/ Journal /
previous save: 2/10/90
homeostasis. infinite preserver of reified worlds. One method is the group, always embodied in the individual, deciding which words it wants no authority beyond itself in the meaning of. Say science to anyone: they immediately know what you mean, for their purposes. try to tell them your purposes. end of listening to destroyer of worlds.
Journalism has its own code words that signal: this is propaganda. rational processes do not apply here. that doc on the FBI. here we’ll solemnly acknowledge what we suppressed so vigorously last decade and the few before. and we’ll tell you, assure you: we don’t do that anymore. Not “the whole govt enterprise is a fraud”: we all already know that. but it’s how we make our living, where we get and maintain our advantages, always slipping away from us. here we acknowledge that some has slipped away from us and here we draw the line.
Hoover acting like any little emperor from the beginning. we had to swallow his propaganda, be shunned if we didn’t. John Wayne, he’s the real man. Does just what he’s told. Then tells us. Our Geo Washington.
But words. “Permissive.” Code for: the group will cooperate in your illusion of freedom so long as you stay within bounds Not Codified As Law.
How can people tolerate that crap. permissive. who’s the fed, by its own lights, to “permit” anything. write the laws: then let us do what isn’t illegal. or, let us do it anyway, and take the consequences. But no: oh, my! what shall we do? people took their freedom literally. quick. organize an FBI to stop them.
Now here’s the investigative reporter being reasonable: “Maybe J Edgar went beyond the bounds of …” in practicing state terror on ML King and on anyone who believed in him or his virtue, innocence, etc. But … And now there’s the Freedom of Information Act. You can ask if you’ve been bugged. See? We’re free? What about the Bill of Rights? Don’t ask. See, you got this now. But now I’ve got to trust their telling the truth now. Right. Can’t go and riffle the files myself? Of course not. That’s for the priesthood. And yet they say plain out and certain files have been put under wraps till 2020 or some such time. What about the destroyed files? Every time a govt destroys files, that govt should be erased from memory. Start over. Except of course don’t erase anything from the memories of anthropologists. Who’s that? It should be all of us.
But then how could we function as an empire? a civilization? Right. we couldn’t.
Then again, my utopia has no room for science, for literature not oral, for anthro sophistication. Not that of that fascist’s Republic. Just eat and be eaten and laze in the sun.
always admitting that I too don’t know or control or want to control where things are really headed. industrialism, court intrigue, real politik, the perpetual banishing of intellect, the Love Connection on the phone … everything J Edgar Hoover and Stalin and Hitler and Nixon and etc do-did-willdo could be leading precisely where evolution “must” go. Must in a particular universe. Possibility, myriad: but not in any one universe. There: just a handful of conflicts. One queen, a dozen drones, one hive. The blue print for millions and millions of hives. I don’t have to win: I just have to follow my own sense of missed chances, of loss, of possibility. What if we could be intelligent? Get open and stay open?
It’s very doubtful. I’ve got a valve stuck. But still. I’ve got a value stuck? So what? I live my possibility. It could be contagious. It could be part of the disease that’s the new health. Or it could be just plain toxic. That’s not my problem. Anyway, that’s a false alternative. We don’t, can’t, and shouldn’t know whether we’re disease or health. god shouldn’t know if he’s god. satan probably genuinely believes that he is or should be. and we can’t say he isn’t at some level not yet revealed. or that god isn’t satan at some level not yet revealed.
the trouble with our conventional gods and satans is that their levels are already revealed. the satan in Jehovah is manifest. just like Milton’s whole parade of old phonies, once believed genuine.
The woman crawling in the wall paper. we see her confinement. we see her husband’s and her doctor’s limits. we don’t see hers. I always want, like Twain’s The Books, the see the sequel. To imagine the s-f scenario of her world run by her and her clones and then look at the doctor and the husband in it. And the children. And the pets. The domestic beasts of the utopia. I want to see that in my own utopia(s).
I am of course sympathetic to the repressed woman more than to the conventional 0-learners around her, male or female. She’s the growing mantle. my only point is that the binary assumptions of the conventional being good/bad//the unconventional being good/bad are untested. you can’t know if the un- or the conventional is good/bad till the alternatives have been given equal reign.
So often I imagine ur-myths for patriarchy with good reason, though reasons not recorded, for ganging up on matriarchy. I’m not as good at imagining the reverse, I’m not female the way I’m male, but sometimes I try. The new govt is good until it’s no good. Like Kafka’s Penal Colony, you die in agony, but with a revelation: ah, that’s what my crime was. the one protagonist dying with chaos scratched all over him. no coherent revelation. failure of interpretation on his part. failure to read chaos is our crime.
Left and right are good at seeing that the other isn’t them, but being blind to the transforms that made them reversed. Fundamentally reversed.
martian looks and doesn’t see any more difference than Swift’s big-enders and little-enders. so? it’s none of the martian’s business.
Carol Jenkins & the Hagahai: “a desperate battle against her own statistics.” a superior George Page wrote that.
this Nat Geog show a treasure trove.
ss: washington war on statistics. conducted far more seriously than the war on poverty or the war on drugs. though of course nothing like the war on vietnam or WWII. still, in common with all, a whole new bureaucracy is funded. Purpose: to pollute systematically the statistical findings of the other data gathering bureaus. Immediately followed of course by trafficking among the bureaus. Big black market for unpolluted statistics. The public will of course get only the polluted kind, and so inevitably will the bureaus.
News: truck load of pure stuff, street value of 15 trillion, seized by feds. information so pure it would kill every information junky whose system couldn’t take it. under lock and key of justice dept. where the various alphabet cops cop and trade it.
who can tell if it’s really pure? GeogTown Prof snorts a spoonful. Big leer. This is wicked information. Wow. Give me another taste. But of course it isn’t. God knows it’s ten percent sugar. or oregano. or rat poison.
Who understands that the English major’s job ought to be to expose the meaningless or wrong meaninged garbage from our daily fare, not to beat up on outsiders, to claim some standard of status quo usage and then to further impoverish all else? If that role of the linguist were understood, linguistics would be more subversive than any standard politics. What would be left? Only Fuller, Bateson, Shakespeare. Advertising, esp political candidacy, would be exposed. Impossible. We all have similar intelligence. If people didn’t insist on tailoring their own deceptions according to who they see where in the pecking order, we’d all be Korzybskis. And then were would we be? Well, certainly not where we are.
We’re defaulted to see our pecking order as serving survival. I don’t doubt that it once did. But now? We’ll docilely go to hell with it.
SirJ says: “Ridicule and blame are the just meed, not of those who devised these crude theories, but of those who obstinately adhered to them after better had been propounded.”
just before: NatGeog self congratulation on developing some robotic bathysphere to explore some precious old ship, cargo from 5 cultures. Now it will be possible to do this and this, what treasures we will find with this technology, now made within our precious budget? During devel of robot they’d started working on sunken find. Leave sign: please do not disturb the Phoenician bottle caps; we’ve gone to get our robot, far more delicate and less subject to the bends than we. 6 months later: 3 japanese pirate expeditions, 8 PhD candidates from CalTech have been there ravaging the salvage. A sub from Tehran is waiting for their parking space. Blare on the horn from Disney sub which has a license to set up refreshment concessions, followed by 500 girl scouts in scuba gear.
and the solemn tv consumers sit there imagining that the exploration of NatGeog today is anything like what Eratosthenes did, or even Hillary. what’s the difference? genius? courage? integrity? maybe, maybe, and maybe. though who’s to say the girl scouts don’t have integrity? or the jap whalers? the difference is once exploration of certain things was nonexistent to rare: now, buy your skis at Hermans and find a mountain full of skiers.
the follow-up on the Hagahai just like Twain. Oh, look what we found. Oh, look what the contact has killed. Just like stout Cortez.
The funny thing is, NatGeog itself was making some of these points, without in any way betraying the irony of their own role. Here’s the primitive people, first we find them, now the second thing we need is this huge landing strip, and of course a big parking lot, commissary, and soon a Hilton for the execs come to help, as their birth rate goes to 7 pregnancies, 7 still births.
To survive, they’ll have to adapt, NG says. Damn right. So will we. Bravo. Damn right. Are we doing it? Is NG helping. Sure? And still helping with the hurt too.
The future may see a return to old fashioned human inwardness for wisdom. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Get a pin? Recruit angels? Check it out? Don’t be absurd. This requires reflection, not research.
Then we won’t develop any robot, stick our limp dick into the last sub ocean crevice. Nothing to find? No Eratosthenes? No, rare, like before. the universe will always be mostly unexplored. what we’ve done is industrialize the one or two kinds. Bring them to toxicity.
Whole NG pastiche. Gal photog whole N Hemi from Palomar. Mapping stars. Great. Especially as long as that’s all we think there is. Then there will always be room for the Eratosthenes, finding what no one was looking for, and few care that he’s found. No chair in Athens. No great probability that anyone will ever know. Era prob a poor example, cause some Gr did care about more accurate mappings of the earth, just as the pope cared to use Galileo’s improvoved tide charts. See the consequences of the improved charts? Not on your life.
How quintessential Mad comics is to my whole world view. Dragged Net. The two cops, Jack Webb and the geek, bury themselves under Chesterfields. They pursue the crook up some Himalayean peak, all the clichés of macho exploration, danger, exhaustion. Through snow and rain the PO man specializes in not giving a shit about messages, only rules. Webb and pal drag battered bodies to peak. there’s a girl scout troop. There, capping the next peak over, is the Paramount symbol.
