/ Journal /
previous save: 12/22/89
Taxonomies (Harv’s Baker, eg, or what I could do between the sonnets and the plays) are for when you have nothing better to do. No, seek the pattern that connects, cite an example or two, and let your students fill the catalogue if they want to. If they have nothing better to do.
objective/subjective: another of the false dualities by which we disestablish the possibility of understanding anything.
gov’t taking kids away from parents. 60 min. then news. first, suspected sexual abuse. 60 min acts as though it would have been all right, except that this particular father seemed to be innocent. Second, Fl SRS: some report says Cocaine in kid at hospital. Kids taken away. Other doctors say no such result. News mag gets sniffy SRS bureaucrat to say a very insincere sounding “sorry.” But to camera, to us, not to parents, not in person. And if mag hadn’t pushed? If parents had pushed?
A certain percentage of parents are whores, junkies, drunks, kid beaters, wife beaters, incestuous … but what would make any awake person believe for one moment that the coke born, raped 10 year old girl will be better off with the State for a parent?
Now, if the kid says, please teacher, please mr policeman, help me, that’s different. Maybe.
Pass up Cosby Thanksgiving Show to check out opening minutes of Sly St. movie. Nighthawks. Couple of attraction flashes. Hey, wasn’t that Rutger Hauer? Gotta see it. The credits come on. Sly, Billy D, Lindsay W, X, Y… finally “& RH as Wolfgar.” We meet him. Sly makes some good movies, some very good movies, but Man, Sly doesn’t know how to film Hauer. It’s him, but he’s wasted. Lo and behold. The character RH is playing, international skilled terrorist, goes to plastic surgeon, and bingo. There’s RH fairly well filmed. Good chase in the subway under construction, then this train and that till RH slashes Billy Dee and makes off clinging like Nosferatu to the back of a B train out of Time Square! Awright!
Another film, a Sly specialty, pretending that some cops, despite appearances, aren’t terrorists themselves.
Another sterling example of a chase where the bad guy sprints into some fantastic industrial cul de sac. leave the multiple options of the street to climb a steeple, the Eifel Tower, of go down some tunnel, ever narrower, higher, more closed off. shows that bad guys are all pretty stupid. or hollywood thinks we’re pretty stupid. or something. except in this case, the subway under construction opens back out into the mid-town subway system.
Best though is that it really is a cul de sac RH keeps running into: he keeps insisting that Sly be his gofer. Finally goes to Sly’s girl’s apartment, breaks in, is just about to do something silly with a knife, and whoops, it’s Sly. Bang. Bang. The End.
there is a difference between a misperception which is the result of an organ abnormality, eg myopia, and orchestrated misperception, eg an ideology straining not for better map making but for power and the maintenance thereof. My eg of myopia is just a synecdoche for a whole range of malfunctions and dysfunctions. Eidetic phenomena can be normal or misfunctions. There are also misfunctions in the orchestration of organs, and in the brain, where individual organs or groups of organs may also misfunction: eg, the DTs. That has an eidetic component, but isn’t a synonym. But the routine organization of misperception and punishment of attempts at clarity by the perverting culture, ie orthodoxy as distinct from science, is a dysfunction not or organ or brain or of their mutual coordination, but of mind.
Not that normal equals the truth. 20/20 vision is good for that scale of the cosmos. I forget what system that system is in, and what the details, or is it mixed? To see an object, say a symbol, say a letter or number, 20 mm vertical dimension at 20 feet. Something like that. Add to that normal eye and normal brain and normal mind a perfectly normal microscope or telescope and the normal+normal system will see quite a different universe. we’re born into a 20/20 universe. But that only three points of reference. a triangle. surely there are more norms to our natal norm than a triangle. sure. there’s also the width at which our eyes see things. good primate eyes. good depth perception, at least within the range for climbing among tree branches. not at all good, unaided, for astronomy. There you need binocular vision where the wider apart the eyes are set, the better. We’re gotten eyes as wide apart as the earth for astronomy (and to some extent as wide as the orbit of satellites, and even as wide as the earth in its annual trips), soon, I hope, we’ll have them as wide as the SS.
Sure enough a bee will live a significantly different perceptual norm than a man. So, we’re not, I’m not, proposing to be bees or better than man. Just better than culturally misprogrammed man. Be normal for the first time since societies wanted more than survival. Thank you Citibank.
ss: man buddy with alien. talking about the red menace. sure sure sure. don’t you see it. wait, first I’ll have to take off my glasses. Now I’ll have to put the com/cap duality filter into my brain. should only take a sec. thank you II’s point about the future seeing not more signif than we do for the battle between faith and works.
GB’s point about spaces vs fingers, relationship vs thing, the signs of the equation vs the quantities in the equation.
We are culturally encouraged and too perhaps genetically biased (test?) to concentrate on the thing and to fuzz the relationship. Logic depends on relationship-is to as-while orchestrated misunderstanding depends on the single dimensional logic of identity. Always false.
My analogies are always backfiring or misfiring because whoever starts the conversation, who I am then truthful with, quickly goes, uh oh, unorthodox, and goes for the quick rout of misunderstanding. Fine. As long as they don’t kill me. Who’s routed? They are, from any possibility, in that mind frame, of salvation. ie, read: survival. read: a viable future. Sure, their immediate future is more viable than mine. But that’s only us. Sure, we’re all there is (extensionally, human extensionally) … for the moment. Don’t we care about that moment prolonging a bit. having a healthy and “normal” life expectancy? No, we want to be immortal, to rape heaven as we’ve raped the earth. Result: a strong indication of no future. Oh, the extensional will have a future. With us not in it.
JC is one of my main icons and naturally slips frequently into my arguments. (Hmm, they do routinely turn into arguments in the common misunderstanding, ie passioned disagreement (the passion being fear), not: here’s my reasoning on this position. I don’t ever learn: it has only one result. Oh great, he’s delivered himself into our hands. Out of his own mouth … Now we can jump on him with both feet. He thinks he’s Jesus Christ. But learn what? Other than what I’ve just said. It isn’t the argument. It’s that it isn’t standard. Of course they see their own refutation coming, and vainly think they can prevent it by insulting me and my logic. As though I were the embodiment of their problem, somehow the cause of their (our) no future. Maybe my memes (I have no interest in their being “mine” except in striving first to discern and then be on the side of the viable, the would be normal, then to ally with them if already existing or to discover them if not (in the last case, almost invariably only to discover that sure they existed, I just thought of them before I found them in the environment)), won’t survive either. Too bad. But those I oppose have no possibility of endurance. Spread like a cancer, sure, but not survive.
Arsenio! when Ali is his guest, Mike Tyson & Sugar Ray come from behind the curtain. Tonight, Eddie Murphy is his guest again. and Michael Jackson comes out! Gives EM an award. Then there’s one for MJ that EM gives. But he really didn’t seem to know. It was certainly done as though … Once again, EM started slow, one word answers, a little look, then warms up, so far hasn’t absolutely taken over like before, but you feel like he cuold at any time.
Civ & its Discontents theme. Civ is no damn good: it’s also all we have. Those of us who see through it are still stuck.
Now I expect to find this all but full blown when I get back to 6H1,2,3. As of yesterday AM, I would have remembered the insults to JoanArc, the gangster barons standing around and talking flowery about flowers while they meant who’s betraying whom in the war. The double bind of loyalty vs self-interest. they all know that too much violation of loyalty and all lose all; but maybe there still room for me to push a little. RIII, McB, all the usurpers.
Bastards on both sides, says the bastard. Didn’t mean what it means today? Sorry, yes, it does. we don’t harp on the illegitimacy thing. we also don’t have primogeniture as the main juggernaut to run over the procrustean bed in trying, every more to accumulate and to hold on to excess wealth.
the soul of civilization is excess wealth. More food than you need beyond the time it would naturally spoil or you be driven off from the carcass by some other hungry parasite.
Soul-II is the institutionalizing of those who ate last last time eating last next time, going to the end of the line automatically, training their children to do the same for you, so the dominant male and his harem don’t have to bother displaying all the time. I’m tired of standing vigil over my pile; so I’ll train you to train yourself to stay away. Now I’ll train you to accept my eldest son as the rightful dominant male of my pile after I’m dead. Those of you who get scraps from my pile, since everything under sway of my display is my pile, will themselves, my subordinates, display to maintain the one pile, plotting at all times, if they have any balls, to steal as much of it as they can while we sleep, provided they can do so and still be accepted as belonging to the group. The open thief needn’t bother with hypocrisy.
