§5.

Let us for a moment leave the Problem of the Bubble in order to concentrate on an answer to the question posed above, an answer I have promised to give ( or at least discuss ).
There are in at least one essential respect only TWO kind of discourses. These, in turn, can be labeled Monologues. A discourse is a monologue. Monologue type One (1.) is a monologue held in figuratively “walking towards a ( distant) point”. Monologue Two ( 2.) – which often comes later in life ( if at all …) – is a kind when the discourse is heading on “from a ( certain ) point”. Every monologue, every discourse is either of type 1. or of type 2.. One might, to simplify, say, that a searching type of monologue has an open, skeptical character, while a Mon. type 2. has a character marked by authority, of settled values, of arguing from a very determined position. Often one can see, that a person changes after a critical experience ( sometimes a catastrophy ) and changes from a monologue/discourse type 1. to one of a type 2.. Thus it can be said of the Man who Sneezed ( see §4 ), that he has the ability to change his inner monologue ( reflection ) frpm a type 1. to a type 2.. This man might think that all bubbles are relative, and come to some conclusion, according to which he will reason differently from before from now and onwards.
The Sneezer might reason, now determined and enlightened, in this way:” Now I know what it is like to be outside. And I have choice. I can sneeze, if I like, and then the bubble will burst (/ in the world of the sneezer, that is!!/) and then I might be outside, if I choose to sneeze. But I also can remain in my bubble and make it very comfortable here, indulging in various discussing, or painting landscapes. Or butterflies.”
It is important – but of course annoying to some - to – waywardingly - stress, that Virginia Woolf, who herself might have been an … Asperger person (AS) – like Flaubert - if diagnosed today, really did not write A Room of One´s Own from her own personal perspective. She was born with a big room, almost saloon, of her own, and wrote her book in posing herself in poor people´s ( womens ) position. She pretended, and when it came to big business, she just really loved to walk in the fields and exclusively to write books about her father, and that was it. The book of a room of one´s own was just a showcase. Her monologue was a typ 1., in which she put a Mon.2, to amuse herself, and to “do good”. It is a beautiful book on women, life and education, but it had in fact nothing to do with her life. It was a decent work. Very decent. It is a joyeous book, but Virginia Woolf was not at all joyeous in that way. She really enjoyed other monologues much better. ( Cf. The waves. )
A more severe monologue is the one that we can expect from the Man who sneezed. For him everything (!) is at stake, and the discourses we are discussing here are solely of the nature, where everything in a most genuine way is at stake in a high risk manner. We are discussing monologues as they appear, when they appear from the depths of our souls.
Thus the monologue from the Man who sneezed is a monologue from the heart, from the soul, and a monologue that is of great importance to his future life. ( Woolf´s book was not. And we are not at all discussing literary style here, other than in a very very deep meaning, in an existential ( to use a very compromised word ) meaning.)
We must note, - and this is important - that The Man who sneezed ( in §4.) is “just” a tale, a saga, and that this bubble burst does not occur in ordinary life ( as you have understood, but I will be clear on this point ). However, it is some kind of limping allegory. Limping allegories seem to elucidate, but they do not. In fact they are, in themselves, pure parallel universes. ( That is e.g. why I cannot meaningfully assert that Virginia Woolf, in writing A Room of One´s own, was “kind of sneezing”, thus referring to The sneezer. It would be ex...

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§4.


“A bubble of one´s own.”
Before I am dealing with what kind of discourse THIS is, I will tell a story, called “A bubble of one´s own.” --- I am clearly alluding to the famous essay by Virginia Woolf, with the title “ A Room of One´s Own.”(1929). And this is not without thinking of Virginia Woolf as a typical bubble-person. Here is the story ( which is included in this discourse ) :
“ I am living in a bubble. Nothing is more simple as that. It is simple, because the bubble IS. And I AM. My home is the bubble. And there is no way out. Outside the bubble people are walking by, on their way to the beach, wearing parasols and red trunks and hats, gesturing and talking in a happy manner, as they sometimes do. I am staring at them. They don´t seem to notice me today. But I have a very sharpened sense today. And I am wondering: Are they happier than me? I am really scrutinizing, and behind the smiles I cannot spot real happiness. I am thinking: “Suppose they are very unhappy, these men and woman in swimsuits and with parasols and funny hats? What if their life is much much worse than mine? What if the world has put a much greater pressure on them, than on me?” Then, without noticing it, I am suddenly having a sneeze, violently, and “Alas!”, the bubble broke asunder!! My God, I am free! I am out there! I am on the beach with THEM! Holy Moses! What shall I do?
I am grabbing a newspaper from a table nearby and strolling with the others down towards the sea, that actually glitters in bright sunshine. A gorgeous woman in her twenties is walking beside me, and she says, as if nothing was wrong at all:” Oh, how nice to have a bath, finally! It is so hot….”. I try to respond, but my throat is stuck, somehow. I am only bleating. ” Pardon?” she says. “Oh, you see. I have just been through a very remarkable transmogrification.” , I say, pronouncing the words as if they were the first words I ever had uttered, which it in some odd way actually was. The girl looks sternly at me, with a deep frown on her forehead:” You know.” she says,” I think we should have a talk, you and me. You seem such a remarkably marvelous fellow!”.
And then it happened again. The bubble came around me, swallows me up like a giant fish takes a small fry. The girl vanishes behind a parasol. And it is all over. I am alone again. The sky is overcast. Soon the rain will come.”