Right, the appropriate myth of exploration for us is Angel Heart. The 20th-cen Oedipus. Sam Spade rakes through the muck and finds his own soul.
And as I write King, I also remember the bandaids on Tarzan as he swings the vines.
Joseph Losey. The Doll’s House. Jane Fonda. Never knew what I had missed till just now. 3:30 am, half through setting the paragraph spacings to pring King for Omni, worked straight for six hours, hungry, take break, come in half way through what I had never realized till now is a great Christmas play. Kronstadt fired Xmas day. It’s a Xmas party that Nora dances the gypsy at, that Dr Rank announces his death, and it’s Xmas eve that Nora’s miracle is denied her. So she creates her own. Lotsaluck, girlie. Incredible to see it just after writing King, reading Chomsky, Illich, and today fetching Frazer from the lib and searching The Golden Bough.
Martha took me to see a Dolls House with … yeow, I wait for Bergman’s actress’s name to drop, and it doesn’t. Boy am I out of practice. At least it was only a year and a half ago that I saw Bibi Andersson in Babette. Yeow, why does Utta Hagen come to me? That’s not who I mean. Liv Ullman. Anyway, this Losey Dolls was much better. Losey’s casting/directing Thorvald was terrific. I hated the straw man on Broadway. I think Martha was annoyed that I didn’t think it was just wonderful.
First time I read Dolls, like ’57, kaboom. Last time I read it, prob late ’60s, hchoiy, was it wooden. Losey makes it play the way it would have 100 yrs ago. Fonda perfect casting. The ironies resonnated, not creaked.
So Nora thinks she can educate herself, just like that, in her world? And the audience, and her creator, hope so for her? Not impossible, never impossible, but most unlikely. She’s realized she’s not a human being, she aspired to be a human being, she will fail, and, like Flitcraft, will lapse right back to being what really seems to be: a human being, a bundle of unconscious taboos and horseshit, a Thorvald. Not quite the Nora of old perhaps.
Radiant to see Shaw’s soul before he did.
Onauthahan, I’ve just read The Winter’s Tale. Ibsen wallows in the crap for two hours, Sh gets it out of the way in 2 minutes. 16 years pass. and we see the same world, but a different world, one with Perdita 16.
Reading TheGB. Aiyee. It was bad enough before how everyone and everything around me seems to be robotic. Writing to OMNI, having to pretend that I trust their literacy. That even if they publish it, any human being will exist to read it. To turn them into a Nora. To make them leave home, not say goodbye to their children, to educate themselves?
But oh, if Killheffer ever could understand the implications of the last sentence of my note to him!
Though I was stupid to include it. Like telling Sgt Bradley, “I just deliberately didn’t obey that order, Sgt.” Or deliberately violating Prof Patrick’s most recent anathema within 24 hours of his tabooing it.
how can a question as simple as this sounds be ambiguous? “Do you believe that the white supremacy movement is gaining strength?” Yes or No. Call 1 900 xxx-xxxx.
even yes and no can never be merely dispassionate, who cares whether the switch is on or off if it’s only symbolic, as long as order or presentation has a significance.
Let a survey try saying no or yes sometime. wham.
the ambiguity is between whether people are whether balloons or participants.
id 29 cont’d
SirJ & TheGB. no doubt the rain men came to know something about rain and certainly about agriculture. no doubt our medicine men know something about medicine. but I sure wish people would realize how much of everything comes from nature and further from what we’ve already done. Illich’s point: some doctor, some scientist anyway, had to discover the correspondence between cholera and sewage, but once known, who needs the doctor for that? if drugs were turned over to pharmacists, or even to people’s own labs, should they have them, would the abuses be worse than the doctors’ own? cheaper at the very least. so, somebody kills himself with the wrong drug. like we don’t now?
Fuller’s point: the rain rains on everything when it’s raining. to me, it’s only the medicine men who prevent society from being more natural with wealth. no, it’s gotta devolve to and through the priests. fuck em all.
would the pubs ever see the point as it applies to them? hoarding the resources for literature. it’s not as though they don’t give good amounts to good writers. they do. like school teachers can argue that the kids can read. sort of. sure, and the sun man can say the sun is shinning. the money is funneled through them cause they’ve established themselves there and the public thinks they’re priests. good for them. except for those of us who always have and always will work outside that. those few we hear of, I say few of course estimating. as Col Rader said, how many fish do there have to be for you to see or catch one?, those few we hear of, get beaucoup kudos after death but no, in Hoyle’s phrase, beer.
I’m in a panic. I’m starting to lose files from QA in a cascade. I’d lost before, mostly more annoying than important. The trouble is one can never be positive that something wasn’t important. your last two hours or six hours creative work always seems important. ss3id gone. now id 28. my work disk reformatted after half its contents were inaccessible, the .cm files dos “can’t create”. then qa froze mid load of id 28. just after losing opencon.dtf. then copies of invoice.dtf freeze.
I wake up, 1:50 am. first time in months I’ve been able to get more than 3 hours consecutive sleep during darkness. Yesterday, up at 9 pm. revise king till dawn. watching Dolls while eating, then the revision finished by 7. print, with more revisions noticed till 11 am. shower, get my teeth put in, a full set for the first time in two years, feel funny, eating very awkward, go to see Jim. He’s painted vases. We’re going backwards again. But: I’d just mailed king to OMNI and I’ve got to be happy. Stumble till 5:30. Can’t read more than one scene of Titus: Saturninus being at idiot at end of ActIV. Then actual, real sleep. Wake up toward 2ish, head teaming with stuff. note following in SK:
nora, map, shaw
abbott cost reset zero
human topology, reset zero for equality, general inapprop.
lang as rhet, as science
make X collage our of Bhud paint, ^B. apply one algor, for dif
sometimes SideKick would really screw me up, triply by the time I get it to the Mac.
intell. one patch applying its rules to another small patch.
and at varying tempi. so, always, the variously set switches will deny to others out of tempo that they have any setting at all.
is there a point, a necessary point, in any possible kind of checking where what’s being checked is removed from one sense’s immediate view so that another sense can get at it? And that then the linkage is at least once removed between the two senses: say sight and memory. the magician’s curtain.
Now it’s 5 am and I’ve done nothing but fight to save or recover files and to eliminate bad ones, hopefully without losing much actual work. Here I am, divided between catching some sense from above, and quick, print a MS of king before you lose everything. Is it QA? the plus? the drives? the disks? me? the files themselves? should I switch to WS for a bit? Written QA twice to no answer. Did BK give me a bad update? problems only since then. problems I can’t blame myself for, at least in terms of making saves or baks often enough or soon enough.
binary. toujours binary. a limit of our perception? my perception?
men & women/ and marriage: two kinds
men/women who marry to be married/
men/women who marry to take revenge on women/men
endless other possible binaries, of course:
“communication” messages to promote ideas
messages to thwart predetermined “wrong” ideas
Boss Mangan’s monkey wrench
AI: make a computer. let it sit there. what’s the prob it will turn on? that there will be power without your supplying and maintaining it? what’s the prob the computer will wake up and supply its own, find some way to interface with what we have in the way of dynamos, oil fields, etc.
Ok, so it’s on. Now what? What’s the prob of it’s gaining any data? Without a human feeding it in through the keyboard. What’s the prob the human’s input is worth a computer shit?
SirJ’s TheGB & AI fear. What if a bad magician makes the sun rise? People must think the computer can do the above. Or that it will learn that if we make the mistake of letting it learn anything. But meantime the banks, the stores as well as the hackers load them up.
how often, watching any pop entertainment, do we watch some ritual of civilized drug administration. they’re in the bar, they light a cigarette, have a cup of coffee. here’s the hero hoping for payday.
how fabulous. thank you 44, the movie channel. St Francis movie is on as I breakfast. 5 am. I’ve been almost an hour futzing with ravaged, randomized QA smushed work files. recovered a bit of id28. Slept long unbroken more than 8 hours sleep during night hours for first time in years. from dusk till predawn. how rare to be in synch with any normal world even for 24 hours. getting up at 10 to 4 isn’t exactly in synch, but closer than I’ve been.
anyway, francis goes off to africa, comes back to Italia, finds his order acquiring property and going into business. the church is very mad at him. somebody’s told to sign agreement with something, taking it literally, and “without interpretation.” Emphasized over and over again. They want the fish that’s noticed it swims in water to return to an awareness of air as air and rock as rock but water as simply not being there.
dear Jim, reads the B, explaining it rigidly every word of the way, and then says that he’s not interpreting it.
And right after King. Unbelievable. He must be a sorcerer, the moors say.
The directing, the uniformity of the acting is significant.
Stu Witman is the civilized man whose focus is good in the short sight. F’s brother? (though, god, how, after K worked with Mifune for decades, can any of us watch any other actor, pull out a sword like a girl, fumble what’s this? physically, and then smash it on something, like a fat opera non-actor, Cesaré Siepi, always excepted. Bad as the generally good Stu was at being fierce, wow was he transparently a robot at being beatific. Look, Ma: No Mind.
Rather than shatter through the double binds with vivid paradox, rather than sound at all like X, Paul, or Fran, these actors, even the Fran actor a bit, all just look invaded by the Reagan body snatchers, esp Stu’s girl friend as nun. I look at every priest and minister I’ve ever seen close up personally, Ivan doesn’t count, and that’s what I see.