If I have no son, but my wife is accustomed enough to making superior displays as she who eats second, they maybe she’ll be able to display the rest of you away, and become queen. Especially when display attracts obedient display from the obedient (seeming, all that’s needed is seeming) jackals.
What? We actually kill, not just display, in our displays? Confuse mating battles with the hunting of prey? Confuse mating battles with its naturally overlapping territorial battles?
Soul III, still needed to make civilization as we know it, is the invention of rules for stealing the arbitrarily legitimate to begin with, pile. Government. Rules for graying the black and white laws of who’s the dominant male of the one pile. How to make the one pile N piles and still call it one. Rules by which N is determined from moment to moment.
Then come the priests: You eat third, or fourth anyway, if you’ll discipline yourselves to be willing, nay anxious, to die, to protect the illusion that the pile and its systems have any legitimacy at all.
Set theory: apply first to Korz’s point that X logic is entirely contained within the set of Arist logic.
then: propose sets, and open them for public testing, of for example this nature:
which set contains which?
mind individual(s) man(men)
all thought of last night when tempted to tell Jim, ask jim present to jim this way: the X God, the god, all of them, thus far known to be proposed from readings of Scripture, including all pop’ly accepted additional traditions, patristic lit, the Ch, etc, what set does he belong in (to be tested for acceptability by logicians and mathematicians, not just by partisans) …
isn’t he going to turn out to be mostly just a sub-set of a sub-set? The all of historical imagination being just a fraction of a low percent of what I’m talking about.
which uses which? what’s the difference?
wrote more in sh.not. King John!
prejudice: the redefining of a fellow to one outside the group that generalizations about fair behavior apply to. treat women well. there’s a woman you don’t want to treat well: call her a whore or a peasant. what? listen calmly and rationally to that communist? My daughter, you can marry anyone you want to. Definition of anyone. They live on Nob Hill and have a seat on the Stock Exchange and a niche named for them in the cathedral.
All of which I’ve harped on repeatedly. But it was just today that it came back to me in a fresh light. HWE was way classier (ie subtler in its prejudices) than EHP. Still. Again and again, the southern thing. Get acquainted and within five seconds start bringing up the group hates. In EHP it was 99% niggers. None there (no Blacks, that is, not that Black is really much better. it’s still a wholly imaginary and perceptual category.), but filled the talk. So far, in SG, no one’s tested me. But HWE was 80% let’s hope Bush gets touch with Honduras, then a further testing how can the niggers live like that. So, point: prejudice is an incredibly handy shortcut in a complex, mobile, highly populated super-tribe to test for friend or foe. I of course, no matter whether I answer or try to keep my mouth shut, always fail. If not the first or second time, then the third or fourth. At best, silence only blunts their wrath at exposing themselves to a non-brother.
We scoff at school ties, play down rather than flaunt tribal costume. Wear elks antlers and fezzes only at conventions. The fashion of bringing out the vilification at first glimpse of side locks and yarmulke was so overdone that it’s still in retreat even between cross and crucifix.
Of course when a bigot hears such a point, never, needlesstosay, past the first two words, he can leap to emphasize real differences. The untrained mind can’t present them very well, not being able to distinguish between example and generalization, observed generalization and inherited and rehearsed generalization. Of course real differences exist. We are nothing but differences. And commonalities. And continuities. Wouldn’t it be fun though to have universal computer which could hear clichés, ring a bell and announce to the neighborhood: whopper with sour pickle, two billion served today in this dialect area.
Extremities. Farrah Fawcett, James Russo, 1986. Everything else is worse. I’ve rewritten, reprinted Harpers, dinner, sealed the envelope, can’t find anything I want to see, the channel is the same, and I think of changes I want to consider for the letter, an hour and many indecisions, my having glanced up occasionally, then decisions take me, I finish the files, look up again … and I’ve missed most of a really great piece of ordinary crap. The first things I took notice of were irreverent and obscene. Lots of FF’s white pantied snatch, but even before that started, she’s just played racket ball, shot of her ass: when did she get so skinny? You can see the street lights between her thighs. How skinny does she have to be to skinny on tv? And she tries to buy an ice cream cone. I don’t believe she’s had an ice cream cone in years. Just before the rapist is revealed hiding in her car. Cops are cops, insult her and let him go. But much more sophisticated in its simplification of reality than I’ve ever seen now matter how supposedly serious the pop obscenity was on tv. This is a much done theme, and I’ve seen at least 60 seconds here and five minutes there of several. So the copy, who blessedly is shown, and rewriting the report into cop style misrepresentation. Forget it, honey: your work against his. Baker wrote a cop is someone who writes down your name after you’ve been robbed. I add, also it’s their role to tell you that 1) they do the best they can & 2) they can’t do anything. And should have a raise. Unless you want all the drugs handled by them. We’ll get that, raise or no raise.
I’ll never forget trying to describe my situation with CircleG to that lifer, he reads back some official distortion of what I said. Now write it out, he says, after he’s tried to rehearse me in something that didn’t happen, the bureaucratic version of possibility. I finally give up trying to tell the situation to this idiot, fuck it, I’ll just tell the judge. Then the judge comes in, having prepped according to the lifer’s lies Glowers at me. Uh oh, I should have had a lawyer before I walked into the bureau to claim my theoretical rights.
So I’m wondering at how unerotic FF’s snatch is here, but also noticing how very good the Russo actor is at being Brando/Dean knife wielding bike punk. So the trailer had already told us that she somehow turns the tables and imprisons the guy herself. Roomies come back. She’s maced him, and I’m remembering Angus and wondering if anyone will ever say that it’s poisonous and blinding … and they do! She’s gonna bury him alive. Cows roomie to help. Guy cows roomie to not help. A good Iago.
Here’s everything I’ve been talking (and reading) about: status sex, confusions among mating rituals, territorial battles and hunting, civilization being capable of anything according to what names it’s first called something. He does it to her, and damn if she doesn’t do a really well written, performed, directed, edited, etc. job of table turning. She doesn’t suddenly turn into Bruce Lee. He hasn’t looked anything but a bully and very confused sadist to begin with. But, he tests her, of course she tries to escape, he tests her again, finally, he, jerk, decides he’s in control, and now her resistance can be effective. The great part was that she kept it up. She didn’t turn into the big closet sadist herself, appealing to all us closet Hitlers in the audience, no, but she doesn’t deceive herself or let me get away with his inspired bullshit. He cons the roomies though. But FF becomes dominant. Just enough. Shavian. Yay. Really glad I saw it.
Allatime I’m thinking, she’s still an idiot, she wants him to confess. he makes up stories. she teases him with his own knife. duplicating his earlier dialogue. The roomies find it believable. He finds it believable when the knife repeats the prior movement of her hand. Whoops, don’t put the knife there, honey. And he not only confesses, but goes on naming all his other murders. Then crawls back to his Hollywood clean fireplace prison, which has smudged him hardly in the slightest, and curls up fetally. Damn it, it worked.
just thought of a math metaphor for the magnificence of our stupidity. recalls memory of Saratoga, that crazy woman who always hung around, always borrowing, begging, promising $2 here, 50¢ there, always explaining, excusing, promising again. funny the non-gamblers never felt the earthquake that redevastated her everyday. What (imagination) might have happened had she ever a day where she won from what she borrowed? Would she run around and find the rest of us and pay us back? Would the track have had a Con Ed window where she could quick go pay her utilities? Mail tuition to her kids school? Well, there were the batteries of phone booths; there was probably some way to maybe drop quarters into a unit until flowers were sent to her mother’s grave. Could any of these things ever have happened even once, even should she have won a race? A cobblestone should be able to win one out of 8 at 6 to 1. State took 15%. Say intelligence is another 5 to 90 % of your loses, and 5 to 6% of possible winnings. The first was a fact; the second not a calculation but an off-the-cuff guess. $2 a race? she should only lose a penny less than $2 a day without additionally sabotaging herself.
I can imagine her keeping any amount of money long enough to carry it from the pay window to the tote board to the bet window.
I think David gave her money a couple of times. That’s right: one of those people who borrowed from, while you gave to. Who but me would ever have expected it back? Impossible? No, just like being hit by lightning. Of course, not me either, since if I had lent, I too would have been giving. I didn’t in fact do either.
