bold

    All around a drop of ink

    Little ants gather to eat the gum

    I find my way among them

    I find my way between the sublime and the bold

    Perilous travel among them

    In the world

    The days are longer at the end

    The nights are colder

    I remember the shimmering

    The beauty and the colors

    I also remember the first shadows

    The pain and the desire

    When we first saw light

    We first learn fright

    When they see light

    They are blithe

  • Rise

    Here in the rise

    We shade from the sun

    Evade some light entity that will eat our soul

  • Shimmering lights

    Joy is a limited byproduct of consumerism

    Here in the ante room of infinity

    Here we await whatever fate is behind the great curtain

  • Hello world!

    I’m back. The last time I was here my father was still alive, Covid-19 was latest trend, I saw life differently…