Man struggling with his inappropriate tools forever bumps into his own inadequate metaphors. The history of civilization: the record of triangles bumping into circles in a fractal landscape.
My dream upon waking was also fractal & epis. I saw a human ironing out the local bumps in his fractal universe, a long thread antennaed from his rump to the fractal distance, wrinkling beyond his sight to every temp smoothness before him. JanUs here not knowing the greater half of what’s he doing.
why can’t we worship the undefined god, the not understood cosmos, and still be proud of what we have defined (always provisionally) and have understood (always provisionally). what is this All delusion? what is this destructive nonsense about certainty?
Ah, when it’s an Einstein, being certain, certain of his theory, for his decade, vs, the old known inadequate, ah, that’s different. that kind of macho is absolutely necessary. i wish i had much more of it. that’s where my character, my fate, may be my fault: exactly where it isn’t and can’t be my fault according to current phych-wash. Our blind spot is what we are most responsible for.
topology: what’s more divisive than continual innovation at unity? i’m always arguing for increased consciousness of superior epis/info ie wisdom. SirJ’s point about the catholicity of magic. it may be wrong, it may not have a single instance of anything unequivocally supporting it, but boy is it universal. that’s after 40,000 to develop it. if we’re lucky enough to get another 40,000, what might be common to our understanding?
SirJ thinks the great majority of man barbarous and stupid. for four decades, plus a bit, i’ve disagreed with that: people should be assumed intelligent till proved stupid. that was in generous reaction to condescension toward the young me by adults whose iq assumptions varied with age. now i more agree with SirJ. Conventional, in middle age. He traces magic as believing things to be regular, impersonal, and influencable, if you find the method; later, science: ditto. in between, religion: things personal, arbitrary, and influencable. I believe the unwisdom of all is this anxiety to influence. Why can’t we play the hand dealt us? Bad hands come from others busy influencing things more than nature. Except for the paradox of civ, which cycles with overpopulation, where there’s this band of brothers seeking to hex that band of brothers. rhetoric of “all” without any serious meaning to it: save all mankind: kill the communists. Equality for everyone: supported by the nigger slaves.
Why not seek understanding? I don’t know, but might nonmanipulative understanding, if it could possibly be shared, show us a nature that could do well by a healthy population so long as it gave up, magic, religion, civilization, and all this vain manipulating?
understanding vs manipulation
watching stellar cast wasted by stupid Ustinov/Charlie Chan movie. Never thought I’d see Michelle Pfeiffer be merely pretty: another obedient Hollywood C-, cuny (Bowdlerizing K. 2016 07 29) with enough intelligence to do whatever schtick is handed her.
continuity as illusion in macro world. perceived by increasing number of specialties. physicists. philos, film studios, … (and any lone artist, composer, painter, or writer.)
I see Bambi as a kid. Took it for granted: like Fairbanks & Flynn. Then there’s the automatically look down on anything not in your snooty museum phase. At CircleG, startled to see the number of people come in really respecting Rockwell and Disney. Sure. What’s liberal, what’s intelligent, what’s moral, what’s logical, who’s the true god, altogether a question of which fraternity rules this turf. How to appreciate Disney as a great something or other? See five seconds of any of the early feature animations, then later, then any five seconds of tv animation. Course it’s 99% budget, but that’s what genius is, 99% anyway: Disney gave a lot of himself; production art gives only the minimum it can get away with. Genius gives maximum it’s capable of. So too acted movies. I watch x,y,z: here’s the 30 seconds of this day’s shoot. here’s michael j fox mugging on a suspended skate board in a california back yard while a hundred or so californians hang out, watching him mug. like a goddam model. real art is also put together by brush strokes, cuts, actors, cartoons … where does the stage show more than in first scenes of The WT? Or in statue of last scene to for that matter; but: even the sophisticated is more aware of what’s going on in the drama, the ideas, the supposed action, than the props, the cuts, the mugging. the Ustinov movie has terrific art in it: the costuming, makeup, properties, and the talents of a host of terrific performers, not to mention the most profound of all, Pfeiffer’s genes, you can see there all war horses. it’s only the whole that creaks.
synecdoche: red spot for mother/parent/food, valentine for ass, ass for pussy, pussy for vagina, vagina for womb + egg, etc. is there anything for itself? can’t know.
Next to great writers, I best love those who pay no attention to what they’re saying. opening moments of Kung Fu, lady missionary says: “you may be the lowest of the low, but God doesn’t care …” Did Ike ever speak truer than when he said, we all have some kind of god, and i don’t care what it is … Or was that Nixon? In either case, did ever politician speak truer?
Next moment, the missionary kidnaps boy from owner: he’s god’s now. and there’s the kid, washing her dishes.
morality and the random as any order beyond our ken. Xmas dinner at Sebring Gardens. 1 pm. The record cold warms a bit. The electricity was never off in the rec hall. In fact it’s hot midway through feast time. I start my carrots at 12:30. I’ve peeled and julienned only half when I see my neighbors bearing covered dishes. Wait, I haven’t missed the time: it’s only 20 to. Shouldn’t hot dishes for a 1 pm dinner be hot at 1 pm? Then I remember Highland Wheel Estates clock. I arrive to 7 am coffee at 7:01 and most of the doughnuts are gone, been gone since 6:45. I’ll get there at 1 and there will be no turkey left. So I stop cutting right there and dump them in the oil. Agonize with myself whether I should add even three flakes of the chili peppers to the dish I would add three whole chilis to for myself. Rush over. Forgot the alumin foil. My half prepared dish fits into my little casserole which I bear uncovered. Bachelors don’t have to bring anything I was told, but this bachelor is a cook. It’s ten of and I feel like an idiot. Am I ten minutes late? Or ten minutes early? Everyone stands around for fifteen minutes. The park pres. comes up and calls me by name. Good job. Actually a number of people call me by name including guests who don’t live there. Still, the pres made a point of it. I say hi to those three people whose names I know, screw up my face at a couple of others, and feel like I’m at an eighth grade dance. All the boys are lined up against this wall, only the boys are 70 and 80 years old. At some group signal within a minute or two of 1 we sit. Five after, a guy says the coffee isn’t ready, but Rev. X, please, if you will say the blessing … And table I, the most feeble, are called to the buffet. We’re table III, and we’re next. I take a bit of everything and overfill my plate before the meat and veggie part is quiet passed. I’ll come back for the salads and cheese. Then there’s a separate table for deserts. The food is decent to quite good. I taste my own first. I can’t taste any spice at all, but that doesn’t prove much; someone else could be burning and screaming and cursing the saboteur. The turkey was carved in slabs rather than slices, and cooked typically a bit too dry, but many of the veggies are quite good, including some pears baked with brown sugar. I quarreled only with the gravy, which seemed to be water and flour and little else. I eat. My neighbors eat. Other tables are just going up for the first time. But three bites into their overladen trays, (I was the only one eating from a plate. The others all had double sized trays with compartments. I was a bit startled to see that others had taken as much as I had, maybe more, since they had larger surfaces to spread it on.) my companions all get up and go to the desert table. I can’t see a dent in any of their dinners, but they come back with six or eight deserts each. “Before it’s all gone,” they explain. I dig in and eat my dinner. Go back for a dip each of everything I had missed the first time, taking no seconds till I’d had firsts. I noticed only one or two things I missed the second time too. The cheese was gone. Fruit salads, pistachio colored fluff, meringuey things. And only after I’d eaten all of that, did I look about me to notice that my companions had eaten all of their everything, except for only maybe four pies Millie was wrapping in a napkin. I go to the desert table and found a choice of three deserts, of which I took a sample of each. More desert than I needed, though I enjoyed the whole. More might have tipped the scale toward excess. But there were a dozen totally ravaged desert service plates, dishes, trays. I checked the time. 1:55. Even the tables served last looked to be winding down. I hadn’t taken the last pies or cakes. But the offering was relatively feeble by then. Had I started fresh at the buffet, I and one or two others could have found meat and veggies enough to feast on, even if it would mean scrapping one or two baking dishes.
There was order to the dinner buffet and chaos at the desert buffet. Why was that? I’ll bet my companions saw nothing greedy or immoral in their early raid or obscene bounty. Whereas had there been a rule, don’t get desert till you’re called and please leave enough for the others, the feast would have been over with hosts carrying their cakes back with them. Everyone being served equal portions by waiters is no better. Unless the waiters keep coming and keep coming, as with hors
d’oeuvres at a lavish party. The dinner was in their purview of order, the desert not. Yet they knew where their advantage lay. And guess what? The talk from first bites on? Yes, of course: the women all talked of dieting.
My elbow mate was telling how she had to reprogram the HRS Block computers daily when I noticed smiles and waves from another table. A minute later, smiles and more discrete waves, patient. Still I didn’t look around to see who was over our shoulder. I didn’t know these women and my companion didn’t seem to see them. At some point, I directed her attention. But it was me they were waving to. “What did you put in those carrots?” Uh oh. Now, I don’t dare answer right out or perjure myself either. If I only had a clue to the complaint. They weren’t burned but their husbands had gone off in ambulances. Um, err … They prompt me. Oh, that was just a little parsley. Um, err. Er, a little, ever so tiny an amount, um er … red pepper. Oh, it was wonderful. Please bring it again next time.