But I did find her once again seeming/ happening/ accidentally-deliberately walking near me one day in the parking lot. Gasp! All close to her turned to see who was having a heart attack. She smites her brow. Jesus, she implored. Stupid, she hit herself again. “All day, I could have know it. I saw it as I walked in.” Several start walking again. Crazy lady. I’m in no hurry. What’s she raving about now? “Huh?” “Don’t you see it?” “Huh?” “Right there.” She’s pointing into the Shenk parking lot. Thousands of cars. People walking toward them. “The daily double.” “What the …?” “There. On that New York license plate: …” And I finally figure out what she means. She’s mumbling numbers. Thousands of New York license plates. Maybe one hundred thousand numbers. A googolplex if not an infinity of combinations among them. She’s seen one license plate that had among six or eight numbers, in who knew or cared what sequence, the two numbers of the first two winning horses that day. NY 395 720 Z, maybe. And maybe the first race was won by 9 and the second by 2. And this idiot thinks she should have “known.” That she had missed a revelation.
Well, sure, she had missed a revelation. We all do little more all day than miss revelations. I don’t doubt that the key to everything is in every grain of sand. But who can interpret? Who knows the sequence, even if one knows the code? One thing I’m sure the code tells us is that the house will win every time and she lose. A fundamental epistemological error. GB and his pebble on a pane of glass.
To her, no doubt, original sin explained everything.
Like that awful waitress who served Hil&me shoe tongue hamburgers on stale, grease stained buns, no pickle, just the unspeakable bottle of catsup. Driving across Nevada. Late. Campground sign. They wanted $6 for a site under water. The whole place was under water. Rain doesn’t drain in the desert. All we’re got is a ground tent. We decide to eat in the ahem restaurant attached. Like the Belushi sketch, cheesebuga, cheesebuga. Somebody is riotously telling a story about her boyfriend climbing in her window, drunk, last night, and her, drunk, almost shooting his balls off. Like a fucking thief, she screamed, waving her shootin iron around.
The waitress ambles over after 10 minutes or so or her not seeming to have been doing anything else. A yellow green snot bubbles below one nostril, expanding and contracting as she breathed. She cocks her hip, carefully places her hand on it. What’ll ya have?
At first I couldn’t look at her. Then I couldn’t not follow her every move. The counter has maybe three people spread around at it and maybe eight uncleared places. Finally she clears just the change, her tip, from on. Over to the one armed bandit. One at a time, in mystic rhythm, in go the coins, she pulls the handle, flash, whirr, tumble, coin, handle, she’s playing the next chance before the last in finished. At a more complex rhythm, coins spill into the pay off dish. She doesn’t look, she’s off, dreaming, like Mrs. Miller toking her opium. Eventually, the coins in her hand are gone. She starts feeding the machine from the well. She doesn’t stop until every last coin from both sources is back inside the machine. She dreams away from the machine. Next tip, picked up at her mystic leisure, she’s back to the machine. Identical except for the different chaos of the rhythm of the payoffs. But there never was any pay off to her, she never went away till she was empty handed and pocketed. This place had a robot slave. She worked for free! If the place owned the bandit. Who ever owned it, she worked for free.
The track closed after nine races. The bandit never quit.
I can’t imagine my Saratoga icon of hopeful hopelessness ever making anything but a suicidal bet it she ever had anything for the ninth. Still, there’s got to be at least one crazy possibility of a day coming where she had money and no open window left to consecrate it to. Straight to some bar. Drinks for everybody. Until the crowd drinks it up, she’s a wizard. But bars close. Could she ever have anything left? I can’t imagine her keeping 100 million till curfew. Somebody would take it off her. And she’d be back where she was comfortable. Saratoga was open for August only. What did she do the rest of the time? Oh, they had trotters.
Eew Whee. writing above, just had JD flash. Wall Street testifying against Bosco. And he never paid you back. No. Never. And, if he had, your testimony would be different? Yes, but he didn’t. So it’s final. Ok, call the defendant. Just a moment, your honor, may I take care of something my death prevented me from taking care of? I can do it right here. Ok, Bosco, but be snappy. Bosco goes over to Wall Street and pays it back. Turns out it’s Wall Street’s trial, not Bosco’s. Charge? False testimony.
The Money Store: what a name. Does any phrase better highlight the 4 dimensional essence of money. Labor x stored for time y. Sell at a profit. The only problem is that the only value valued by it is that value(s) perceived as valuable by the elite.
Sure the borders are being disputed all the time. Who knows what consciousness of ecology will do once it’s had time to spread and be digested a bit? What would happen if the values of the despised, those not so anxious to own, to control, to have advantage, were ever considered?
Of course, there’s always reality, which can cancel the whole deal at any time, without asking permission of any rulers or owners.
Thinking this, while the Plus reloaded, I also thought: how much a part of inflation is a scam by the government to devalue its own debt?
Inflation is stirred at different rates, by different layers of the specially motivated. One motivation is to stir into the mix all those not yet stuck in it: all remaining gatherer/hunters, herd followers, non-urban/agriculture based people. And then the inflation as well as the depletion of what had been their use-turf will really stick them. But like all things, it can come back around again. The landcontrolers get outstripped by the clerks, then by the artisans, then the industrialists, then the marketers. The marketers stir and stir, but they too can be outstripped. Not just by some shrug of Reality.
Priceless. One of the tv god shows just announces: “… and, Native Americans (some tribe is shown dancing in tribal ceremony costume) … sharing OUR homeland, sharing OUR heritage … What? Their tribal costumes and dances are our too? That we’re letting them share with us?
Communication. Test. 1) A (A is a teacher perhaps) delivers a message. 2) B (B is a student perhaps) returns it, not repeated, but transformed. A can accept his message as understood if B can transform it. Mere reflection doesn’t indicate understanding.
But what’s usual? Did you read my book? Yes. Did you understand it? Yes. Don’t pass any Turing test for human or AI. The state has such contempt for those it governs, like during Vietnam, it never ever bothered to pass a Turing test. “I have answered your question,” the lifer says at Madison, evading what hadn’t been a question but a challenge.
The publishing industry has become like government. It owes no intelligence to any but its superiors, its owners, it sponsors. Or to numbers of responders the owners are aware of.
Bill’s (West End teacher Bill) buddy goes to Lindsay’s Administration. This is outrageous, says friend. How many of you are there? asks appointee. 200. That all? Then fuck yuz. Beneath their threshold of perception.
We’re invisible. Pretended to be. Treated as if. good. Then they think we have no power. Most of the time, they’ll be right. But sometime … They won’t even know how to defend themselves.
Just about to go to be last night and Barbarella comes on. Extraordinary how much I hated Roger Vadim when that first came out. Wouldn’t see it. Ass hole. How much money have I already spent, how many hours suffered his sophomoric cinema heterosexual narcissism? But Barbarella. One of those things, like music, I can’t imagine seeing too often. It’s not all Jane Fonda; just 90%. It has a ritual simplicity. The great sexy sci-fi costumes. The Garden of Earthly Delights atmosphere. In every way, it has what Vidal calls a badness that can’t be imitated. Lucas has a childishness difficult to imitate; Barbarella has a purity of stupidness that cannot be imitated. I’m very proud that I was able to shut it off finally after Milo O’Shea had overstrained his organ, trying to kill her with pleasure. Fonda is simply amazing that she can play a cartoon for two hours and never look quite the same twice no matter how narrowly the same few simple things are repeated. Got to give some credit to Vadim too. Got to give equal credit to Vadim. A two hour Vargas calendar. The hairy guy in the hairy coat, O’Shea’s Duran Duran, John Philip Law’s angel, Doug Henning … other great character actors, the black queen, the old guy in the labyrinth: still 90% Fonda. Funny too how Darth Vader like the leather men were. I bet Lucas loves it too.
good GB point made by socio-psycho-worker on tv about patho-ecology of family of addict. I smiled to recognize the colonization by his point about schiz; but immediately, she was talking about “the family needs (v becoming n) …” and I was into Ivan Illich’s point about colonization by professional procedures. she wasn’t being wise; she was creating & selling new dependencies: you’re hooked on alcohol? your husband is the one hooked? your whole family suffers, see? What you need, what you all need, is my treatment.
thought of it more clearly than ever today in Dr Lamp’s office: esp, after my experience Thurs in Dr Dillon/Ebner’s office: the incredible thing about professional selling of professional procedures is how disguised your obligation to pay is. You go in for a consultation. You say up front you’re broke and are trying to plan. Well, usually, we don’t blah blah without an xray … or I should blah blah. Gee, he really wants to give me this xray. his heart seems to be set on it. etc. Gee, I don’t know blah, blah, walks out, minutes pass, dental assistant walks you to her booth, you’ve been dismissed, the pro is nowhere to be found, that’s $80. And she’s another pro: her job is to not let you pass until you’ve paid. And it’s on to the courts and
your credit record. Each next step will know and care less about it. Oh, he didn’t pay. Now we’ll redefine it as … The judge won’t want to know any more about than he needs to fit it into some other binary pair of choices: paid/not paid. guilty/notguilty. deadbeat/retroed. where are we in the seven year cycle? TRS will want to know even less.
