/ Myth /
Marshall McLuhan said that some ads tried to trigger the public to buy a product but other ads were designed to tell those who already owned the product that they were right, wise to have bought it. “Gee! Now you own a Cadillac! Now all those people who used to sneer at you are green with envy.”
It occurs to me, age seventy-four, coming up on seventy-five: myths have, have always had, that same dual function. We tell stories about God so we can believe that we live in a created universe, with a maker, an owner: an owner with legitimacy, to whom we owe unquestioning loyalty, subservience, and gratitude: (such beliefs benefit the kleptocracy):
We tell stories about something we believe to convince ourselves, generally in the face of all evidence, that we were right:
N-s are stupid, lazy, no good
We were right!
to enslave them.
Justifying the Kleptocracy (Palming Civilization as a Benefit, Worth All the Crimes)
Myth weaving becomes a problem when the dreamers know that they’re wrong, that they’re the Christ killers, not the Christians, that the Christians are the Christ killers, that they’re knowingly deceiving themselves, their children, posterity … Then the myths are lies whispered in shadows, anything standing in the light, never better than the available light, that’s the only light we can get, won’t have a chance. Galileo alone stood in the available light, the cardinals, the professors, the guildsmen (the sailors who used Galileo’s charts!), ganged together for the myth, against the best interpretation of the evidence, preventing the evidence from being seen, let alone interpreted.
I invite my neighbors to know me, I post my long-unpublished stories, nearly all myths trying to let in more light: I tell other stories, I document what I can; and my neighbors whisper, in shadows. They arrest me, but don’t admit it. They censor what I publish despite it not having gotten published the usual ways; but the schools teach that we don’t censor! So people think wikileaks … Snowden are new! unprecedented.
No robust fact was admitted to or by the court silencing me.
To meet women I go to dances where we dance under murals of tanks, explosions, rockets’ red glare. Note. The suffocating kleptocrats tell themselves that they’re the heroes, the brave ones, God’s on their side. If you judge by bombs dropped, I guess he may be after all.
Yahoo becomes more objectionable by the hour, you ask for a report, you get an ad, you want to browse headlines, some other ad jiggles in the way. So I open Wikipedia more often, it’s now a kind of a webpage, a kind of a home page, one not quite so compromised, so parochial (but don’t ever think that it’s not compromised, parochial: it’s purely a plagiarism of where my internet of 1970 was headed, had it been supported, not interfered with). Anyway the encyclopedia, well done, just decades behind what I offered, reported on an 1870 election of a Sanscrit professorship. Check it out. That’s what goes on at supposedly good universities! They’ll get things wrong before they get anything right.
The other night at the dance the music provider sang a song I’m Retired. One verse goes “I put my kids through college …” (Immediately you know it’s lower class: only people with no college “put their kids through college.”) The narrative wonders, “if they’ve got so much knowledge …” There! See? A wholly unexamined assumption relating college to knowledge, divorcing the educated from the hapless, helpless. Clearly the educated lead the way in helplessness, haplessness.
Education is not the filling of a pail,
but the lighting of a fire.
This is gonna be good, but first, as usual, I got something, post it, then revise, mature it. The old oak may die before it’s ever perfect. Come back, I’ll illustrate in some breadth and depth.
Rockets’ Red Glare
2013 08 12 Last night I’m at the dance, gotta have access to females no matter what crimes I have to join. A couple of hours into it the band starts into the Legion’s patriotic ritual, we hold hands in an oval, being “glad to be an American, where at least I know I’m free.” We raise our held hands at “God bless the USA.” Imagine the resurrected Jesus, in order to go to the wedding, get a glass of wine amid companions, having to salute Caesar, or at least not speak out loud against him.
For years now I join the oval, feeling ridiculous, raise my hands, smile like an idiot: or I wouldn’t have any woman to dance with. All the dances have pledges and salutes, rituals in the religion of America. But last night, for only the second time, I chose that moment to head for the men’s room. When I come out a woman I don’t know by name, never never danced with, have never spoken to except to tell her that she resembles my girlfriend’s daughter, Lisa, is standing in the doorway. I’m forced to kind of squeeze past her, but she intercepts, presses right up against me: “Do you have issues with the United States?”
Trapped! I’d love to answer that question, but not to a brown shirt. This “Lisa”‘s lip is trembling. “I do,” she says, “but still, I’m an American.”
But I’d already decided to answer. “I do. Certainly. But still I’m one of US.” (There’s more to that story but not relevant to this context.)
2013 08 12 Another update. I’m trying valiantly to watch Spielberg’s Lincoln as a DVD. This after months’ immersion in a dozen books on the subject, Thomas DiLorenzo’s The Real Lincoln. I’m braced for lies, for egregious revisionism. I wasn’t braced for finding the film too murky to watch. But I’ll try again, this is a rare opportunity to witness group fiction in the writing, no one permitted to not participate.
Once upon a time I put some scribble on myth under Scholarship, when I’d put God, religion, etc. under Social Epistemology / Cosmology / god, religion, etc. / Well, of course they tie.
Rockets’ Red Glare
2013 08 18 Funny, this is a recent post, but already by the time I wrote this the flaming tank in the mural at the American Legion had been painted over: the smoke and flames have been covered by the American Legion Seal.
|Scholarship||Sentience & Semiotics|