I think I failed to save the sk notes where last night watching D.A.R.Y.L., and thinking how uniformly our entertainment context brain switches in: fed, military, powerful, ruthless, stupid, and not accountable to anybody or anything, feeling no conflict with american patriot context: we are the country our founding fathers talked about in their most deistic, rationalist, optimistic, not too too self-scrutinizing moments. Anyway, one fumbling point was important: Two: first the prepoint: where there’s smoke there’s fire. The press says chaplin is a communist so chaplin must be at least a little bit communist. well, where there is smoke, certainly there is a source, some smoke generator. smoke doesn’t hang around visibly by itself unless there’s been a major volcano or comet impact, then so much it can’t all go away for months or years. so yes, but is chaplain the source of the fire? we should suspect the press and ourselves equally if not more so. I don’t mean Chaplain can’t be guilty; I mean he can’t be the only candidate.
Now. if writer after writer, none to few of whom actually know much about the fed or the military, imagines the fed and military a la DARYL and War Games, where’s the fire? in the fed? in the writer? in the audience?
found: D.A.R.Y.L. you know it’s a family movie because during the car chase, when the cop cars have a spectacular crash, you see the cop step out and hear an announcement, “don’t worry folks, everyone seems to be ok.” the military is shown to be impossibly smart and impossibly stupid, not understanding their own reasons for doing something. speculation on fiction I don’t have time to think about yet while watching this tripe, interesting tripe, i don’t want to miss a thing, this movie, war games, etc, etc. quite candid about fed terror, but still basically double think. writers’ fictions about what they don’t really know, when there are certain things in common again and again, and the things aren’t the usual orthodoxy, the standard media deceptions, isn’t it possible that the smoke/fire association applies?
irrelevant thought about where there’s smoke there’s fire. or something smoke producing. for sure. smoke isn’t something that hangs around without more being made. the error is in thinking that the subject of the rumor is the maker of the smoke, rather than the maker of the rumor. Chaplin a communist? Right. where there’s smoke there’s fire. The fire is in the press. in the public mind.
actually, that does apply here. there’s truth somewhere, questions is where: in the military? or in the public (writers”) mind?
also DARYL. Dr notices that D can communicate directly with computers. Brass says terminate. Dr says no, and the idiot, see Ian McHarg, gives only sentimental reasons. He’s a child, he’s human, the 10 commandments. Not, the fucking idiots, you got more than you paid for. You’re so stupid you don’t deserve this. I’ll give it to the chinese.
how can one think, and think, and think about something and still come up with new perceptions on the most familiar things? How can one not? And then there’s the simple inevitability of never looking from the same perspective twice. the same as you never see the same river twice. reading SirJ. how universal the animist and magical beliefs are. SirJ contrasts “savage” and “intelligent,” easily dismissed as 1922. Enjoying my Sat AM background of trash, another satanist thing is on: Dr. Paul Bearer has run out of Godzilla. Vampires, covens, … TIME/Life is pushing a series on how much isn’t mapped by science and how we can make it an identity with credulity. mere conservativism on our part. A monotone movie. Fake art for the visuals, fake Chopin for the sound track. And I think: of course! Satan is much older than God, Satan is all the things that God was (old thought), but … the Chinese, believe in antiquity as a golden age and everything downhill since then (neverneverthen), so when a new dynasty wanted to take over, they’d just postdate predate antedate their roots. Ah, our ancestors are even more ancient than the previous king’s ancestors. And (new thought) (how can it be new?) I realized: sure, that’s what we did. Only this time, we wanted it to stick past the next attempt. Our god precedes time, created everything, everything still being a very small universe, maybe a thousand square miles. Yet somehow … where did the chaos come from? that’s what he took to start with. yeah, but there was nothing to start with. except the chaos. so chaos is whatever is older than 4004 BC. And 4004 BC is when god, who had somehow, just invented, still, always been god, became god.
Next morning, watching weekend am tube at breakfast. Tarzan. Again new perceptions. Rather old ones from new perspective, at greater depth (merely being older), or
Tarzan walks barefoot to Thailand from deepest darkest africa. He’s promised something something about helping some people in trouble. So he’s got to go a continent and a subcontinent away. No people in trouble, no friends at home. He gets there. The friend has died. He doesn’t know what the trouble is. But these seem to be the people. They doubt him, call him a liar, an impostor … so does T say, Fuck youse all, and walk back home? Well, he start to, without so much as a You got a plane ticket? That proves who he is to the Dali Llama. Now he’s got to undergo some tests to prove the llama’s truth. Is he willing? Sure. Why not have his tendons ripped out by a pair of buffalo, so he can do he doesn’t know what for these snotty people who have insulted him? They hang him up from two trapeze rings, each being pulled in a contrary direction by driven oxen. Lex Barker hands there flexing. He passes the test, and still hangs, dragging the buffalo backward for another long count. Drops to the ground and he’s a little shiny with sweat. Later, the same Tarzan leaps up 1⁄10th Air Jordan’s distance, grabs a skinny bamboo, and wrestles it earthward to his chest height. Two seconds, and now you really see him labor. Anyway, what I mostly enjoyed where things subtler. Tarzan outRobin Hoods their best bowmen, outfoxes their sleaziest diplomats, has courtly chitchat with the pretty young woman who keeps telling the supreme ruler and his supreme hero what they can and can’t do. And no lip back from either of them! Not bad from a guy who grew up a wild child. Yet he taught himself 18 languages, independently invented a quasi 19th-cen theology, can find vines hanging freely from sky hooks in dense jungle, is a renat of StFrancis, and is cosmopolitan and subtle in complex social pecking orders. Well, why not? He’s actually the son of a Scots Laird.
In other words, Marie Antoinette makes a better shepherdess than any real one, and is the Virgin Mary to boot.
The coffee house exquisite makes the best noble savage. Truly noble and truly Darwinian at once.
Fine: all old thoughts. The new one, if it is a new one, comes from reading SirJ. We worship the new god and right away put the old one right back into it. King of the Wood. Rain and Sun magician, commands all growth, fecundity, resident in trees and now in human form.
I watch Tarzan’s something or other and think of As You Like It and the Forest of Arden. The true Duke in his proper element. Get rid of the corrupting castle. All my reading last night about May Poles around the world.
Everywhere, including in myself, I see all kinds of romanticism: sentimentality for the primitive, last night’s Tarzan on the news protesting circus porpoises. And of course he’s right. I agree. Have been saying so longer than he, probably. Oh, look at this precious superstition. We must protect it. Unless someone can demonstrate a loss of profit.
First (an arbitrary zero, reflecting ignorance as well as knowledge), there’s magic: how do I make it rain when I want it to? Then there’s fear that if a better magician can make it rain or not, maybe it will be not. Solution: have an even better sorcerer who can outmagic the other. Then there’s, uh oh, I finally have to admit it: my magic isn’t what does it. Then follows the mistake there doesn’t seem to be any going back from: it isn’t the magic that’s false; it’s my magic that’s false, and now too I see, his magic, and his: so the real magic is from some anthropomorphic form not human. And religion is born. First (another reset), the spirit is in something: a tree, a bull. Then is gets more abstract: in the corn as a whole. Then more abstract: the spirit isn’t the tree; the spirit resides in the tree. Then there’s the disassociation of soul from body: if the spirit can swoop around and return to roost, then so must my poor failed magician spirit. Then the pros take over. We’ll entreat the spirit for you.
All false, but leading to a worse falsehood: if his, our, my spirits are false, then all is false, except for the one part of my epistemology I’m unaware of: I’ll trust what I have no alternative but to trust: my senses. Pound the table if something is true.
Materialism. With bk’s great comment: materialism is a set of propositions about a world which allows no propositions.
Two great errors in this simplification: I) maybe I don’t control fecundity, but something like me does. therefore, I’ll continue to fear for fecundity. The error is in “something like me”; not in that fecundity is automatic or immortal. (A later generation of that error is: since we’re got the big magician by the balls, we can destroy everything, and he’ll still make it fecund. We’ll just have to say more masses.)
II) since my spirits are untrustworthy, there is nothing spiritual. No reason to figure out what fecundity is, what control is, what’s entropic, what’s negentropic, is there a way to maximize this or that, what can’t or should be controlled by humans, …? Are there different logical classes? Am I sure I’m thinking in the right class.
1/1/90: A week of sleeping at night, THROUGH the night, getting up within a six hour diameter swing of dawn: 3 am to 9 am, the closest I’ve come to stability in years. Then last two nights, uh oh. Later and later. I’ve never bothered to figure out whether my day is 25 hours or 26 hours, but it sure isn’t 24. But think how much worse it could be in terms of any hope of a business compatible schedule. Even the last two nights, can’t sleep early? Wake up? I still left the light off, the book at rest, and my eyes closed.
Can’t judge my own complicity in the lengthening. Yesterday I justify sleeping late because I’m going to stay up till midnight to watch the fireworks. Sleep too late, in bed ten or eleven hours straight, maybe eight of it sleep. The fireworks last ten minutes. Never been so close, within 100 yards of their launching, so that some, the last couple especially, hung as close to vertical overhead as you can get without popping a vertebra. What do I do? Reload the ChessMaster. 1:30. Then read a chapter of SirJ. Then I’m aware that it’s 3:30, and for a moment I think I haven’t slept at all yet. Then I think: can’t know: therefore, probably did: you’re dreaming you’re awake: piss and lie down again: you’re still asleep.
