The Last Laugh (Part 1)
My paucity of recent posting testifies to the slow brewing of ideas. It was Dave Howey's fault; he started it off. He did it without realising, and won't know until he reads this! Anyway, the scale of the process has become great and as such, like Dickens I intend to post in installments - I think 4 should do it...

Dave confustigated my thinking as he commented on nothing less than this very Blog here. He sayed:
"But Joe, your Blog is so serious, and you're never normally serious"
...and thus started the process at hand, (This pre-dated the Fish and Blind People posts, which were experimental - intended to not be serious; writing for an audience) in order to investigate what is ME, what is NOT and what is IMPORTANT.
The inconsistency can be described thus - I appear to not be generally serious when with other people, in fact the opposite, but when on my own I appear to be very serious, and not very funny at all. My thinking initiated thus - I rarely spend much time with any one person; either at work or at home or in London, or somewhere else... none of which involve the same people - a patchwork of loosely joined mutually exclusive events. This is what makes up my coat, my outer layer - Joseph's coat; which is aptly both amazing and technicoloured in nature.
Having a technicolour coat for an identity is quite easy, as it is self-sustaining, and formed as it is from a multifaceted illusion with respect to any individual, it is self-conceptual. Survival is simple within a cocoon. Who was Joseph with his coat? His father's favourite son. And without it? he was a slave - a man not known, at least for a few years. This dispossession deprives Joseph of his inherited identity - his bloodstained coat represents his death to his father, and his lack of coat makes him unremarkable.
Now, Mark Twain once said (before being plagiarised by Freud) that inside each man there are really 3 men; - the man he thinks he is
- the man other people think he is and
- the man who he really is
And I would redefine the third as the man who God has made me to be, which makes sense. The first two of these can overlap to varying degrees with the third and also with each other.
Identity has become an bit of a buzzword - I think people talk about much about "my identity" without understanding what they mean by that: it encompasses not only the 3 ideas listed above, but also the relationships between these. Small wonder people use it so liberally indeed. I prefer to think in terms of the individual ideas, y'know... for clarity. This is what I shall do.
If I start to dissimulate the ideas of who I appear to be along these lines, then what happens and what am I left with? At least partial answers and much more in the next episode... to be continued.


8 Comments:
hello joe! I don't think I was that categorical (you're never normally serious! *guffaw*). I think I'm just jealous your wicked wit basically, sadly I manage to be both serious inside and out most of the time.
...well Dave, of course i took the liberty of interpreting what you said to a slight extreme, the difference may be an exaggerated one - but the fact is that to a greater degree you're right, and there is a difference. It is not the size of the difference which is important here, but its nature i.e. the fact that it exists at all, which is primary.
I find generalisations are often necessary to be able to process ideas, which can then be modelled and rebuilt without such generalisations - yes!
You done good, and seeded some very important and revealing thinking (for me at least): and I am indebted to you for that... top notch, old boy! Anyway there is nothing of wicked wit to be jealous of, i think. But that's in the next installment!
So which of your posts so far represents the REAL you dear Joe? Surely you are the sum of your parts- both insightful (Jenga), eitty (housemates) and downright off-the-wall weird (everything- particularly your 'stalk my friends' section).
I do hope that you have not subconciously brought to light your extreme self loathing in one of your paragraphs where the words written in capitals scream out "ME NOT IMPORTANT". Its maybe nothing, your next paragraph has in bold "thus thus". I don't know what that means.
I'm sure this is nothing to do with what you plan to say in your next post but I was thinking about wit the other day and it seems that the classic British wit (for example, Oscar Wilde or, in these days, perhaps Morrissey - Stephen not Neil) seem to be fairly miserable. I wonder if there is something about a mind so adept at irony and the application of wit that they refuse to embrace happiness...
Nice lipstick Dave.
Well, i suppose Tim the closest guess would be the one after this one, but, i think the REAL lies somewhere in the scrapings of them all, but not distinct or in a single style/post. It varies with how i feel, both inside and outside of myself - and as such, like when i play music, things often change quickly, which some people term eclectic, others call it schizo! Similarly the style of posts can change dramatically with mood. Alles klar?
Question is though, if it were the REAL me would things change in the way they do? Good question.
Dan, it IS something to do with the next or subsequent posts, first rate effort! i'm still processing those things...
Dave and Jo, in my state of relaxed irishness i would appreciate a written collaboration between you two to entertain me. There are of course considerations: dave does suffer on his own admission from insideoutside seriousness and Jojo is at present focussing all his powers on writing his mind--- yet i feel 'The E-Op Encounter with the Outraged Blind Woman on the District Line' would bring much gladness and perhaps relief from the Laycock Grail quest materialisng on this blog. Like a shower of rain on a hot summer day. Dave can you remember the encounter?
ah yes! this was a few weeks ago. I met my sister at Heathrow (aah, what I nice brother) and we both trekked back across london via Piccadilly and then District line. Somehow we managed to drag her super-heavy bag around. All of this was during rush-hour too. Anyway, from Baron's Court inwards the district line got increasingly packed and at one point there arrived a blind woman and her guide dog. She was standing up and we were next to her. The train was totally rammed by now. After a few moments a kindly looking man (sitting) said to les blind woman "would you like this chair?" which we all thought was a nice offer. But, surprisingly to us gentile-rush hour commuters she loudly exclaimed "WHY ARE YOU PICKING ON ME?" then waved at my poor knackered sister and said - "pick on her instead!!". The geezer looked a bit sheepish, offered the seat to my sister (who declined gracefully) and sat back down. Put in his place by scary blind woman. Very, very funny. I'm sure I saw a red glow in her eyes....
ah yes, the wonderful grittiness of inner city London life...... a good story Dave. 7/10
Reminds me of the time me and Hayley got caught in 'Winterfield Checkout Racism: A queue turns ugly.' (winterfield is a pseudonym to protect the identity of one of britain's least popular supermarkets) I have to come to expect madness to bubble up whenever I am in public and this was a prime example. Winterfield, if anyone has noticed is a mad mad store, i have often noticed fresh blood on the floor and street weapons discarded in the pain au chocolate baskets. This fine friday night was typical; all shoppers were moronically joining the end of the one queue which was already snaking past the 'ten donuts for 7p' sign and heading into the frozen toilet duck isle. We of course joined in at the end like nice shoppers, when, a young girl nervously asks the inactive checkout assistants (all 4 of them) if a new queue could be started. (perhaps this was a result of a vision, of a dream, a dream of a new way of shopping, i couldn't be sure though, I was busy stocking up on 7p donuts) This young girl had in no way considered the ramifications of her heretical questionings, like Galileo she faced an inquest of epic proportions from the protectors of Queue Status Quo. the queue erupted as said girl took the liberty of starting a new line. Grunts and basket banging could be heard all around us as the ring leader- a fearsome Greenwich warrioress of circa fifty years- took the young girl and all her new ideas to the cleaners in a barrage of abuse and obscenity-- most of which made little sense. The new ideology of efficiency and common sense had obviously touched a raw nerve within that great battling Greenwich warship, a stalwart of Winterfield's 1930's shopping theories.
Within the madness a cry arose, as checkout assistants now roused from their stupor tried inanely to calm the crowd, 'You're a racist!!'. Silence momentarily fell on the store, more out of bewildrement than fear. From what diaphram had this cry arisen? It was unclear but chances are it was aimed at a checkout assistant trying to bring order to a small fracas. I may be new to the mulitcultural milieu of London but i'm pretty sure everyone involved in the queue jumping scandal was black. that was when we (the sole whites) decided to make a hasty retreat incase we were implicated in some further Winterfield Racism. a night to remember
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