23 Sep 2006

Finding the Found

found1 (found)
tr.v., found·ed, found·ing, founds.

  1. To establish or set up, especially with provision for continuing existence: The college was founded in 1872.

  2. To establish the foundation or basis of; base: found a theory on firm evidence.

[Middle English founden, from Old French fonder, from Latin fundāre, from fundus, bottom.]

SYNONYMS found, create, establish, institute, organize. These verbs mean to bring something into existence and set it in operation: founded a colony; created a trust fund; establishing a business; instituted an annual benefit concert; organizing a field trip.

found2 (found)
tr.v., found·ed, found·ing, founds.

  1. To melt (metal) and pour into a mold.

  2. To make (objects) by pouring molten material into a mold.

[Middle English founden, from Old French fondre, from Latin fundere.]

found3 (found)

Past tense and past participle of find.

~~ found at answers.com

Any word can be analyzed to the point that it is only recognizable as a sound that is made by one person that is then used by others as well, with each participant having their own perception of the meaning of that sound. The first definition at answers.com claims that found can be a verb, which occurs in the present tense but holds a purpose for the future. The second definition describes the act of taking a solid material, heating it to the point it becomes a liquid then manipulating it so that it becomes a formed object once it has cooled off. The final definition describes found as the act of searching... once it has already occured.

The Dude was a Foundling. One of the Found. Which didn't mean anything really, since being found entailed the irrelevance of Foundage. It was a strange paradox of logic, not unlike the twisty turns of a pretzel. You could follow the twisting lines and see how it had been made, but the point was to make it disappear, and enjoy the disappearing of it. Take the word found, for example. It can mean that something was desired and then acquired. But it can also mean the act of creating something that lasts. Which also happens to metal in a foundry. A common Foundling perspective viewed reality and the things within it as having the eternal and immediate oppurtunity for perfection. But having found also recognized, nay, acknowledged the perfection of inevitable imperfection. Foundage, in one respect, was the recognition that pain and suffering were intrinsic ingredients in life as we know it. The same was true for ecstacy, fear, love and ignorance. Not only everything known was found, but also the infinity of future finds... and the continual process of finding (and maintaining) the Found.

Founders were not card carrying members of anything in particular or publicly recognizable representatives of anything other than themselves. They had no buddy lists of fellow Foundlings, no email daisy chains or even any unified objectives beyond unfolding more Foundage. They had no secret or public symbols... or fucking flags to assimilate their unity into a single pattern of colors and shaped. They could, however, usually recognize another Foundling after extended conversations or through meaning filled shared experiences. Some lived quiet lives, sharing their Found with the natural world while deflecting and ignoring the intricacies of unfound. Also, many artists were particularly adept at projecting their Foundage publicly. These Foundlings tended to become cultural icons, aging into folk heroes that became myths as the generations after them experienced their arts. Beck, Dylan, Guthrie, Ghandi, Dass... conversely, others tended to blaze like the morning sun until their fire was extinguished unnaturally... prematurely. Lincoln, Cobain, King Jr., Marley, Guevara, Hendrix, Lennon... Jesus, it is too tragic, too sad (for the Found) to name more.

The Dude had been, is, and tried to always be... well, Found.

eso es

Beautiful Babylon Babies Unite !!!


Love Trumps hate.

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Poetic HyperLinks Defeating the Impossibilities of Peace

Also sprach Zarathustra to the brothasistahs lost out in the woods…
singing the blues while sexual pistols whip Jesus’ son.
Who’s influence weens us?
Me and my friends gratefully raged against the machine for three days
in the shadow of the valley of the dead
so big brother and company held us down while the wind cried
nothing to be gained here (except copied rights),
Then a questing tribe of beastly boys found a digable plant
where a buffalo soldier picked up a Gideon’s bible from the Godfather
And somewhere over the rainbow dancing fools send clowns and purple rain
into imagine nations where everything is now sacred
or bad brains or busted rhymes or widespread panic
and everyone can read the hieroglyphics on the wall
and we are all refugees of courtney’s love attaining nirvana….
we are everywhere and we cannot be beaten
it’s all over now baby blue, all we need is Love
Legalize It