So I laze from 9 to 9:40 and I’m on my feet, coffee in hand, play a dozen tunes, load QA, review dBase commands … Breakfast, I’ve put a bit of belly back on. Just cause it’s winter? My fifteen year old pants tight on me last night. So I’m not really awake: thinking, I’ll just have an orange. How good it was to starve a bit last April. And again June. And while I’m thinking that, I find that I’ve made melted cheese with pepperoni and parsley. Stupid idiot.
I know why I’ve been watching tv, or rather having it on, while eating. A practice recent the last few years. It’s needing to wear glasses to read or to run the Plus! Hot food steams them up. Much as I love my food, much as I try to make it pretty, I seldom look at it while eating. No. Some kind of information intake.
information: difference. how is this pop tripe different from … A. art B. intelligence C. other tripe? And christ almighty! it’s the rose bowl parade. I’ve never watched it for more than five minutes, and this is the first five minutes in decades. but how, reading SirJ, can I not be fascinated now? The significance of the roses. some semi-tropical anticipation of easter, may pole, spring, fecundity, and we have to show our ass, practice homeopathic magic on it: or it won’t be true.
reset to zero? no, we call it zero but we’re resetting to googolplex. Just Be Yourself? Huh? What does that mean? It’s said as though the self were something simple. Something easy. Something unequivocal.
The best definition of the Rose Bowl, that I’ve heard, the actress co-host says modestly: “It’s just a colossal circus.” The ‘just’ is the key. Can’t distinguish googolplex from one. Or from zero. What the fuck is a circus? You can’t define one mystery with another. Unless you’re human, and don’t have to or mean to make sense.
And I think, SirJ talking about, primitive continence before the fertility orgy, fuck in the fields to make the corn germinate, and I think: Lent! That’s what it is! The Rose Bowl. New Year, new spring, show the petals, show the pussy, cover it with a plantain flower, knock it aside with the dick and shove in. football. Tv exists to give meaningless or wrong definitions. While being primitive.
Celebrations don’t celebrate life: they try to control it. What makes us man. A fundamental mistake.
Or not. The fundamental inability to know any one thing as itself. Endless synecdoche. The identity fallacy.
I would prefer a species that believed: leave the corn alone. Fuck for its own sake: both you and the corn are fertile.
Religion must be a product of civilization and attendant overpopulation. Addiction. The corn has fed us, but now we’re ten times as many. Will it still do so? We have to super stimulate it.
But nature invented superstimulus before us. Tits. Lips. They invented us, not we them. So we add bustles and bras, and cod pieces. But look at the huge false eyes on moths. The bright colors of some not poisonous frogs. The duplication of the somesnake to the rattler.
artifacts of the perception system. left and right reversal. evil. how’s that for an eg?
Encore: we tend to ask: ‘are there any examples to support …?’
we should learn to ask: are there exceptions, then search, then ask: do we want to revise now, or put them aside for them moment, not forgetting them?
The rational cannot produce a complete system.
The best faith can do is produce a less incomplete system.
The two should learn how they work together.
Faith without reason is worse than being a chimp.
Reason without consciousness of what the faith is isn’t reasonable.
here’s the athlete’s foot again, and on the little one. I daub the alcohol, and do the next and opposite side for good measure. Why not the other’s? But there’s only one left. Stupid me, I’m counting toes, not interstices. Man has everything backwards. We count the result of the math, not the program. Reset to zero and forget. Bet the material expression of an immaterial pattern as though it existed independently, or bet the pattern as though the expression didn’t exist. As though either could exist without the other. Which came first, the pattern? or the expression? It would seem to have to be the pattern, right? But how did it come to not fully exist?
If you care what people think, then you can’t care what they think. Where A) is what they think about reality, themselves, the cosmos, your society; and B) is what they think about you.
the only circumstance under which people can be 100% sure they’re right, without any doubt, is if they’re wrong.
I get up in the middle of the night, overtired again, to write that last sentence. I’m dreaming it in Dobly 4-D, an infinite technicolor matrix of that concept. Now it’s midday, I load it up to see what it was, and …: dull as dishwater. A rerun on the black and white ill-tuned 7″ tv. I wanted to resume my dream, reconstruct my exhausted self with sleep and then fill in the details. What details? It’s gone. Unless …
Einstein was “certain” about Relativity, about his star position prediction. But it’s very different to be “certain” about a radical improvement of the group map, than to be certain about an established group map. Einstein wasn’t wrong to be certain. Not even if the theory eventually gets discarded like Newton’s universe. Certainty there doesn’t participate in “truth” but in psychology and politics. There, from the ramparts, certainty is prerequisite; it’s in the society’s inner sanctum that certainty is pathological. Except of course for homeostasis, which itself was no doubt once the ramparts.
ideas I’ve had for decades from reading SirJ now fill out a bit more clearly, perhaps more communicable, simpler: I’ve already started to say one: our economics based on misunderstandings as great as sun and rain. cybernetic interchange between the degree to which the king is slave to the people’s delusion; and how much the king and priests are conning the people to believe that they control what the people want controlled, think needs to be controlled. it won’t rain if our magic doesn’t make it, we won’t heal if a doctor doesn’t bankrupt us, our children won’t learn if we don’t sell them over to the schools. the medical industry is justified in upping the ante: otherwise, how can we hope to be immortal?
our everyday consciousness exists solely in parts of the interface between pleroma and creatura.
black catholic priest forbidden from saying mass, sets up own RC church, and the kicker seems to be: took his gospel choir with him! other priest defines Cat’ism as being in accord with your bishop. And then actually used this phrase: “you don’t raid the chicken coup”! about taking his choir.
what am I for? I’m for shortening the time lag between the discovery/ invention of better, not just newer, explanation systems and their adoption by the general mind of the species. I’m also for some degree of consciousness about the arbitrary and hidden aspects of any explanation system. Continuing in decreasing order, I’m also for a tolerance for some degree of consciousness in accepting more than one explanatory system within one group. And maybe a bit above the last, for some degree of automatic suspicion about easy applications of the dominant explanation system.
A great deal of human activity is devoted to competition between explanation systems. In recent history, within a millennium, one binary explanation system was the default: either god did it, or the devil did it; either god made you do it, you did it for god, etc; or the devil made you do it. Of course, much of this is rhetoric: one learns how to make oneself believed, how to motivate sympathy for one’s own actions, hostility against those of another, etc. Quite recently, the preferred explanation of my own group for the impossibility of man having everything his own way (ie, make the sun shine when you want it, make it rain when you want it, make the sky clear for your picnic, let there be an infinite market for whatever you’ve got a monopoly on, etc) was: the communists did it. Hitler’s was The jews did it. The government tells you your pocket is yours: then it puts its hand in your pocket and says, the communists are making it do it: don’t smack my hand; smack theirs. One should be suspicious of those explanations. Even if you want the government to take your money: you might prefer to give it more; but you’d prefer it to be your hand handing it over.
Friday dinner, I deliberately find fuzzy Fox, having seen the trailer for some Betty Davis and Christopher Lee s-f film: Witch Mtn. Couldn’t stand more than a few minutes of it, but glad I saw enough-it turned out to be Disney-to have gotten sick. Something miraculous happens: Christopher Lee preaches materialism as the only possible explanation: BDavis kowtows, not clearly convinced, but clearly unable to demur with words. Meantime, the audience, even the kids, I imagine: had to hypnotize itself to see any miracle: the hollywood tricks and exigencies of script were so blatant. So I load up the ChessMaster while still eating. But Sunday noon I’m still thinking of ChLee and the default ExSys of Materialism.
Materialism and Science are not the same, thought the modern versions came in each other’s wake. God and Satan are not quite the same explanatory system, but boy is there big overlap. God is the Magician who’s for you (as long as you’re for him), while Satan is the older, more primitive magician who’s in the control of your enemies: he makes it rain on your parade; whereas god would always give you exactly the weather you wanted, even day for night and night for day, if you didn’t have powerful enemies.
None of this of course has any meaning except in terms of the vanity of human wishes: the vanity you must succumb to or be an outcast.
But materialism and science: other example. Darwin and evolution (a thesis, necessarily improvable, disprovable) vs Darwinism and Evolution (a creed, not subject to criticism).
Science for most people is: how we can better practice our magic. ie technology. Buy tv time to display a mentality that couldn’t possibly make tv work. So the technocrats work for the old magicians: politicians and business: how can we control the wealth for our infinite advantage; not just be grateful to it and let it fall where it may; or let who ever can grab it on a small group basis; no, institutionalize the group which has it, try to make it eternal.
Of course the groups aren’t eternal and have shorter and shorter lives all the time: Hitler’s 1000 Yr Reich lasted a dozen years, giving place to US hegemony which lasted almost half a century. The next could go longer or shorter, depending, but not very long. Sooner or later, your parade gets rained on. Unless you have it in a dome. That’s accepting reality and doing something possible about it. Let is rain when it will: I’ll put up a roof. I’ll repair the roof. I’ll plan my functions under it. So a comet can still fall on it, a tornado sweep it away, the volcano erupt, the earth quake, but you’ve traded a frequent probability (weather) for an infrequent (catastrophe).