The pro sells you something you didn’t want to buy and didn’t know you had bought. All allowable relief will be even more professional, ever selling you more and more dependencies, in ever more complex cost/ payment cycles. As soon as you get to the govt/law level, you’ve found the past masters of how to hide costs, bury them deep. Small Claims Court. $5. You think the court costs for your twenty minutes are $5? That’s all the judge gets? And he has to pay the bailiff, the rent, the electricity, the cashier, all out of your $5?
You go to a store, the gal behind the perfume counter says oh, I think this purple passion is right for you. I think you should have it. For your girl or whatever. Put it on your dog. You don’t want to disappoint her. You take it. Now if she tries to get you to pay for it, you can see-she wasn’t trying to give it to you, she was trying to sell it to you. try to walk out of the store with it, they’ll stop you. you can give it back. here, i didn’t want the fucking thing to begin with. if they’re dumb enough to sue you, to keep sending bills, the judge will understand: but I never took the perfume. the store still has it. unless they sold it to someone else. I never agreed to buy it. I ain’t got it.
but you can’t give the xray back. the dentist never gave it to you anyway. he sold it to you to keep it himself.
who’ll pay the gal who wants to provide the family of the addict with her procedures? the drunk? his battered wife? his junky eleven year old?
that’s what tv is for. to sell new procedures.
the public has sort of learned that every time the president says we need blah blah, we need to protect our interests, we need to go to the moon, we need to stop communism here and now, and doesn’t quick shoot the bastard, it’s agreed to pay and pay and pay.
we need more welfare. and we all pay. including the welfare recipient. not with dollars: he’s only got the dollars someones-else pay the professional to dole to him; he pays with his whole existence. That’s ok, tear down more forests that he then can’t flee to, print more money. till there’s nothing but money and junkies and procedures and the Matmos says burp.
Atlantic City on. Seeing it for second time in short while. Fourth over all. Malle my other least favorite french auteur become one of the great ones. Les Aimant: Yech. Maybe I should see that one again. 1980 Light in August. Hippy druggie pregnant vagabonds hitch NJ wasteland. Oh look, pregnant ooos from flat bed: some hokey pseudo persian disneyland castled elephant in atlantic coast desolation. Cut to schmancy hotel looking building. silent baroom, and it crumbles. But I’m not watching: I’m schmushing files around. I still glance up in time to see: Burt walking boardwalk with different generation con, conning each other. cut to: SusanSar coming out of casino with Michel Picolli! The meaning stark in the grammar. glance up again and Burt is now hotshit pusher. great chase in automated garage, knife in idiot’s belly. oh, great, Burt runs into other old hot shit mens room attendant. gets a free shine. comes out, and sees: death! and SuSar gets her wallet back. “Where did you find it?” end puts incompatmix of musics on track to accomp destruction (cf. Viridiana.)
inside/out back/front 123many/back ex of #
male/female dance/sitout play/pass
woke up thinkdreaming flashes of light. lighter colors on dark. lightning in night. flashflashflash. then a couple. then three. then one. then many. random, i guess. but if random, how come it keeps resetting at 0,1,2,3,morethan3? then I remembered what I had been thinking and doing before sleep and dreaming just a bit earlier. Last night, futzing with KVG.DTF I accidentally got a menu for reset @number. CAPSF8 while in ADDdata. Wow. How much time I wasted three months ago failing to do just that. Then went in and edited the @# of several DTF. And of course inside outside topographical considerations and explors have been my routine dunno how long. Ah, yes: and dream worrying about $ & Dec coming. What day of week the 1st? Nov 27 a Mon. Worry, worry. Then dreaming, invention of calendar. Who in a culture can conceive of something being arbitrary? NigJim’s French. Make anything new part of the culture, quick. Name the baby. People think calendar given, like baby’s name, not invented, like car. A little both? trying to match incip. math with incip ast? How long should a year be? Pick a number. Any number. Quick. Don’t think, just pick. 365.246798. Whaa? Ridiculous. So big a num? a fraction? Naa, you musta meant 360. That’s a number we can work with. And so it is. Where did this ridiculous 365 & 1/4 come from in god’s good and simple U?
We’re at a … I’ll call it perspective … in perception that we always think of numbers as though they’re just aborning. Reset to zero seems to be something that occurs again and again. father, son, son. grandfather, father, son … great-grandfather, fa … uh, great-great, uh … And we get lost soon after three. Human percep imagines selves and Abrahams and gods. Let’s starts: here’s the beginning; pick a number. It’s always 1,2,3, or 9,11,12 or 3,5,7 or sometimes 12,60,360. even 12, 40, forty-days-and-forty-nights. can’t get much bigger or longer or more intolerable than that. or today, 10, a million, a billion. very modern … All still very close to one two three. How old’s the universe? Oh, 7 times 144 years. Not enough? then 7 X 7 X 144. that oughta do it. So where do scientists come up with these absurd answers? 10-20 10 to the 10 years? Nice that it comes so packaged. Write it out decimal and it becomes 13,500,000,000 years ago. Multiply by 31,557,600 if you want it in seconds.
Anyway, I’m lying there, and suddenly I notice I’ve thought: Does god reset to zero in what he sees? Does he reset to something other than zero? How about to infinity? Maybe if god ever saw a 3,2,1,0 … that would be it. The point of everything. The End. Thank you. Everything can now go back to zero. Yes. You too, Satan. Thank you, thank you. Go home, everybody.
But, um, ya know, I been oughta the union a couple a times, uh, you got anything else coming up? Some other series? I’m not ready to retire just now.
and again thinking of existential turn taking. vroom vroom vroom, the soldiers, the thieves, the decision makers take over visibility. are they all there is? the rest of us drop outs, failures, shit heads? real thought and professional thought separate. caesar usurps god’s throne. or was it god usurped caesars and caesar just usurped it back again? what’s a god doing with a throne, anyway? the doctor replaces the healer, the teacher the wise, wisdom is politically outlawed and the professions gang up to make sure it can’t occur. you can control people by programming them with default assumptions that cannot possibly lead to understanding, only to ever deeper confusions and dependencies. schools train for dependency. just like old duennas. no, no, my child, whether you get raped or not is entirely your father’s responsibility. if he can’t surround you with impenetrable guards, belts, locks, then you’re forfeit to the winner. you’re his to sell, give away, preserve, or lose.
of course i don’t mean to sound glib about real thought, as though GW had it and GB doesn’t. Plato, yes; II, no. Nor the reverse error. Me, yes; Adam, no. thinking can occur at any time; disappear at any time. Be misidentified and misrepresented at any time. Could disappear for 1,000 millennia, and still not be gone.
society has two sets of truths: one for friend; a very different for foe. in the family, mom can’t cook to save her ass; outside, home cookin. uncle al is a no good bum; tell the stranger that he’s really a genius too fine for crass commerce to value properly. sis will never get married, you can whiff her underwear from here; but oughtn’t we to be able to palm her off on that vcount from Monte Crisco? Isn’t that where they gamble and everyone is at least a duke?
scapegoats. the poor goat, but the people did it. And it was probably good for them. I can’t believe that anyone believed, before or after, whatever their hysteria at the moment, that the goat was guilty of anything. Or did they select a particular one? He didn’t eat the tin cans I gave him. Something can always be trumped up. What advance or regression is there in society’s human scapegoats? Wouldn’t we be better off if the 3rd Reich say, said, we’re going to practice genocide on you Jews, 6 million worth or so. It’s going to be very good for us, provided we win the war. We can’t afford anything right now, that’s the problem, but once we’re masters, we’ll give you, say, Poland. No, no, we want Poland. We’ll give you say, the United States.
JD: series of awarding compensation to past scapegoats.
ancient: ambiguous. meaning of course civilization etc of a long time ago, very old. meaning also what we have few written records of, or relatively few, or we came by them to our surprise. But also meaning, having a connotation of old and wise and having long precedence, we’re just born, innocent, brash, foolish, … Our universe is 4004 + 1989 years old; theirs, millions.
the true meaning of Christmas. every christmas we see ever more rapid alterations from hysterical commercial to some sappy repetition of the accusation of how we’ve forgotten the true meaning of christmas. Yes, we’ve forgotten the true meaning of … Crass commercialism has all but blotted out the … And we bow our heads and agree, yes, my how we’ve slipped, repeat the invitation to an answer AND NEVER ANSWER IT, never say what it is. What is the true meaning of xmas? Who could be so crass as to actually ask for a considered answer while we’ll all bowing our heads and being fuzzy. Ford ads don’t say Ford twice and leave the audience to say it silently the third time very often. Once in a thousand if very brave. No, specify: Ford. Repeat, Ford. A hundred times a day. Xmas, one month a year: silence. Repeat, Silence. Check it out. Be crass. Be rude. Ask. Embarrassed shuffling, 99% of it embarrassment for you. Everyone in the group knows that the right answer is to be inarticulate. You’ve been dumb enough to show it off. Embarrassed shuffling. Does he really expect an answer? How come he’s looking at me? Well, I’ll show him. Here’s my chance to shine in the conventional loyalty of my group, which everyone knows is the chosen people of the one true petty pretender. I mean even the benighted slaves of false and totalitarian ideologies know that. in their heart of hearts, they know that we’re right and they’re wrong. when we kill them, we’re innocent; they’re guilty when their rhetoric tries its own pride.