Now, this was a remarkable story. I more than one way. Why. Well because it compares bubbles, and equals bubbles. The fact is,, that the man in the story seems to get out of a bubble, and then experiences reality, and then something very ORDINARY happens, which in turn makes him getting caught in a bubble similar to that which he left by sneezing. It is not the same bubble as before, but it is of about the same sort and size. The sole difference is in fact, that he has experienced something outside a bubble. There is, thus, a before the breaking of bubble No.1 and a after bubble No.2., and an in between.
On his way home from the beach ( in his bubble ) the man thinks of what happened. “What was that?”, and he thinks:” Suppose that might happen again?”, and nonsense like that.
The important thing is how the experience is felt for the man. Was it scarry to be outside? Is it scarry to be back in the bubble? And the man perhaps laughs, thinking:” Well, now I know. I just choose to sneeze, and I will be out again, talking to people, but I have really learnt something,- since I am not an idiot, you know, namely this: Never impress on a girl! Nononoooo! Just be plain dull!Rememeber! Or else she will send you right back to the bubble! ( Where you belong.)
It is illustrious, this story.
Now I will return to my subject: What kind of discourse is THIS?
See ya!
Yours truly “panicroom”.

§3.

Now let u stake a look at this. Let us see what we have here!
We have somebody (me), a somebody who seems to have a solution but does not have a distinct problem. Because it seems as if the person at stake does not quite KNOW if he or she is living in a bubble or not. He ( it is me, I am a male ) does not know if it really is a bubble.
It is as if I am making a conjecturer: What IF I were to live in a bubble, qualitatively severed from the rest of humanity ( even if there WERE people LIKE ME in other bubbles , - like in leibnizian monads …), what would that mean, what would the consequences be? ( Provided that this is written earnestly, and straightforward. Everybody knows the proverb: Reason can have many disguises, but stupidity bears no mask! ….). Thus, it is as if I am putting forth, for the sake of argument ( which is my life ) an assumption: suppose there are two kinds of human beings: 1.) those living in a bubble, and 2.) those living in the world, communicating happily with no walls of any kind between them?
Now, to avoid misinterpretations and false assumptions I can immediately tell you, that all of this is an exaggeration, and that I am not exclusively unhappy; no, not at all, I am only investigating a conjecture: what if there were two kinds of people. It is quite like I were to investigate the difference between Neanderthal people and Modern Man. What would be the difference, and were the difference be such as being understood as a difference in value, happiness and such …? Through the history of mankind there has been a lot of discussion about different kinds of people, and know I am extending the range. What is the difference between bubble-people and ordinary Man? If there is one? If bubble-people exist. What would be the difference? Now, we might put forth a question:
Suppose there were such people as bubble-people, and suppose the main difference between bubble-people and other people were, that bubble-people could not communicate properly, could not care, and could not keep a marriage or even a relationship alive for longer than three weeks ….?
Suppose that such people were alive, what would be the nicest thing one could say about them? The answer is of course: that they are bubble-people!
Let us now say, for the sake of argument, that I am a bubble-person, and that I seem to have a solution to this extreme situation: ART! Let us look at this equation. Closely.
I have to admit that I am a bit envious at my dear friend Truman, who in the movie had ONE person who cared for him. Namely: the creator of the show ( I have completely forgotten his name.). As things are in my own life, I am an agnostic, and as far as I know, I am not at all sure that anybody cares about me. And ( to tell the truth ) I am not sure that I care about anybody either….. Thus I can´t say I am in the situation described by Bob Dylan in the small strophe:” You´ve got to serve somebody.”. I do not serve anybody. I am – to lend a few words from Sancho Pansa:” my own master and a slave of my own”. But I can say, and this is very very true, that I am deeply troubled by the fact that I am not sure that I even care about other bubble-people, not even in theory, and all the less in reality. Because I think (!) I can spot them, here and there, but I do not pity them, - my heart does not ache, and I do not know what to say to the! Should I say: go paint a nice landscape painting or make a poem! Or should I say: just go fishing! --- It is a problem indeed, - but it is indeed a trait belonging to my personality, which is a personality of a bubble-person.
Of course this seems a rather difficult situation. One could even say: Boy, you´ve got problems. “ Of course I have!” is my answer,” that is why I am taking your time.”. So now we will see if we can manage to find out if I have identified a problem or not. ---- Meanwhile we might think of what it would mean to us, if we could not make the problem appear any clearer than it already have emerged he...