Someone thinks to outflank you by giving some Latin etymology. What would they do/think/say if you started speaking to them in Proto-Indo/ European? They wouldn’t like being outflanked if they were even aware that you had done so. But so what? PI/Eur would be what? 3,000 yrs old? Human speech seems to be 40,000 yrs old. The primitive is more precise than the modern? More authoritative? Were the first speeches god given? Yes, in a sense, if Chomsky is right. But even so: so what? The genes are perfect? Have no self-destruct mechanism? Like the Israeli trying to learn an Uzi in bronze age Hewbrew. Sorry: doesn’t fit. The Hewbrew gives. But so does the Uzi: a bit toward the Bronze Age. And where does this faith that the god is on their side come from? Certainly not their history. But Job’s lesson hasn’t been learned. And god forbid that the Churches should mention it.
I’ve been reading Asimov since 1952, maybe earlier. And only last night, 1/90, I read The Last Question for the first time. I can’t be positive it was actually the first: but surely the first since I too have been thinking a great deal about entropy. 1954 story. full of holes. assumed the stars were of equal age. assumed the u a closed system. assumed theory of thermodynamics to be Laws. But great. People are always telling me about that story the second they learn anything about my work. Beg. the Mod. Someone could read Hamlet for the first time at age 35, get half way into the First Act and think: Gee, I’ve read this before. Whatever, it was the first time in my Adult adult consciousness. And what was there? Magic. SirJ. How can we have what we want, whether it’s impossible, good for us, or what.
Partly the questions are mere semantic nonsense. “Forever” “Eternity” “Immortal” “What happens beyond any possibility of knowing?” Trying to filter stone age fuzz into post-science awareness. Not that the stone age didn’t have its science: it certainly did. As does any and everything in existence. Even zero learning had to have some science at one point. Of course not human science: not modern human science.
(What’s outside the universe? Or at least rather: is the universe all there is? Is our explanation system complete? Those are questions I do ask. And keep asking. But with, now especially, an awareness of their “absurdity.” Less absurd, I believe, and have evidence for, than faith in the completeness of any we’re handed or invent.)
So: what am I for? I’m for having no patience with attempts to shove the exceptions, the flaws, the counter examples aside without apology or even recognition. The scientist says: ignore that for the moment: if it’s still around once I’ve finished drawing my map, then I’ll have to discard or redraw my map: but you’ve got to let me finish; not procrastinate: complete. The ideologist says: I won’t consider your map: you must use mine. The bad one I inherited. Or we’ll get you. Believe me: we’ll get you.
What I wish is that we’d repudiate magic. Not deny the possibility of there being any (semantic nonsense again), but repudiate our insistence that it must be, must be achievable by us, or by those whose hands we accept in our pockets. Religion doesn’t discourage this archaic belief in us: it insists on it.
I certainly don’t want us to repudiate magic though without also repudiating the habits associated with it. eg. materialism is a repudiation of magic without the accompanying repudiation of the illusion that it’s possible to cheat on an ecology, on a synergy, without it boomeranging. I can get all the rain and my enemy none. My people can have all the sun, and who gives a fuck about the stranger. The other side of the world? it doesn’t exist. I can harness the sun’s energy direct to my pleasure center and still live in Eden. Thermal pollution? what’s a couple of degrees?
Comparisons must always be in some context. Playing Mozart’s Minuet in C. Tricky for the student just coming from pop/folk insistence on limited harmonic possibility. WAMoz is simply floating around C, G7, F, C+7, G+7, but floating. A measure is enough. And of course each chord harkens toward the next. There seems to be a moment of straight out D: that’s II, actually pop/jazz enough.
So, you don’t know keyboard, you sit down, you wiggle your fingers, and ahrgg! cacophony. that dissonance isn’t Prokofieff or the blues. You train your fingers a bit, sit down and wiggle: and C, G7, F. Maybe a little Dorian as a simply executed tease.
But after this bit of WAM, I’m sort of half wiggling and I notice what I’m doing. F#-D: C#-A. major thirds. I try a bunch in different orders. Which ever one is played second doesn’t sound like a major third. A minor third sounds “right” or “the same.” The hearing isn’t quantitative. (Nor have I been able to discover easily if all major thirds are quantitatively the same distance apart in “equal” temperament. The mind (harmonically trained from the egg? or from the cradle?) hears where ever harmony wants to go: not physics.
Which, for the nth time reminds me of 4th grade. We’re herded to assembly. The totally non-musical teachers now test us for Music to determine who gets handed instruments and some kind of band training. I wish I remembered the questions more clearly. She plays a note. And another. Which is higher? Another pair. Which are further apart? I can’t have been the only one who didn’t know what the fuck she wanted the “right” answer to be. Neither did I have any idea if I wanted to give the “right” answer.
Ask a Martian first-timer to make some political comparison: is Reagan “right” of Wayne? or “left”? What are they talking about? They haven’t defined their terms. They’re not aware of how arbitrary or one-dimensional or binary their metaphor is or the topological consequences of any of those things.
I myself repeat Platonic errors when I say such as such is of a “higher” logical level; but to me, it’s like backgammon: it doesn’t matter which direction you play in; but you do have to chose a direction. and then stick to it. for that particular game.
i’ve learned that I haven’t done people any favors, teaching them to play or playing them for the first time and saying “I don’t care which direction we play in.” Most people seem to have learned clockwise or counterclockwise and couldn’t switch and still be able to count.
How about counting down? science is of a “lower” level of awareness than superstition. the meaning is the same; only the metaphor is “reversed” or insideout.
how can a question of measurement or comparison etc be asked without the context and all terms being made clear? We mean frequency, not harmonic direction: forget modulation … higher means of more rapid frequency.
How can they not? Since it seems that the only questions encouraged by people are subjective, undefined, “group” rehearsed and controlled: they’re not questions at all but rehearsals in homogeneity. Does our nonsense match? would be a conscious way of putting it.
How do you feel? nice day isn’t it? Oh, that Nuriaga.
Such questions are not allowed real answers: oh, drugs, guns, rapists: what shall we do about our schools? how about stay home and mind your own business: don’t have any. Or, instant execution in all such cases, apologies to wrongful executions, but we can’t be both swift and careful, and drawing and quartering if the gunsel, pusher, or rapist is from a good family. guarantee results. certainly within a few generations. but then how is the school itself anything but a gun (since it’s compulsory), a drug, a rape? Now we know what to do with the school board.
Ah, there’s a civilized delusion, a continuum of the magician mentality: the idea that cops and soldiers can and should have guns and criminals and nasties not. Or that the US should have alphabet bombs or should or could keep them “secret.” Who could possibly swallow anything like that except someone who thinks their priest controls the “good,” and that you can be one up on the alien.
As a matter of fact, you can be: so long as the “you” is general and not particular. one seed falls in soil, another on the highway, caught in a rusty skeleton of a muffler. one guy turns out to have oil under his land when oil becomes marketable, another is on gold but doesn’t know it, can’t get it. or he’s on silicon in the wrong century. guy dies of thirst in death valley not thinking what the real estate will be once the super ACd dome is built. or: your eyes are more open than the next guy. You’re young Vito Corleone. Great. And you teach your son. So he’s a jerk, gets killed, but you’ve another. Still, the idea that it or anything should or could last forever to your advantage is as naive as thinking hocus pocus will locally discontinue gravity for you alone.
I push you from the water hole. That’s good, nature, as it should be, god’s in his heaven, the survival of the fittest. You or Jimbo try to push me from the waterhole: that’s bad, evil, illegal, the world is falling apart. How did the bad magician steal my magic?
It’s an even worse mistake to come to think that the magic is really intelligence or education. That those two later are in our control. To some extent they are. Individually and to the group. But forever? Always roll sevens, never box cars, and your opponent can’t also roll sevens?
Two kinds of gambling: bet against the other guy’s misunderstanding of probability (what the house does), or think that probability isn’t what guides your dice. ah, just the right “wrong” word: guides. How many gamblers go up by method I? then take the dice into their own hands and are directly converted back to II.
I play backgammon against myself, even handedly. I “favor” gold over blue. Gold wins five in a row. Yea! Then blue wins six, half of them gammons. Or they trade back and forth 2,1,3,5,1,1,3,2 … I’ll play another person and win 6 out of 6. But that’s not the same thing. They’re a “good” player: meaning Janie beats her husband or Lisa beats her brother. They have a strategy, maybe two or three. What they don’t see is when their strategy is inappropriate. For all the situations they have strategies for, they have none for the chaos which sooner or later will come into a game. They can’t understand how, if I’m behind, I can “invite” the chaos which renders them helpless, but that I float on. Ok, so maybe they win the seventh game. But then they won’t play an eighth. They always stop at one victory, however many losses preceded it. So they never learn what I’d rather teach them or let them see than win.
“of the people” the species has sub-divided? hold-over from idea king is incarnation of the more than human: the successful magician? or how about money as divine ichor? those without it are people: those with: something super. except what kind of a distinction is that when it takes $1,000 a day to be a whore or a bum in needle park? there seem to be laws now requiring people to have money: if you don’t qualify, we’ll give you some. oh, it’s not that we’re generous, you understand: we’re slaves fighting for unanimous addiction to it. So, who are the people? definition flop over? or only aliens, strangers? humanize the enemy, alienate yourself.
children’s fiction is mostly magic. is that laziness and lack of imagination on the part of publishers? or because the market is accurately targeted? or is it that there’s is a mental development, an evolution of logic that’s analogous to phylogeny? or is it ontogeny? I’m no biologist. so i think a moment: ah. to both! politicians don’t have to make sense to sophisticated logic, they could never get elected, appointed, anointed. they must master the ontogeny of logic. the syllogism in grass.