Shuffle feet. What’s taking so long? They all would have shouted out 4 for 2 plus 2 within a half second of heaving the words. Is it that it’s true that they’ve forgotten? Are you inhibiting their brain? Are they checking around to see if there are jews among them?
We’re civilized we all agree and tolerate those who don’t. What is the jew supposed to think when he hears the true meaning half phrase for the zillionth time? How alien I am? How unworthy? No, I’ll bet they’re silently agreeing, not as xians but as americans. Yes, we’ve forgotten. Not: Be Crass! But: Be nice.
What if we research it historically? How many of us are aware of how repeatedly xian institutions have tried in vain to suppress xmas? It’s overt paganism is embarrassing. What’s the big deal about paganism to xians? same as the big deal about communists to capitalists. keep them far away and mythic. we might notice virtues. we might chink our own invincible innocence. we’ve got to protect our exclusivity, our monopoly on everything good, rational, nice, healthy, etc.
Be Nice can’t be pagan; got to be exclusively xian.
But the True meaning of xmas. Big emphasis on true as those lots of false meanings were running around. Is this a case where we’re going to find the true meaning to be the one there’s no precedent for? Not one single example? Like US helping other countries discover democracy?
Or perhaps the true meaning will turn out to be something we’d rather not say, one that best bears silent, not very rational, contemplation.
Well, I used to silently contemplate the true meaning of christmas with the best of them. And articulate it a bit. Faith in salvation through jesus, charity, generosity, cooperation … what I now see not as an innovation, but a re-establishment of the normal in the face of abnormal civilization.
But now, I see the please, for every week’s shopping you do, spend just a few extra pennies (as the shopper throws about $3 worth of cans) for the needy. The really intimidating ads are for you to give a toy so that orphans will have at least one for xmas. I’d like to check out who the orphans are: I bet the real goal is to so glut them with gifts and with the crushing responsibility of being totally dependent on the economic system so that they can grow up, and grow old, and as they do, each xmas they too may totally addict themselves to giving gifts, to receiving gifts, watch the news and see the happy shoppers, the day after Thanksgiving, the best day for shopping of the year, and another whole month of it to go, followed by a whole year of ever higher dependency.
I am watching Dr Paul Bearer’s Horrible Old Movie. Can it be three Saturday’s in a row? I so enjoyed Godzilla & Mothra. The other Godzilla movie, I hardly glanced at. But the present SSSSS is wonderful. As I ate my french toast, Kane, Cain, Kung Fu Carradine was showing the wetback peasants that their voodoo was in their minds. Simple demonstration and he cures the village. Oh really. Well, SSSSS shows that the cure didn’t take. The herpetologist starts off saying Ripley like maybe true enough “facts” about snakes, venom, etc, all geared to titillate fear, not assure security. His catching the King Cobra to milk its venom is staged like a lion tamer fight with an untamed, undrugged lion. The expert, of course, the wise 12 old audience knows, is always wrong.
The movie deadly accurate on what science is: the caging and torture of animals, all the while solemnly attributing to them all our evils.
And of course the handsome young man is being turned into a snake.
Some very revealing moments. Oh, a carnival. Cheap music, hokey, tawdry everything, but the kids are wide eyed. Carny barker $1,000 cash reward for proof that their snake man isn’t a snake, is a fraud, isn’t as they present him. 25 cents to get in, folks. 4,000 people have to fail to prove anything for them to take in their first penny toward overhead. And the two young scientists rush in, shown to be in direct response to the challenge to accept their free $1,000. But no definition of proof is given. No clarification of “as presented.” And safest of all for their piggybank, it’s on their turf, with their lighting, and under their direction. You’ll do your proving at a distance we prescribe. I’d have loved to see the “scientists” say without even seeing your creature, i’ll put up 10 grand to your one: bring him to my lab. Oh, neutral ground. I meet you all at the university. But of course, the very fact of either party having money, like a king, a government, a church, a family with children still living: where do any of them get one spare dollar? Except through misbudgeting, over producing, something? Of course the university is its own kind of side show. its own spiel, just a quarter, folks, a mere 40,000 to join the millionaires.
logic. the sub-steps can be correct according to whatever reigning tautology; but the one used may have false steps within another tautology. So, a whole series of questions to judge any answer, Are its steps right: Are its Steps right?
An argument about what the USSR is doing A,B,C may be ABC logical within a great Cold War logic where any correct deductions must be wrong.
JD. one after another, judged. The chiefs come out and brag about their victories. After a while Judge is saving time: first question, ok, who did you kill. And the lists go on. Gets to modern man. Ok, who did you kill? And gets back some hokey sentimental moralizing.
Answer the question, damn you. Finally, it becomes clear. They’re probably hearing the truth. This combat vet, this Army Reserve Major, Bank VP, father of four, Rotary Club member didn’t kill a single person. Guilty of not being guilty of cutting off any infinity of alternate universes. What the hell do you crazy people think you’re role is, anyway? Still can’t believe it, what was that war he’s a vet of. Cmon, there more dead there than in the last one. And you didn’t kill any of them. None of you? They all commit suicide when they saw you coming? Then modern warfare, modern society, modern politics, morality, etc. explained. Double Triple Damned.
JD story. end as before, or differently. the point this time, the decision is made. the whole population divided into a binary sorting. Overhear one archangel complaining to another. you mean it’s over? I can promise I know of at least one mistake, one missorting. Appalled that superior archangel isn’t also appalled. Shrug: was the mistake random? or systematic. If random, then some other mistake should balance it out. it doesn’t matter. what can you mean doesn’t matter? all these souls, eternal damnation, etc. Nah, forget it, the only thing that matters is that the proportion is correct, that the assigned algorithm was followed. Then the real ending. In comes the superior god, and judges the judging. Ok, close enough. Good within 10%. What’s the result? 99.9/.1. Good, then the 10% doesn’t invalidate anything. Next algorithm.
those anxious to get on with the confusion have no patience for those pausing to clarify.
trash can be so illuminating: Solarbabies, some rollerderby thing. rules or no rules, one skater challenges the other. Rules, B says. A skates behind him, elbows him in the head. Ok, no rules. And they skate around, like roller hockey, remaining allied as teams, scoring goals, and being louts, but louts slitrictly according to feudal dirty. They don’t kill each other, gravity still operates. One goal is one goal, they add the score, no add one times, multiply, subtract, square, divide at random. the punk attacks the girl, rape is still rape.
starring Jamie Gurtz, the break says 80 times without my ever knowing which of the kids that its. OK, so it’s Teenage 1984 Stalag Road Star Warriors. Gas isn’t the big thing is this post-everything but still overpopulated fantasy: water is. But the script keeps showing it as a luxury, like a complete set of the Britanica plus a computer for the overdressed school boy to not use, not at all what it is on Dune.
They escape from the orphanage, which we had understood to be the only way they could get any. The Protectorate controls all water. We’ve seen thirty seconds of freak rain, once. The actors had never seen it before. But they escape. We’re free the sort of Gretchen looking girl says, as they skate off to rapid dehydration.
Lesson: set up a s-f ecology, and then write any stupid hero conquers totalitarian conformity plot in utter confidence that the audience won’t remember or see any logical consequences to what you started out with.
order orphan, “Uh, ya see, I don’ know who I am … an I don’ know where I cum from … and worst of all … I don’ know where I’m goin’.” I remember my teenage shudder of profundity the first time I saw Gauguin’s painting of similar title. You deep cat, I thought. Now I think that that sort of metaphysics is just pathologically wrong questions. any supreme has no point. only the merely profound. down to the stupid. down to no consciousness (none we can imagine) which again has no point.
UHF 44 the one regularly clear channel here. 8 was sometimes good at HWE, 11 sometimes here at SG. But at least 44 is the movie channel. I put the tube on hoping to help keep me from falling back asleep. Same movie on again.