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In fact, I am not positively (!) sure that I am living in a bubble. Not at all. It is also a very substantial and serious thing to claim, since it sort of asserts that I, in my situation ( or of all those in my situation ), can claim special attention from my surrounding folks, on the outside of it.
I very strongly suspect, that I am living in a bubble.
Suspicion is often born very slowly. And the life of suspicions - certainly this can be said of strong ones, but that is "begging the question" - is in many cases very, very long. At least the lives of those suspicions, that we know of. Often suspicions live for centuries in our collective consciousness(es). But my suspicion is about some years old or so. But - as I see things today - it may, in my case, last for ever.
What else can be said about suspicions? That they make you happy? Nooo. That they are blue? No. That they are necessary? Yes. That they are true? ( Of course not.). Do they make you rich? Well, sometimes, maybe ..... but normally not.
One might say that suspicions are some kind of active doubt. I doubt that I am like folks normally are. I suspect - one the other hand - that I belong to a minority. And the case of belonging to this minority is extremely hard to prove. It is almost in vain one might arrive to any conslusion by pure introspection. But how can I get rid of my extended suspicion and thus be pretty (!) sure of, that I am living in a bubble?
I have to search for empirical evedence! I can not deduce it, - I will have to find another way. Which?
Can I for example ask a person, who, according to my firm belief, belongs to the majority, if he or she thinks that I - the person Me - am living in a bubble? Yes, I might do that, but I will be suspicious at the answer, be it a positive or a negative one.
Can I make an asperger test on internet? Yes. But I will not be sure that it shows that I am distinctly cut off from the living world in the way I feel. And so on.
And for that matter: what ( on earth ) do I mean by "living in a bubble"? Do I have to descibe that more accurate? Probably: yes. But HOW accurate? Would it be better if I was describing my whole life here? Cf. above: "It is almost in vain one might arrive to any conslusion by introspection." --- Well it seems to me that I will never come to be certain of whether I live in a "buuble" or not. I might sense that I have a genuine kinship to the hero, Truman, in "The truman show", but I can not prove anything at all. In fact : Truman was lucky; persistent as he was, and clever, he at last broke out. But I, myself, have very little hope of breaking out of my bubble.
Of course I can take it philosophically and try to be contented with an eternal description of my feelings and the troubles I have. I might live and die in my suspicion. Really: I don´t know what to do. Or do I ?
It seems, that I must remind myself, that I believe, that me accupying myself whith art ( painting,music and authorship) will eventually, miracously, make me free and will make the bubble burst! But is this more than a faint hope? Is this more than a dubious strategy? Self betrayal ....----- Is it of any positive use at all?
Wouldn´t I be much happier if I simply let go of the thought of "living in a bubble" and instead bought myself fishing gear, a rod and things, and went fishing?
But I cannot see, and I have never been able to see, that going fishing would make any difference to my bubble. ( People have, you see, all my life giving me the advise to "go fishing"....). I am still here, living in it. So I will have to elaborate on my "art-strategy". And I will return with that elaboration, where I will alos compare my thoughts to Flaubert and to other famous people, people I am almost sure were citizens of the Great Nation of The Bubble.
I will end t...

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I am living in a bubble. How so I know? It seems to me - answering this question - as if my experiences of life are different from many others, but not all, in that it sometimes fells like I am not part of the whole thing, as if I was living on a stage, or that the world was staged just for me ( The Truman show way ). I am experiencing this daily and rather painfully. And oftly with anguish. I am sometimes sorry for this, but on the other hand I do not at all know what "the others" , as I often call the Majority, are dealing with. And it might in fact be a much rougher life than mine. I sometimes think that it is.
I will - in this blog - deal with my situation - let me call it, for the sake of simplicity - the situation of an asperger ( although I have no diagnose at all, set by any professional -, and deal with it in a philosophical way ( kind of ), because my reasoning either is extremely philosophical or very much a discourse of ironic or nonsensical defense.
I will thus deal with problems like these: hoe to justify a life dependant on financial support of others. How to deal with the problem of not feeling especially allied to or solidaristic in connection with other "People of the Bubble". Can I my a happy person dealing with music and writing, although I am all the time living in a bubble? Is it maybe possible to get out of the bubble through art ? Can I write myself out of the bubble and enter some other dimension, where I might meet another person in bliss and joy. Because I have an inner urge towards happiness. An dit seems to me that happiness is a much greater thing when shared.
Might it in fact be some kind of solution to my lone life in a bubble to write a poem?
How and why?
And I don´t want to fool myself.
I am aware of that I am dealing with a lot of subjectivity here. The subjectivity of a loner.
brb, as they say.
Thus hope to return with some §2 soon.
I wish everybody allthe best!