Monthly: scrapbook: reborn each month
(Monthly Note follows below)
2018 04 16 I walked, jogged, and ran when I was dieting a decade or so ago: 2006ish. I’ve done crunches sporatially since: and walked, and biked; but not jogged or ran since then. Dance? I’ve danced my ass off for the past decade, but less so since Carole got sick and Jan knees and back have been bothering her. When I was driving I could dance with or without them, but not how. So: when my belly discusts me (as well as Jan) I have to respond locally: or kiss my ass goodbye. Good.
So I resumed jogging a bit upwards of a month ago: 2018 03 10: to now. I’ve exercised everyday but one; jogged every day but two. And I so humiliated. I’ve done it, but I don’t feel strong. Disgusting feeble runner. I walk a few hundred yards, then begin a slow, careful jog: for one, two, three hundred paces: scant yards. But I don’t feed stronger, I feel weeker. Wobbly, vulnerable.
It’s easier to measure effort on the bicycle: I can time myself on the odometer, by the clock: I peddaled for a half hour: that’s bound to be abut one miles.
Typically I bike the length of Brunns Road, following every curly que uclt de sac: Brunns Road, Sebring Gardens, Woohaven Estates, Fernway Street, Whispering Pines, Hammock Estates: about 5 mines.
Anyway, the proof is in my belly: and on the scale: one-sixty-soemthing? That’s not great but it’s not bad.My pants are falling down? That’s good: cinch them up with a safety pin.
Russell Westbook is amazing. I don’t like him, he rubs me the wrong way, but he’s amazing: a kamikaze on the basketball court. Game 1 of the 2018 Playoffs the Thunder announcer got himself fired. Russ executed an impossible feat of athleticism, the announder said, “He’s out of his cotton picking mind!”
Huh? Oh, some people are feminded of industrial scale southern agriculture: cotton crops, slack slaves for labor. Black slaves for no unions, no opposition …
Right. We’re a racist nation with a racist history: still steeped in racist double-talk.
I watch as many games as I can with my love. She’s way-more sophisticated about basketball than any other woman I’ve ever met: and, far more race conscious. She’s always asking me how many blacks are on the court. I don’t answer, I hadn’t notices, I don’t want to start noticing now. But that’s her background; not mine. Her family was garden variety Emerican: better than average, but not altogether better: better Christians than average; but by no means good Christians. Not a common species on earth.
Anyway, the Thunder guy says cotton-pickin’, the Thunder guy is out of a job.
Maybe the Thunder guy could partner up with this impossible Fox News bitch.
Anyway, the world is filled with people who voted for war, claiming they were voting for peace: voting for the status quo, whil claiming reform. people who voted for Nixon, but stopped saying so after Watergate: people who voted for Roosevelt, then change their minds.
When Judgment comes I want to ask God to tattoo everybody with icons for their political persuasion from year to year. What was our position on Saint Cyril in the Fourth Century? what was our position on Jews in the Fourth Century?
2019 04 13 What’s this? Now we have rumors of tapes floating around of Trump and whores in a Moscow hotel peeing on each other? I lived my life happily without ever hearing of such things until the late 1970s: then my artist Rothe wanted me to make friends with a gallery in Virginia she’d been developing herself. The gallery owner turned out to be a cat freak, bred a particular race of cats, showed them: had friends and customers who bred and showed some other breed. The women were flirting with me, so were her employees: her framer was gorgious, and buxom, and didn’t keep her pants on for teen seconds once we were singing to each other out in the woods with a guitar. Anyway, these ladies’ gossip was goiung to cat shows in NYC: how gay the bulk of the male cat people were: how the main activity in NY at the Waldorf was the fags playing “golden showers”. That’s what they like to do: pee on each other, and film it.
gallery owner’s friend was a fag hag: she liked to be with fags, active fags. She remained dressed, just watched. I thought she’d yield eventually to my embraces: she didn’t. But my gallery owner began to look like whe wanted the same thing her framer had: me. The fag hag vaceted, and Miss Virginia asked me to instruct her in fellatio..Gladly. And I kissed her too, plenty. Very nice. And I never again, till today, hear any more about golden showers.