When that was followed last night by Three’s Company, I find a totally dumb android movie on a bad channel. But it’s … not Vampira … Elvira, Queena the Dark. And either she got a new writer, committe of writers, she’s gotten better, she’s not the same actress even though her tits look the same, or I’m losing it, but I thought she was funny. “A little wrestling humor I picked up from Gorgeous Al. I wish that were all I picked up from Gorgeous Al.” What a Saturday. Late am, Paul Bearer, early pm, Hooter’s Lynne Austin, a beer hall cheerleader, shows Mean Streets. Next week she promises The Godfather. At first these sexdoll hostesses just did jumb sex jokes. Elvira was just ghoul this and clevage that. Lynne was I’m cute and you like to look at me and now here’s the movie. Somethings they’d picked up for $5.
Now she’s mugging “Eh, Vito …” and showing Mean Streets.
Solarbabies is a B movie, but still, a group product, true theater in the sense of pro enterprise, stealing here, there, and using trained, good looking fodder, winners of screen tests, products of this or that training, and a few real character actors. Who ever does the sets has seen more movies than the teen audience possibly can have, though fewer I bet than I had seen between the ages of 21 and 23. It also exhibits the whole range of my favorite bad art categories. From the Castilian. Tara, the girl who looks soulful in close up, good tits when that’s the closeup, can sort of skate with the boys in those scenes, not that any of these kids are a Howe, has shown nothing but a lot of sky light between her legs. But now Omar Sharif, LofA, a la Bernouse comes skating from out of the desert. Linebaker thighs. Skate, skate. Uh oh folks. Close up: it’s the skinny girl. What do you know, Lawrence Taylor is Shirley Temple’s double.
Tara her name is. None of the orphans know nothing. But when her father’s people see the girl’s tatoo, they take her to him, Tara seems to be her name in this other world too. And if she went to Mars, the Martians no doubt would also know her as Tara.
Foutainhead Error. There’s no water. The Fed has all the water. Everyone is forced to stay under the Fed. Except when the kids just skate off. Gee, they didn’t need water after all. There is nothing but the Fed. Nothing to escape to. Until five minutes of just skating, and on a road, leads to an endless succession of exceptions. The whole troop skates into Tara’s place. What is this place? It’s a secret. That’s why we have it on the highway and are showing it to all of you: to hide it from the fed. You see, the glacier was trapped in the lava and …
Song: Come, follow me, and you’ll be free …
what shall I call that one? the church error.
economics. in high school we were taught about the industrial revolution. those inventing the industry way raised production of say uniform chairs. way lowered the cost to make each chair. and way lowered the employees living standard with lousy wages. it sounded like the wages were ever lower with ever more laborers clamoring to have their standards lowered. this made no sense to me. I was thinking of the situation described as the system. I could make no “equation” which balanced from it. Who were the industrialists selling their chairs to if their workers couldn’t buy them, if their workers didn’t need 85 new chairs where they had only had one old one before. and the commons fenced off.
the facts of the industry were described objectively: more chairs than before. the implications about the workers had no mathematical vocabulary. use the same standards and I’ll bet you get a reverse picture. and the laborers made more money than ever before. in 1786, the leach family had zero money. in 1805 they made 2 pennies. by 1809 they made a shilling. Hey, they’re getting rich. What’s wrong with this system of measurement?
do we have better models now? not until we have a similar to superior symbol system, math, and algebra for what the value of the commons had been, the value of the preemployed family, the value of the previous environment.
By my counting, the world has gotten continuously poorer by accounting-II as it has gotten continuously richer by accounting-I. To some extent the trade off seemed to be a bargain. Today the seeming is hysterical and group induced and group enforced. Sustain the illusion, increase the addiction.
I write as some Richard Gere migrants working the grain belt is on. What kind of system is this? Hundreds of miles of grain, coal furnaces, rail roads … how much of it goes to feed the population visibly planting, tending, reaping, and shipping it. What’s the shipping for?
The major part of the system is always out of sight. What’s a nation? a way of making sure that your values will never balance. You’ll see the entropy and never the sense.
Disparate classes are visible evidence of the hidden equation.
If you can’t make the math in your model come out right, then your model doesn’t match your world.
Economics as we’ve known it is no math at all.
Where values cross. “I been holdin out a long time. I had rich men say nice things ta me.” says the girl telling Gere she’s a virgin?
Delay function -/ value increase -/ threshold of reversal
Auntie in Room with a View: delayed function -/ old age = no value to delayer.
what’s going on? something’s missing in the equation.
romanticism: a resistance to the propaganda that the (wrong, inadequate) math can explain.
class above: can it be that the two classes are using different maths? one a wider map than the other? which is which? romanticism would have it that the peasant has the bigger map. vaguer perhaps, with him not mastering it very well, but bigger. the commons are on it as part of the random, not as private fodder.
time and number in models of “survival”
how literally interpret survival?
has the martyr failed to survive? or upped his chance to out survive the executioner?
what can immortal mean but that the duration exceeds the speaker’s concept of the limits of time. no doubt 12 years would seem immortal to the may fly. on the other hand, the hundreds of millions of years of insects ought to seem like immortality to us mammals.
what’s the matrix of the matrix? stability within stability? turbulence within stability? turbulence within turbulence? ask for Euclid, for deism, for xity, for science, for mod math, etc etc.
the properly supervised sex life.
just thinking of the E-M spectrum. and I recall Louis Lane/ margo Kidder’s what color panties am I wearing. pink. Now pink is pink only by scattering wavelengths all from within the single octave we call visible light off of some material we call pink.
x-rays are no where near those frequencies. now an intelligence, superman, with an xray sensitive organ, xray eyes, might very well see xrays in colors. in their own colors. he could even label part of it by the phoneme series: pink. but it would be xray pink, not visible light pink. ah, though might not the pink material then be xray pink to xrays? have to have xray color vision to check it out. or could it be done theoretically?
supporting evidence is a rational concept. testing for disproof is a rational concept. proof is an irrational concept.
could it be that it’s only possible to talk about something once it’s ceased to exist? here’s I’m writing like crazy to Brian about my love for him, and every time I look around, I see only a landscape that looks like the ravages of Hilary’s and my, mutual unconscious destruction pact. relate cerebrally? his last letter an example of cerebral relation? chomskian irony.
The `Ignore It And Maybe It Will Go Away’ School of Truth
The End of the Road. I love that Barth title. Dr Z never returned my paperback to me. The image strictly an artifact of the imagination following false models in its weaving. Cartoon, two dimensional, ocean spilling off the edge of the world, ski tracks around a tree admissions of perceptual problems. All the way to Escher. But in life, when you get there, you find that it was just a curve that looked like a wall from afar. If there’s a fence it’s of match sticks and a pumpkin field beyond. Or you fall all the way to hell and find it’s very much like Tenafly. Maybe less inflation.
The DI’s great analogy: Med. xians couldn’t explain the obvious saintliness of some pagans; the industrial mode expert has neither theory nor accounting system for any possible value, usefulness of reason for being outside the industrial, specializing, employed world.
sf astr in alien env. let’s find a good restaurant. Yeah, something nice and exclusive. see champagne, truffles, pass … exclusive but not untested. wow, 6.000,000 served, wow look at the decor, yeah these creatures look far more free than the ones we just saw. and they eat in MacD’s
How equal are the complements of a duality? any pattern to the differing ratios? What does “equal” mean, ie how arithmathematical is the metaphor?
1,2,3,8 of linguistics and etymology. the real meaning is the old meaning, as we trace everything back through ME, Latin, IndEur, etc.
