Rain All Around

Recreating (and advancing) pk’s censored domains: Macroinformation.org & Knatz.com / Teaching / Society / NoHier / Kleptocracy /
@K. 2008 05 19

The rain is raining all around
It rains on you and me.
It falls on the umbrellas here
And on the ships at sea.

Robert Louis Stevenson

The rain rains where it rains. Santa Claus reserves his presents for good little boys and girls.
The rain, the best I can tell, doesn’t check to see which flower has behaved itself as a flower should before wetting that flower: it just falls, and hits the flower, or doesn’t.
In the Santa Claus story, Santa works at the North Pole, making presents and storing them up for Christmas Eve. He is assisted in making the presents by elves. The enterprise is thought to be benignly swept up after by Mrs. Claus.
God tells the good little boys and girls from the bad from Heaven, where he is assisted by angels, and by Jesus, and according to some large sects, by the Virgin Mary. But let’s not worry about how God does things, telling good little men and women from bad little men and women so he can judge who gets to live with him in his many mansions; it’s hard enough to figure out how Santa Claus does his judging. Do the elves and Mrs. Claus assist Santa in learning who’s bad and good? Wouldn’t Santa need a bureaucracy that would obliterate the North Pole and cast a shadow over the South Pole?
What sorts of devices does Santa carry in his sleigh so he’ll know which rooftops to stop at and which to pass by?
I don’t know, but I do know one thing: it would be cheaper just to dump the presents from the sky, the way the rain precipitates from clouds, and let the presents fall where they may. Never mind who’s bad or good, just dump the presents.
Now, more than one reasonable man has doubted the existence of Santa Claus. More than one funny article has tried to figure out what delivery system can possibly deliver presents down chimneys to billions of homes, all in the few hours of sleep and darkness, especially when there are night clubs that don’t even close till 4 AM, and WalMart has shifts where some people are just coming into work when others are just putting out milk and cookies for Santa. That’s true: just as more than one reasonable woman has doubted not only God’s Justice in Heaven but even whether or not he is attended by both Jesus and the Virgin: and I know that there are those, including me on occasion, who have wished that God would just put everybody in Heaven and forget about who’s been bad or good (though recently I’ve been more on the side of God putting everybody in Hell, and the Hell with it). But there’s one thing I do know, never mind about God or Santa: there are governments that think that they can tell good little boys and girls from bad, and good little men and women from bad, and that they can decide, justly, who gets rained on, and who should be dirty and parched, and who gets presents … and who gets the shaft, and who gets arrested, who gets five hundred billing lawyers and who gets the Public Pretender … and whose bureaucracy hasn’t quite yet obliterated the North and South Poles, but will: soon, very soon.
I know something else: it would be cheaper, a lot cheaper, if the government just got the fuck out of the way and let it rain.
But then who would the lawyers bill?

Hmm. I started to draft the above with that exact opening in mind, but two targets to arrive at. I see that I’ve done one, and I’m pleased with how I did it, for a first draft anyway, but where’s the other?
Those who’ve read more than a couple of pk modules know how I use Van Gogh, “the” artist unpaid and unappreciated in his life time, as a symbol for all unpaid, unappreciated geniuses. In nature, I have every “right” to get rained on when it’s raining. Or, I can seek shelter. If I stand under the old oak, most of the rain will be caught and deflected, or absorbed, by the leaves and branches above me. I could crawl into a cave, hoping there’s no bear at home. I, or you and I, could build a shelter. We could put a piece of tin, or a tesselation of shingles, or a palm frond over our heads that would shade us from sun and rain, and even help regulate temperature. The government might even build a shelter for us and compel us to be in it, sheltered.
The government can put us in jail if it uses some of those billing lawyers to ahem “prove” that we owed some royalty that we didn’t pay.
(Er, aren’t there any royalties that the government didn’t pay?) (We stole our bicameral democracy from Hiawatha. When did Hiawatha get a royalty from us? Who is it up to whether the royalty suffices? Us? or Hiawatha?)
The world stole its internet at least in part from me and from Ivan illich, knocking us down and shoving us aside, while it eventually build its own internet, one suited for the billing lawyers. Where’s my royalty?
No, no. The rule of civilization is: the paid get paid more; the unpaid must Never be paid.
If the day ever arrives when pk is honored like Van Gogh, if trillions in royalties get paid to billing lawyers once it’s too late to pay pk, if statues of me are erected on every city block, there will still be some other Hiawatha, some Tucker, som Abelard, some pk … getting his balls cut off, his son kidnapped, while the state smiles and holds him down.
You know, I bet the flower being pelted by rain doesn’t worry whether or not the rain paid all tarrifs on its route from the clouds. I’ll bet the flower is wholly ignorant of whether any royalties have been paid for the invention of rain. We are born into a universe in which gravity applies. How do we know the inventor got paid?
How do we know there is an inventor? Is his name Yahweh? or Shiva? Or something in Eskimo? How do we know there isn’t an inventor? How do we know if any royalties are due?
Ah, the Church tells us.
But who tells us how the Church knows?
Especially when any view we have of any church, or university, or senate, is of that church, or university, or senate taking ideas from Indians and giving them to Greeks, ideas from Moses and pretending they’re from God, messages from God and crucyfyin the messenger …
If my universities ever get indicted (by someone other than just poor me) for building baffles to keep messages from Jesus, from Illich, from pk … away from the public, it won’t do any good unless no new universities are allowed to form.
A university is an aquaduct system. Some people get enough water to rot. Neighborhoods that were once dry are now muck. Meanwhile, the water is drained away from the soil that once stored it and into an artificial system where the politically approved get water previously distributed by nature.
I’d rather it just rain. Some get nurture, some get missed.
Failing that, if rain has to be approved by Santa, or by God, or by US, then I wish Santa and God and US had a better judgment system.
But maybe it doesn’t matter. God drains justice from the random universe until Heaven is rotting with it. Let it rot. Santa chokes the earth from Pole to Pole with his elves, and his OnStar navigator, fine. Soon US will have organized everything that used to work with the rain into something manmade and so efficient, that nothing works. And the universe will finally be rid of Shiva and Santa too.
Well, that last part needs another draft, but it can’t have it this minute.

Kleptocracy

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About pk

Seems to me that some modicum of honesty is requisite to intelligence. If we look in the mirror and see not kleptocrats but Christians, we’re still in the same old trouble.
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