Despite the abundance of raisins and even edible dough in the position represented above from the peanut galleries, and recalling that exclusion itself is not the morally offensive thing (morality is) as so much bigotry probably should be excluded from the commentary on the comments, there is always a decision as to what feels toxic and what is nutritious, and bigotry (dripping down the nose at "those kind of people") is always shit and always unsuitable for digestion. There is as well some wiping to be done if only to remove an unsightly stain. No exclusive club is inclusive as members come and go, expelled on moral grounds – the outside and every thing around is what's excluded – a field or bank upon which to deposit vast sums of excrement.
The first bit of wiping I would do is "Western" off from "civilisation". In this day and age, even east is west, and concerning civilisation in general, and irregardless of topographic calenders, it may have been so from the beginning. The toxic shit is part of civilisation itself, and one would have to rub so intently and for so long, the entire bathtub would empty in the process with no babies forthcoming, being left standing only with a naked, cardboard toilet paper tube and not a fig leaf in site.
Which leads me to the second bit of off-tasting material stuck between my teeth. Belonging. There are many entendres of this word, but most point to the same plot of property. For them everything is a plot (especially cemeteries), not always because of any paranoia, but there is so much plotting one must do just to survive in the tub we call civilisation. Hell is the moment just prior to the collapse of life, the universe and everything, a moment extending into eternity. I would say we neither belong to the earth nor does it belong to us, except in the sense that ones hair is one's beloning and so are the fleas, in the same relationship as your head is to them. What is most often thought when "belong" comes to mind is possession and property, and must be held tight else confront a close shave. This calls for militancy and vigilance.
What is the ontological alternative? A natural articulation consisting of the space or pause between mutually associated absubjects. Metaphysically, there may be four or five basic elements, but objectively speaking, subjective spirits and other ideas may juxtapose anyway they want and for as long as they want without any necessary thought toward patriotism, and although not exclusive of materials, matter moves a bit more like a tortoise and is limited in the kinds of association it can form, like up and following a goose chasing the moon.
In lieu of imagination which has been cut off by education, sometimes linguistic thinking will paint a picture as a friendly mediation and not so much intended alienation. And who says critique has to conform to to the intention of the original performer? I should think that would be too strong an edict and a stickling for intellectual property. So on the topic of fig leaves, I am reminded of the philosopher of pragmatism, John Stuart Mill may have been his name.
I wouldn't think use value a good substitute for labour value. Any value divorced from interest or esteem pretty much still defines property and who is eligible, not to mention duty as material as well as moral imperative. Mill's philosophy (at least the more nutritious bits of it, if indeed it was his at all) makes no such suggestion. The pragmatic perspective has no necessary association with the moral in making excuses or other sorts of explanation. Hence, back to the fig leaf:
Why should that simple covering have any kinfolk by the name of Shame, when it may have crawled out of the same hole with the dog and boat and sea-loving mariners once thought restricted to the ground in the form of menstrual pad mimicked by the boys as it came in handy to both hide or exaggerate a natural peninsular appendage and its not-altogether under-controlled motivations? For jocks, the strap is said to keep the balls from bouncing on your leg. Is that of more or less import than preventing warm and sticky bloody ooze from running down it? I'm sure we're all familiar with that feeling. For the boys there may have been priorities like bringing down a hog without distraction! This may have occurred a score or two millennia before the species called Morality even considered it'd be nifty to evolve. Admittedly it's different than mere cover-up to exclude the cold, but we still call them clothes and why should one excuse have par excellent preeminence over all the others which may be here or there by them and those?
Before Nietzsche, Lamarck himself suggested something like from chaos as indeterminacy comes order and that stimulation causes and effectively responds as simultaneity: it's improper to say a thing but that they cause and effect each other. In all seriousness, it's all just a Pete and Repeat joke.
But I especially like the idea that strife is what is meddled with to produce a fleeting balance, but I wouldn't call it that – sounds too much like struggle. Who but a wobbly or a protestant would envision Eutopia as eternal, universal and foremost, voluntary toil? The preferential word for me is chaos, a life without triangles (not to mention squares) ever holding up a plank or unfolding one's bandanna for extracting some fig-leafs at the bank. It's the only resource we have for building beauty or nutritious art as landmarks or perturbations 'round which to commune or navigate.
How could no rule of law creating falling bodies underneath regimented pressure or not sleeping through a boring lecture be thought so gol durn awful bad? I think the law of balance only means we've all been had. Morality, economy and civil polity make a fulcrum that only balances flights of wingless corpses thinking high is mighty just above a living hell and unlike gravity everything that's needed down below (like health) trickles up, and lightening seems to thunder down but that's all just the illusion of the metaphor. The theory of games which establishes verticality for some, vertigo for others, is just a sort of misguided art criticism or literary interpretation coming from the location on a balance beam thinking it's where it's at while everyone in proud coherent fashion calls for more not less such harmony or re-arrangement. Balance by it's very nature can't be in an of itself, it's always just another eye of the beholder sort of thing.
It's all the same to criticize or desecrate a temple or the priests of church or state or the academy: police force only steps away from guarding stolen property (your life, it's just a living) when folks around begin to lose their faith and stop their giving – the ins and outs of heresy have always been the ends of lead or rubber bullets as a means when news or written histories, like ridicule are insufficient, especially when the upper space begins to be diminished (state and space are only words describing the conditions). Progress? Ha! We're all still living in the Spanish Inquisition.
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