I’m sure it doesn’t go back to twelve words, three words, one word, zero, poof, with homosap, but still … The “true” meaning of evil is this pun in IndoMong for good. As the branches unbranch. And the trunk dissolves. A trillion words out of a couple of dozen roots.
wow, what an insight! wake up to pee, and there goes the brain again. romanticism. noble savage. instinct to deny original sin? original sin as a Desmond Morris artifact of civ! man naturally cooperative; civ has to hammer him that he’s not, to make him the selfish beast that we call uncivilized. the civilized man knows the uncivilized is holier. yet when he wants to illustrate, he can only think of civilized virtues as virtues and so winds up denying his insight. Or if he doesn’t, the rest of his civilization can. The victorian list of “fallacies” of the romantics. That inflation is nothing compared to my list of their fallacies.
improves “history.” research history of negentropy & entropy. We look at history, we’re always looking for net gains. or we’re hawking net losses. 1) history is an artifact, not coextensive with the sum of events. 2) if you know that, you’re likely to get into less trouble. You know your tool and aren’t deceived by it. We’re trained to see clear diagrams of value. Someone invented the wheel. The Romans did aqueducts, roads, law, … We spread freedom, democracy, truth, etc. Imagine weather as composed of conscious molecules. Some molecule is the perceived center of some pattern for three moments instead of one. Ratifies perception by having local pattern elect him chancellor, president, king, Napoleon. Now, grr, let’s have a storm. Boom. But try greater distance photo, and the Napoleon molecule was behaving according to a greater chaos pattern. The local synergy can delude itself with point causes. Or this picture is the delusion. Or rather another delusion: the “conscious molecule’s picture of itself can’t be right. Though it may reverberate with what’s right closer than I’m denying their claim to.
still, patterns are patterns, including the local ones. what you can’t ever find is one all light (or you couldn’t find it, even were it there) or all dark (or you couldn’t find it, even were it there).
project: whenever anyone intellectual says: The Roman Empire fell because … Look for a counter pattern: The Roman Empire grew and grew until it transformed into the church. the evil of hitler was actually good in that … When one is looking at the entropy, you look at the negentropy.
civilization is always promoting itself for its negentropy. illich shows it to be entropy. or counter something, anyway. always finding us guilty of double think. freedom is addiction, etc. Civ also routinely lashes itself. oh, greed, oh, war, oh pollution. That’s Sunday morning. Then for six and a half more days it goes on being good and destroying the biosphere to make itself rich and dead. Even when self-lashing, man still takes too much credit for uniqueness: only ones to torture, to enslave, to wage war … all baloney. Xity only faith to be good, to seek truth, to promote freedom … all baloney.
Still, there can be something to both postures. Anyway, from a Calder perspective, consider opposite of usual diagnosis.
Buckler said “Charity did not begin at home, but it did begin in England.” That too can be looked at as true, and as not true. The medieval eng peasant ate much better than his eur counterpart. Eng’s industry also invented a ruthless exploitation far exceeding anything going on anywhere else in the world at that time. Maybe since, in terms of industry. But it was an innovation. Unions take credit for this and that. Whatever they did, private capital and this or that technique could not have gone on being so monopolistic and ruthless no matter what. Sooner or later there would have been competition for labor, after the first exuberance wasted, took for granted, its own imagined resource: labor. Try selling them millions of hi-tech cyborgs for the same price. England led the industrial and maybe the whole world in cruelty for that while. But too it had its poor laws, its first blunders toward social planning for the social as well as the owners. And Shelley & Blake etc.
When a modern who traces his culture through US, Eng, Ref, Church, Rome, Greece, etc. attacks Eng’s cruelty, shortsightedness, etc, I cheer and second. But if say an Italian jumps in to kick Eng too, I get like a Catholic who’s found a Protestant agreeing with his hatred of the Church. Uh oh. Mind your own business. What was Italy doing at the time? Just as bad, worse, nearly as bad, and not even noticing it. What record do we have of conditions of Italian poverty in 1810 except from Shelley? What Italians were going around poking their heads into hovels? And grieving.
Now, is Shelley the forerunner of the social worker?: let’s take over the whole of the whole of their lives? Here, industry, you take these for your slaves and I’ll take the rest and enslave them to my care? Better to just let them die or survive or rebel or mutate by themselves? A possible choice for the civilized man?
The history of need. If the need is biological. ie, real in some genetic sense, the word “need” needn’t be used. The need has its own word. I’m tired. I’m thirsty. I love you. Or silent. You put your hand up and shade your eyes.
The use of the word need signals something recent. Right away: search for artificiality. Designer needs. Designed a la Illich by the industry, state, or colonizing professions.
Ditto “want.” Not, I’m thirsty; but I want a Coke.
I need a Coors.
What this Blue Cross citizen needs is twelve operations, not twelve organs he was born with.
dependencies invented within the culture, that which can be needed only through orchestrated addiction.
cf. weak verbs vs strong verbs. The HA irregular verbs of the ignorant. The basic stuff is short, euphonious, and inflects. The invented much later stuff, the unevolved or just evolving attempts at stuff, are polysyllabic and regular. I slept, not I sleeped. I got, not I gotted. Mice, not mouses. Piecemeal, not piecemeally. Bad, not badly.
I thirst. I love. I hate. Time to die.
VS. I need a psychiatrist. Maybe there’s a federal program. Excess those teachers.
effort theory of value.
topology: what am I wasting my time for trying to wed literature and topology? A stone age topology has completely dominated our imaginations for 3,000 years. isn’t it time for a revamp? Who’d rather be Edgar Guest than Ptolemy? The church was big into a very old topology. Ok, so it’s 1000 times harder to be into a new topology, to seek new correspondences, patterns, relations, metaphors. relationship is minimally a double description.
changing roles: some ad has three guys watching football and fighting over the last piece of delivered pizza. They destroy the room, the slice sailed through the air to land on the baby’s tray just as the ref, from a tv right at the baby’s elbow signals, 3 field goal points. lone female walks in, sees broken everything, smiling baby, hiding buddies, and asks, Ready for second pizza. Mothers bring in the van delivered fast food. Daddy wrecks the play pen. Baby survives everything but the close zap of microwaves. Baby is lucky except will never be daddy.
soc. You deserve a break today. So get out and get away …
I hope you’re successful: you deserve it. Bob Monahan said after meeting me twice for a couple of minutes to hours each. The less someone knows you, the more likely your are to hear that in today’s market economy. But I don’t deserve two scoops. Yes, you do. Well, I didn’t kill a fly once … says the cereal ad.
binary, duality, double standard
two standards of reason:
the argument that promotes thought, investigation,
the argument that halts it:
there’s always one of two possibilities
obviously jesus was not a jew
ambiguities: in politics, eg, we need a Roberts Rules of Order.
Speaker defines what he means by communist, christian, democracy, freedom, science, reason, evidence, etc. Baiter B, starts off following A’s meaning and suddenly switches to meaning 2,3,4. You make your presentation, defense, attack, whatever, it’s accepted for three seconds, and then you’re sandbagged by the switch. Now, is anyone in the Chorus fooled?
Or is it just power: let’s pretend to act rationally, fairly, but actually just act like the primates with a super pecking order that we actually are? Like the magician. Words are the dodge, the distraction, the look there while I slight here. The group approves of the switch so long as it’s what they feel to be their group prestige, advantage, etc.
One of the worst things is misidentifying the group promoted: the people/ the commissars; America/ this and that corporation, this and that mode of production, land, labor and consumption enslavement; freedom,liberty,truth/ the Party; the party/ the President.
Recusancy. I mention god. Double betrayal: it’s not the one we are used to hating, or defying, or ignoring, or denying. Or going along with the orthodoxy of, pretending acquiescence, or using as a blind for our own ambitions and bullying.
why is it that those who sent you to investigate, because they didn’t know what was there, will then condescend and bully you as a commie-leper as they put you in jail for claiming to find what you did?
outside/inside. objective/subjective … same thing? time/space?
billy dupree, fed up with mirrorshades, turns to older s-f, rockets and shuttles going someplace were becoming almost routine. But it sure wasn’t him. Isn’t it always supposed to be the awkward unloved twelve year old who gets the first of all time adventure? But they weren’t even going to the moon, just low orbit, monkey some machinery, and back down. the stories went to the ends of the universe, rending time and theory … billy was beginning to suspect that that was not only fiction, but fictitious. Fiction? Be false? In an important area like that? Sure, growing up, he would learn that generally served some organizing or already organized fiction: that was different. He wasn’t talking about jingles written for corporations to confuse fecundity with their product. … and billy goes inside.
practice being brave where everyone is a friend, then you’re stuck when the enemy appears.
dei: T: God Talks to the Father.
The Trinity is perhaps a Mandelbrot Set of 4th Dimensional Patterns of the Perceptual Possibilities (the infinite but still very limited somethings) and Perceptual Impossibilities (the also infinite and infinitely more infinite nothings that make it up): Linear sense of which direction? entirely inappropriate. ie. is J the old, out of it, silly past generation mistake for god? or as much god as any, but losing contact? The Holy Ghost the god of next contact past God, God the Son, the god of current or most recent contact?
Must (epis’ly respon’ble) distinguish god, the non-thing, from our perception of it. The god is what’s true: our documents, attempts at communication, recording, this scribble, the Bible, Witness, etc, all imperfect and highly perishable maps, interfaces: the interface with the thing, not the thing. Even if the map is His map, it’s still His map in our temporal subjective tiny surface infinitely inadequate point perception.