I watch Dune on tv for the fifth time, never seeing it in the theater, loving again the names, loving some of the casting and costuming and makeup, and mostly hating it: how could such a great actor as Kenneth MacMillan botch the baron? how could anybody imagine this Kyle somebody could do Paul? And I remember my own initial awe at the mimicking of ceremony, tradition, revelation, etc and all the goodies, initiations, trials of strength, of faith, of wisdom, of destiny … Now I’d read SirJ long before Dune was written, published, and certainly before I read it a year or so after it was out. But now I’m just rereading GoldBough and see Dune again: ta dah! incarnation, confusions of logic, attributions of identity … nonsense about water and life: the Ayn Rand syndrome: first they don’t have any: then they have lots. which is it? if the second is true, why did we believe the first? why do we still trust our judgment? or tolerate the author? because Herbert has taken our mental pulse down to the marrow.
filmdom is great when it captures kids doing what kids can do: 400 Coups, ET, ForbidGames …
and never so silly as when it must use them for what they can find no actor, director, coach but has in fact been written. At least costume and eye blue helped the poor little girl who has to end the film: “For he is the Kwysats Hadderat.”
Like Fundamentalism: damn it! we mean our metaphors: and even more: we mean our mistakes. don’t try to improve my logic!
And maybe my favorite idiocy in the making of that film: representative of the making of film period. (film as generally done: typical hollywood.) primitive causal assumptions. the mouse in the cartoon is talking. Paul trains the Fremen to kill with a word: Maud Dib. So the battle against the empire is a bunch of people with a hook in their nose saying pow while the prop man sets the charges to go off: boom.
What do people see in such a film? What did I once see? I now associate the animated bunny drawing with the Bugs Bunny voice actor, this is what the cartoon is to be understood as saying.
Similarly when someone speaks: the social convention requires that thought be associated with word production. And I do. But thinking thinking? No, the product has to be different in some way. Or it has no information content. Or thought and information should be divorced.
Thought: how does this agree with evidence, yet not echo any normal understanding of that evidence. otherwise it isn’t thought; it’s rehearsal.
“my favorite scripture” the gal on tv magazine says about her pastor’s being indicted for killing his wife by arson: “‘judge not that ye be not judged'” first I thought: just as you’d think she might from looking at her, she’s said the opposite of what she means. then I decided that maybe the grammar agreed and I hadn’t heard it all. (^, the ‘quote’ is a guess.) Or better yet, it’s a translation I’ve never heard before. what do I know about free King James’ men were about freely adding or omitting negatives? But all that was a millisecond. What I really thought was: wow! is the ‘that’ causal? homeopathic magic? A prescription for how to Prevent! the god from judging you!
And immejiately again I think again how shifting-sands conceptual/ contractual and 99.9% unconscious is our group agreement on what’s logic, what’s significant, what’s insignificant (nothing like the physicist’s “we’re working to ‘three significant numbers’ here”, and what the logical pecking order is: ie which concept may arrest attention away from an ‘inferior’ concept.
Charleton Heston holds up a twelve foot, snake skinny, gunpowder phallus, posing like a poster before some dinner for the Rifle Assoc.
“From my cold … dead! hands …” he says. to great applause.
how ‘objective’ we think our own perceptual artifacts are; how transparent our enemies’. sure: we reify ours; we disbelieve theirs.
tv esp clear in its markers between official and unofficial. Ford tells us it has a better idea three times a minute, nine times an hour for three hours, the whole weekend. all month: then: we interrupt this trivia, commercial lying, to bring you: get serious folks, now you’re in church: Washington in Review. A Special Bulletin from the WH. Don’t think about what you’re about to hear, folks. That’s it, watch the swinging watch. bring out the reptile brain. you’re about to visit sword and sorcery land.
how can i write the above and then see that it doesn’t look anything like the milliflash waking dream I had had: Just do it. Poor person, nigger, falsely accused criminal, widow of man tortured by dictator, VirginMary mourning X, 1 in a million chance of getting even noticed, 1 second to speak, let alone be heard, understood, or recognized. for once, Bush, Pilat, JulCae, Sanhedron, Pope, CmnBd says, Yes, all right, and actually appears to be about to listen. VM begins her story: “The US stole CA from the man it had a treaty with.” Bush appears to be listening. Mary Antoinette/ Nancy Reagan is there. She thinks, holy shit, the DC Post is listening in & Geo is about to have to appear even handed about the Sutter mansion which I’m fucking living in! And … She faints. On camera. Nothing else will happen in DC for the next two weeks but news of the incredible danger the ex1st L so narrowly escaped from. how heroic the marine guards were in passing the gossip, in quick burying the VM in the cellar, etc.
Any Martian could see how kangaroo almost any consideration of a thing is. of course I don’t except myself except in pushing the noticing of it, emphasizing default humility, the automatic selfdeceiver who knows he’s probably doing it.
and of course the no exceptions, don’t admit it totally deceived (except for where he Believes his bread is buttered) idiot will say, see, he’s deceived. a deceiver.
if a judge said i’m going to let chas manson go, there’d be plenty of screaming. when the judge doesn’t even get to say, we’re going to ignore treason and bypassing and subverting the constitution, Cong, etc because “nixon has suffered enough” …
when the judge says we’re keeping the drug bank in business because it’s agreed to help with other drug cases. that’s why we’re publicly funding its Riviera offices. besides, where else would we get any good blow for new years?
umm, this court is not expert, equiped, funded, to … case postposed, dismissed, put the untried back in jail, let the guilty go.
ah, yes. sacrament. something passing where the map says it can’t pass. sacred to temporal. “physical” “translation” to “heaven”. the idea of incarnation related.
the trouble with bad logic is it can prevent better logic from being seen. like, magic is based on a belief in a regular universe, so is science, religion isn’t. magic is wrong, ^ science is wrong, and for the same reason, which of course leaves us as necessarily being right, no further examination necessary. thank you.
“scientists” no more independent necessarily than the savage tabooed “an inch thick” think that the clap trap of materialism has been rationally examined and has passed with flying colors.
I haven’t seen a UFO under my microscope and at the same time had my glasses on, freshly clean, enough coffee, not too much, and a … ^ there aren’t any.
See! He says there aren’t. And he’s not a member of my church. That proves that there are! It’s a cover up!
Cathy & I are just talking about cholesterol etc. I, to say my one and only thing about it: a la Anton & Pauling. As I’m saying it, the usual gobbledygook of scientific reports echoes through my head together with an answering/ ie responding dialogue, the pop translation of hedging into certainty, of: oh my, such and such “causes” such and such, and it’s been “proved” that such and such “cures” it. All far from new for me. What was different this time was being 300 pages into rereading SirJ. And it struck me with new force: the search for “causes” the noble pursuit of philosophy and science (politely omitting to mention religion). Whoops, her name has slipped my mind, but in Hav/BrynM, rushing to finally see Children of a Lesser God, or Hannah and Her Sisters, having thirty seconds to get from parking field to theater, and she steps in front of me and asks, “have you ever heard … om manni padme renge kyo”? something like that. i never remember any single chant in isolation for more than a week or two together. Um. I stop. Babble babble comes back, faster than I could hear understandingly. I skip my movie and go and watch this group chant together. But of course they spent a more than equal amount to time trying to convert me, get me to join. They had said I was welcome (only on their terms), that I could watch (they didn’t know what watching meant), they kept accusing me of being dispassionate, they had twelve keys from which to exploit feelings of inadequacy or loneliness or wrongness or searching or whatever. well sure i search and was searching that night, but was finding only the familiar from them: except for what made me follow them other than a not terribly demanding but always lowgradeactive oriental curiosity. And of course the big thing was the pretty girl telling me I was a musician. Huh? I’ve seen you in … the music publisher she worked at. It’s not every day that a big assed girl twenty years my junior says she saw me once last month and I didn’t see her. damn right I follow. so she calls, she visits, she comes for lunch. her ass turns out to feel like 99% air foam, her mons is as responsive as a rubber doorknob, but boy is she working at being my friend. she doles one spiel per visit. I calmly wait weeks for her to ask what I believe, understand, think, see, need … Never comes. Same spiel. Canned. Though I finally do hear it often enough that the speed is counteracted, and though I can’t quote it exactly, I’ve retained two of the key ingredients: “universal” “cause”. They may have been said together, making one ingredient. I’d wanted to be sure. And I’d wanted to tell her at least a smattering of cybernetics.
Sure existence is full of links. Sure we can “know” some of them. And certainly we can do things. We can fuck; and later rear children. we can plant things; and later reap from where we sowed. But if the word cause were successfully banished for five centuries I think we’d lose tons of error and not a gram of truth.
science is the abortion, sorry, afterbirth of astrology and alchemy. fine. those two “advances”? over magic were more sophisticated rain making. how can I gain an unhealthy advantage for myself and a fatal disadvantage for my “enemy.”