It now occurs to me, one reason a hotel like the Waldorf may have to be so obscenely expensive is knowing to clean the run every time a gang of fags party there.
Lose a War
To a Superior Civilization
I just searched K. for a favorite quote I heard in 1970 and can’t find it: another casualty of the US censorng my domains. I’ll repeat the story real quick here. Upon founding FLEX I spent a lot of time in churches trying to forge alliances with social ameliorists. This and that protestant group, and more Catholic groups than I’d ever heard of. I repeated something that had appalled me to one of the Protestants: NYC cops, on public pay, were raising funds for Catholic churches. No one seemed offended. I was outraged. The pastor said, “There’s only one thing to be done: lose a war to a superior civiliazation!
Put it differently: a god, a superior force, correct coersion, is only only hope. Humans in themselves are not capable of proper behavior.
2019 04 12 The woman testifies that Cosby raped her, 1992 of some when: says she wants to kick hm in the face. I want to kick him in the face: and I’ve been an avid fan since the late 1950s. Indeed, my beer party friends from high school, racists if there ever were racists, loved Cosby, laughed ad laughed, no matter how lit we were.
I offer one reservation: Anyone who’s ever been persecuted in a society based on persecution, such as the US, based in slavery, ought to have a free shot at anyone associable with the oppression. In other words, I can imagine it being argued that Satchel Page or Louis Armstrong should get a free ticket to lyndh Ronald Regan and Sontewall Jackson. I don’t say it’s been proved, I say it’s arguable.
Please, I am not sayint that blacks are the only victims, not by any means: but they are victims: and should get some compensation.
Though I din’t know any blacks entitled to as much compensation as this one white dude deserves: special victim of kleptocracy..
Jan and I watched Effie Gray last night: John Ruskin and family’s abused bride. Even the servants, seeing the lay of the land, abuse her. Effie wants to be a good Ruskin wife, n body gives her a chance: they like it that she’s pretty, angelic-looking, models clothes well: she has high social status, but no human status.
I fell in love with John Ruskin in grad school, early 1960s, trying to cram my neglect of the Victorians into a semester or two of catchup. I’ll string some notes here, then develop, then edit.
First, summary: women’s rights, wives’ rights, weren’t their only areas of neglect.
Did you see Harold & Maude? A school the kid is applying to sends a questionaire, trying to get to know the kid: mother fills out the answeers, never consults the kid himself: that’s Effie Gray exactly. Her life is assigned to her, no one cares what her real reactions are.
Easter 2018 04 01 Once upon a time humans watched the night sky. They always had. What species didn’t? What sighted species. But in the case of humans something was different: humans noticed that patterns in the sky of moon, of planets were predictable. Gradually our ancestors began to figure that seasons related to which star constellations. We predicted when the game animals would migrate past the entrance to our cave. We hunted, we ate. The sick baby got meat, survived to adulthood: reproduced.
Our ancestors noticed that where the moon appeared in which constellation had something to do with the flowering of edible grains at the river’s edge. We harvested. We hunted, we harvested, we planted.
We mapped! We mapped the heavens. Science was aborning.
But the tree of knowledge was toxic. Mapping the heavens was the natural property of the priests of the animals migrating, of the plants seeding. We began prdicting not only when animals would migrate past the cave but which priests would make the best moon maps. More and more sick babies survived. And more and more which priests would make the best maps had about as much to do with survival as this years World Series has to do with last year’s spring training. Once a bit more nourishment went to the better moon mapper; now 100% of the nutrients are gobbled by the church before baseball is even invented.
Now it’s not who has the better map: it’s whose lies are most bald-faced. Mis Moon Map indeed.
So it happens again and agan: inventing astrology takes brains, takes a willingness to sacrifice: Ruth’s priest will sabotage Dimagio’s priest: Mickey Mantle’s priest will sabotage the Brooklyn priests. Resources will be steered clear of intelligence, of honesty. And we’ll have what we deserved: Mis Moon Maps of zero validity.