Or is the time thing the other way around? J is our mistake for the past God, X our current or most recent image?, always reflecting our local distortion of the Beetle in the MSet, (not a distortion really, but the only way in which the shape actually has existence, just not the whole, bias and flux and counterflow being the soul of locality.
The MSet is our best to date picture of how we can to some extent model what can’t be modeled. What it shows best is what’s missing. Like the one hand clapping.
What we do have is our locale. Reason is our way of being precise, even if precisely wrong, about it. Right or wrong, precision is a good thing, because it keeps its shape for more than a second.
Names, name calling, curses, are part of the turbulence we’re trying to solve. However foolishly. It takes a good brain to be foolish.
Someone calls us a fool? So what? It’s merely a redundancy. = a rational creature. Or it’s yang stupidly complimenting Yin.
ss: all my imaginings these past couple of years are stage sets with the MSet as the curtain, stage, backdrop, sometimes lit, sometimes withdrawn, still always there, the defining context.
Pilot & TT tour via crystal. In the MSet = a 2 dim picture of more dimensions, a picture of a Meta-Pattern. Actually, the MSet is more than 2 dim, but the mathematician can only draw it in 2. And the human mind is doing well to see it even in 2.
How see it? See it over and over again. Not from the same place. If there’s such a thing as a “same place,” it’s impossible to remain there. No, you take samples. Sample after sample.
Pilot & TT. They’re in the gray streaked soup around a Beetle. A universe of Beetles, all beyond perception but the one they’re about to penetrate. Within which is an infinite sub-universe of Beetle universes. Descend. Ascend. Same thing. Penetrate. See the lace. What’s this? Pilot: don’t know: have to translate. Feed a few coordinates into the translator. Curtain shimmers. Pilot & TT grow bright. Stage starts to grow familiar, merely 3 to 4 dimensional, extensional things. A fragment of a woman’s hand: moving. Then a coffee pot. Then a bit of pants leg. Fade out. Pilot & TT reemphasize. My mistake. I’m getting it, P says. More moving fragments move around stage. Form. P&TT disappear like curtain, stage, backdrop of moment before. And slice of life assembles. Act I. Some human situation.
Curtain. Slice fades. P&TT reillume. And there’s moving MSet.
Act II. P&TT try to navigate back to what cannot be returned to. Same slice, but with different emphasis. If god was apparent, emergent at least through sacrament before, now it’s Satan. A different perspective. Of the “same” thing.
Act III shows meta-consciousness of evolution. Ie. part. Always and only parts. The 4 dim line suggesting pattern. Continuance. Continuity.
The extensional is pure discontinuity. with cont. illusion only. The MSet pattern suggests, via still another yin/yang discontinuity, that the cont. is the pattern and the extensional discont the illusion.
1989, about to be 1990, and I’m more saturated than ever with the certainty of how great Heller’s image is, how the modern world is run by Ex PFC Wintergreen. (And how do we know that god isn’t a more remote ExPFC Wintergreen?)
One thing I love about reality, our name “the pathetic fallacy” notwithstanding, the egregious uses of it notwithstanding: we never know what the set of our set is. we don’t know our genre.
In the movies, the editing, the style, the background music tell us what kind of a movie it is, the cover, the author’s familiarity tell us that for the novel, the play. So too, the kind of theater, the hour and channel it’s on tv. If the blond is raped, we know the context we’re supposed to assume. She’s innocent, the bikers are beasts. Or it’s hard-boiled: everybody here is guilty some way; except the audience. Two seconds tell us if it’s Sagan on one level, George Page at the bottom, or Bambi, in the middle.
Familiarity let’s the movie goer know that yes, the white hat means he’s the good guy, or, no, this is Nevsky and black and white are backwards. or there are two whites, the bad Bosch and the good white Russians, with the gray Mongols somewhere in between.
Now, in reality, we make those assumptions right and left. We wear the white hat, whatever it’s color, whatever we do. But time has a way of always showing no correspondence between our appropriated context and what the pattern looks like after a while. But we’re died and our greatgreatgreatgreat grandchildren a hundred times removed wear the white hat, and see us as idiots. or are polishing our armor and editing the right museum around us: Art of the Western World.
But what does the Western World really mean? Means we’re dying, means we’re Death, carrying it ever westward, around a oblate spheroid with no east or west in its three dimensions, but still toward where the sun is low on the horizon, though yes, a partial illusion (or meta-pattern) in its fourth dimension.
Kids instantly know which movie they’re in when the girl kicks workadaddy in the balls and remains innocent. the girl in the yellow everything in Mad Mad World. When she grows up, when the lie about her has served its purpose, she too will look like Ethyl Merman.
Aggrippa and Paul: “almost thou persuadest me to become a Xian.” But since you appealed to Caesar … The bureaucrat always has a technicality, and excuse to do the wrong thing.
Consciousness came into sleep just now like a streak, dissolved, back to random presumably, and streaked in again. Consciousness is a synergy. Life is a synergy.
ss: Martian comes upon man while asleep. or in space ship while hibernating. draws all kinds of wrong conclusions, right morphologically, wrong metaphysically. Then the man wakes up. Totally startles the Martians, like the family dog would if, after six years of nothing but eating, sleeping, chewing things, and farting, the dog had suddenly said, “My, my. How long can I have been asleep? Who are you … a, creatures?” Slept? For how long? Five billion years? Then there’s another story.
DL must be having a special series of repeats of his most misogynist shows. the other night with Nastasia Kinski reminded me of taking Gatja & Peter to Puglia’s. Every patron except the Rothes were having a good time. Rothe mutter and Rothe sohne exchanged disapproving glances as the hilarity rose. They felt German superiority in being out of it. Very funny, Nastasia smirked, having no idea what the DL spirit was, as though her audience were German and would agree with her that the humor was no humor at all. The audience loved it. NK was a complete drip. Except when they showed her clip being bowed by … the Ruskie. (Rudolf Nureyev)
Tonight, the post-Olympic bloodletting with Shirley MacLaine.
I’d never seen DL anything like so hostile. Till last night he broke the record with Oliver Reed. So it’s not just dopey pretty females.
Maybe Cher was right, maybe you are an asp.
Ooo, a little Olympic boxing here. Would you like to give blood? The hard way?
You’re the interviewer: you wanted me here for three years.
I think we’ll probably wait another three.
just remembering the FLEX years and how increasingly bemused I became as I noticed that I was the only WASP amid all these radical jews and catholics. now i found myself dreaming a mod type dream about it: the actors do what people do, which action alternates with the motivating allegories, the various principles pushing themselves, their cause, their rights.
Anything like Catholicism or Puritan or Low-Church or Democrat or Klan being a whole set, a slippery alliance of other principles. Actors in allegories may be teams in concert, or costumed like Jane&US, may quarrel within themselves every once in a while. Occasionally split up.
The older the sect, the more ghosts it represents, the more eroded their apparent discrepancies.
an hour up, but still half dreaming. another allegory dream. above I said mod type: my prototype for a long time now. but 8 or 9 years ago discovered another, known great, around for many more decades. since before my birth. though I’m never good at this title. Kipling’s engineer, the flood, the gofer, the dope, the dream of the convocation of the gods. Injia.
but here: a different order of consciousness sees humans. can’t imagine why they’re sitting in front of a cathode ray tube day and night. don’t see the code of the spray of electrons. well, they invented it themselves, you see. so what, every creature can invent its own dope. ah, but they don’t grow this out of their inner programming, they invent it wholly within their subprog which lets them freeze small parts of their non-DNA environment for short periods of time without total distortion. they call it intelligence. here, they’re manupilating what they understand of physics. so what? show me a creature that doesn’t. that clam over there: you think he doesn’t know how calcium bonds with every conceivable thing?
Finally, revelation I: the spirit has had no conception that the electron stream is a code and that the boobs are tubing a rerun of the Lucy Show. They’re not staring at electrons, they’re stunned into stupor by fictional transforms of themselves. switch to Hitler’s radio amplified addresses: same thing, with more running around in the stupor. The Crusades, the message in light scattered through the stained glass of Chartres.
revelation II: the spirit wasn’t the only one missing an essential characterisic of species: they’re all watching their groups’ version of a rerun of the Lucy Show. The coral get I Love Coral in the way their skeleton breaks up the water further breaking up the light. Coral code. Us light, us water, we don’t do this sort of thing for clams, you know. Hotcha Coral!
JanUS & the JustUS Department
A) just us niggers in jail
B) just us racially imagined types served by the rhetoric of equality.
selection for inability to carry messages accurately. we’ve already done it. that should get rid of us fast.
id28 12 December 1989 to 22 December 1989 lost. something important at very end, where I spilt over to id29. damn.