I am daily becoming more convinced that there is little non- technological difference between us and the Hottentots. Science and religion are vanity. And no one has listened to the god in the whirlwind. it’s ambiguous whether that god is from this universe or is transcendent to its limits by recommending that we be into it. if accusing us of not being so is a recommendation.
we attribute causality to god, so often failing to find it in ourselves. we fail to find magic in ourselves and ^ attribute it to super-magician-animal. we sought the ether. the what’sthename of that thing that was supposed to make fire, some pyroprinciple. the philosopher’s stone. turn lead into gold. well, they’re related, and hydrogen is turned into both all the time apparently. but just about everything that man does with passion concerning his own future and his own mortality is vanity. an illusion. self-made. fortune telling. astrology. finding a “cure” for cancer. preposterous. we want to change our possibility of boxcars into a sure seven. I much prefer the uncertainty, the danger included in a very fertile biomass. cancer or no cancer, the biomass is generally safe. immortal no. the greatest local disasters of the last several thousand years, Krakatau excepted, come from one animal vainly searching for security. On average, we see far more sevens than snake-eyes. and without having to “do” anything. the lilies of the field. what we may find, may have already found, is a “cure” for life.
I must, I must. Sketch out logical dimensions with a topologist and a mathematician etc. The x&y coordinates of a graph, and the z. they correspond to length, width, height, but that’s not the end of them. That’s a habitual association, a convention. Of course, drawn on paper, they have width and height, and the ink or graphite itself has depth, but … that’s not what they are. If we had such a sketch, ideas could be logically sorted much better.
Like my idea for a quantitative criticism. count associations, meanings, appropriate ambiguities vs inapp. add a positive as well as a negative uncertainty factor: ie, we know x meanings of Sh’s word m, but as used in b, Sh may have had y meanings in mind. and of course adding in meanings findable by the reader not intended by Sh, may also be included. that last is a wholly unknowable category, but still, the writer wrote it or he didn’t. one has to give credit for the imagined accidents.
tendentious. Lev. GBS. Mozart. me.
Lev’s argument about tendentiousness was so ludicrous coming from a politically correct communist. everything Lev said was tendentious, especially his objection to it in art. that’s like the society will tolerate students wearing funny hair and clothing styles, but not if they talk about business, economics, war, and politics: that’s for the self-appointed self-important serious idiots. it’s also a contradictory view, putting art both above and beneath serious enterprises. So what else is new? And of course I have nothing against the self-appointed aspect, since there is no other. Well, yes, one can be appointed king, but can’t really be king until the self ratifies it, accepts it, believes it. When one is born into an already appointed important class: we own the valley: it’s our culture which is correct and proper, etc: it’s our skin, the shape of our hips, our lips which are beautiful, our language which has poetry, etc: then the ratification takes place before consciousness forms.
Of course I’m serious; I’m a Republican. or my ideology is correct. or whatever.
Who is this drooling fool? He’s the major share holder. Oh, now I see the hidden talent. Yes, brilliant.
relativity: dieting American woman sponsors starving third world child. not by sending 50 cents to some tv talkathon, directly, in her own home. boy is going blind from no vitA etc. She shares her meals, preaching how bad everything she’s left out is: butter, cream, meat only of course her talk is abstract: fat, cholesterol, … everything is Somebody’s Diet this and Whosis’s LoCal that. what she doesn’t share with him, what she doesn’t admit she does to herself, is her first, second, third, fourth, or fifth helping of Sara Lee LoCal Cholesterol Free Dutch Double Chocolate cake.
how could I possibly know if my dreams of abstractions are vivid “truth” or merely exaggerations, and not even necessarily true? No way. But another this am. Bed reading at 12, light out by 1, sleep by … I’ll say 2, and awake, not refreshed, by 7. Without one more hour, I won’t be able to work well. may not even try. I lie there trying to get back into the dream, time passes, and the dream takes over. no clear line at all. who knows when I’m dreaming the being awake part? or only imagining that I was just asleep. But the dream was a Mod, Beg of relativity. I can’t translate it into plain words. not sure if i could trans into dramatic words. I know, it was my attempt at a rewrite of the no fixed reference scene of Beg. day before yesterday, my reread of same yesterday. This dream put everything I’ve ever thought about linguistic, epis uncertainty into one vivid series.
I think it “started” with semantics: the ordinary speaker’s chaos of switched meanings. you’re not playing by the rules if you point it out. English studies being a game by which false rules are half memorized and then a lifetime is spent pretending that that’s all it is. all you have to do, the carny pitches, is swing the ball and knock over the bowling pin. not explaining the mechanism by which he toggles its inevitability and its impossibility. meantime, the language generating program is going full blast, the advantage seeking, which necessitates, that any attempt at analysis, consistency, revelation be taboo, the guiding program always being: let me have my way and justify it too.
But even in public debate the quick shuffle is apparent to (and accepted by, nearly) everyone. The appeals of public debate are always to ancient precedents (ancient being back to rationalist deism in this country) and contemp expert gobbledygook. never to real math, real physics, real zoology, real biology, real behavior, real understanding.
One thing I love about medicine and its cholesterols and fats and colloids is how much the chemistry is astrology level. all these names that alchemists made up for this or that not understood thing way before the invention of the Periodic Table. Mme Curie and her pitchblende. What the fuck is that? looking at things through the other side of the time/ “causality” telescope.
the churches insist on J’s double nature: as god, as man; but then insist on making it impossible and blasphemous to think of him as a man. no sex, no humor, no irony, all this ghastly insipid love and no passion. no dirt, no odor, no reality, no meaning.
What am I interested in?: further: the perceptual nature of reifications. the degree to which natural language, a perception system as well as a system of expression and communication, determine what we see and believe: AND its cybernetic dance with other givens: life’s, an organism’s, a collective’s advantage seeking. perception tends to be binary. to what degree hard wired? to what degree an artifact of the advantage seeking? AND the tendency to momentum (more advantage seeking?) past the possibly right match: eg, we see what’s “to our advantage” as “good”; what against, again, all perceptual, as “evil.” well, there has to be some truth in that: we are advantage seeking organisms, varyingly cooperative. there is a direct ratio link between enough food, water, air, environmental control and good health, maximum life, etc. but we go way past that. we OD on our good. we reify the good and think it’s a thing. we then mistake ourselves for IT. and we do the opposite, we reify evil and attribute it to any other perceived, perceived independent advantage seeker: the other company, the neighbor not our friend, the other country, the other natural language, the other, the other. we think we’re progressive, our god having hands and feet and the bad god horns and a tail.
Imitative and contagious magic (control) in naming. the namers bigX%- perceptual/smallY%-actual control reality and ^ their advantage: advantage always bigX% perceptual!
what cybernetic maybe real reification is going on at a bigger system level to balance? false advantage kills us off. thanatos.
Xity a cybernetic perception. advantage lies in the opposite: turn the other cheek.
not that xity is the first such human cybernetic invention: the magician inventing science since magic that works must be the best magic of all.
we can’t get rid of our magical origins any more than we can get rid of our reptilian brain stem. and should we want to? culture can’t undo genes. not overnight. (if 7 days = somewhere between 6,000 years, 4,600,000,000 years, and 20,000,000,000 years. then overnight is minimally a bunch of lifetimes.)
anyway, the pilot says, “call somebody a name, and, if the group goes along, …”
advantage is with who gets to decide for the moment who and what a man is. I’m it; you’re not. citizen, person, educated, serious, intelligent, patriotic, loyal, an ally. I’m it, you’re it, we’re it; Ivan isn’t. Babushka isn’t. LeRoy Junior isn’t.
But where can real advantage come from? from that system? sure. no doubt. but how about realer? the next stage. a little less deception and thanatos? Only from Ivan, Babushka, LeRoy Junior. Something outside. Something divine/taboo, not loyal to the errors.
Oh sure, you go take a look at Ivan, and you don’t see it. Somebody actually thinks so? Best kill him, get rid of him, fetch another cross.
Where does the killing of the god trad come from? An admission of bias? Best keep it mostly unconscious. We worship X and go on with the killing. Turn the other cheek applies only to man, humans, allies. Try it with a lion. We’d still be better off.
How to turn an advantage seeking organism, aggregate, away from linear ratioed advantage seeking? for its own advantage.
what should wisdom do? leave it alone? leave thanatos alone? trust the ecology? sure.
or join the namers? ally with (ie compete against) the pope, the pres, the bank. become David Rocke. part of being DavidR isn’t an open option: part is thrust upon such a one. but being JDRock or DTrump is more open.
or allow oneself to be perceived as alien? Insist on it?
isn’t it funny that “official” students of the language, ie teachers, are seldom asked to name anything? no, just to reinforce the names chosen by the Sanhedron. The S gets to name the Messiah by never naming him. they know where their bread is leavened. the English teacher’s job isn’t to expose nonsense, to insist on sense. to expose what it is. But to winnow the nonstandard users from becoming pope. keep advantage in the family.
like the swordsmen who die by the thousands vainly trying to kill the king at the end of his term. volunteer losers. soldiers of no change now that one group has the advantage. what women do.
how genetic is women’s seeming greater conservativism? to a great extent both sexes are of the moment: but as mortal parents are also very much of the next generation, their children, and the next, their grandchildren. But I suspect the women are more their childrens’ and men either more “themselves” or more their nth generations’. I know I’m more the nth generations’ and I don’t care if they’re “mine.” But traditional, yes, ours, life’s, yes, I too am for the reptilian stem as well as the next Nth map.
But one doesn’t have to do anything special for the reptilian stem; it’s THERE. It won’t go away. It’s in little danger of being lost. No, what’s perishable is the new map. Even yesterday’s. yesterday being 10,000 or more years.