2017 03 19 Just watching a doc on a temple-roof full of MSs of the Koran: early texts. Muslims say that Allah dictated the Koran to Mohammed; Christians say that God dictated the Bible to believers, the believers thereby inspired by God (and maybe in other ways too).
Good. Still, I ask: where’s God’s testiony on the matter? Ditto Allah?
If the weatherman tells his audience that it’s 68o in Sebring, and then the weatherman drops dead, it’s no big deal: I can buy a thermometer at Walmart, located it in shade in Sebring, and expect a compatlble reading: 67o, or 71 degrees. And someone needs to remind everyone that a reading for Sebring of 68o F doesn’t mean and never meant that it’s 678o F at every point in Sebring, let alone at every hour. Point is: you measure a ange of points, and average them: note what representative of the many locaions.
It’s different whan there’s only one thermometer, or only one weatherman who can read the thermomenter. The weathermen dont have to obey some ritual about data gathering; no, just gather the data, and post it. Offer an explanation if something seems out of whack. You don’d need an expert on Sebring weather with mgical access to the universe’s one thermometer. Indeed, if there’s only one expert, you can’t have reason, there’s no science: no one needs to take the concept of “termperature” too seriously.
So: with the Bible, ask God. Or ask Allah.
If there’s no answer, then remove Allah, or God, as a resource: you have no resources: unless you invent a better.
So, what do we make of Mohammed’s Koran? or Moses’, or Peter’s Bible?
Turns out there’s not much of anything we should make much of.
Ah, but what if you want to make a living? What if you want your family’s share of crops, and husbandery? Why then you’d better make a sharp guess as to who has the magical secret unconfirmable thermometer: then back whatever they say.
2018 03 03 The movie calls itself Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. It’s up for awards. Cast sounds good. I’m half blind now, I hope I’ll have a little vision left when it comes to NetFlix, I’m certainly not going to see it in a theater. But today I check out the plot, see that it’s right up my alley: woman’s daughter is raped and murdered. She want someone convicted of the crime, rents billboards, says so: puts pressure on the sheriff.
In Genesis, when God was writing in Latin, God said Fiat Lux: Let there be light. Fiat: things get done, quick, by magic.
It’s a convenient universe in which the god can simple say things into existence. Democracy is magical politics: the public says it wants something, politicians promise it: a few years later some other politician promises it. Presto, changeo: Fiat order. And in law, fiat guilt!
Newton solved the laws of planetary motion. Others had tried and failed, Newton got it right. But no one had demanded that he get it right, no one had demanded that he get it at all. He got it because he played with the numbers, played seriously. There was no fiat, it was mental work, hard work. We don’t know if anybody before Newton was capable of such work. Damn few since, if any.
But wouldn’t it be nice: order the shefiff to arrest somebody. Order the sheriff to get it right. Or don’t: who cares if it’s right: the point is to have somebody writhing on the dungeon wall.
NBA, None or Done
2018 03 01 When I entered Columbia, 1956, we bragged about our liberal arts program: we were a real school; not a trade school. Our Chet Forte was the highest scoring basketball player in the US, top notch to Wilt Chamberlain’s #2. When Chet got a C in something he was booted off the team. His scholarship was supposed to be at least part scholarly. Can you imagine such a thing transpiring at Duke or at North Carolina? Guys today sell a years worth of their talent to Syracuse on their way to the NBA. Duke nd Syracuse are real universities: you can study a real subject there. But they’re not Columbia. And of course Columbia too is a trade school, at least in part
You see where this may go, go there yourself: I want to skip straight to a point I thought of yesterday:
Jennifer Lawrence says she dropped out of school at fifteen to pursue her acting. As far as I’m concerned acting is her real professon. She’s well rewarded in the field. Good. Maybe she plays basketball too. You get in front of that camera, Honey: I won’t complain if you make more money than LeBron James.
Jennifer, the darling, said that at fifteen in school she didn’t feel too smark. Good. Why should she? The school is none too smart itself.
2018 02 27
Louis CK is disgraced. His schtick was to whittle his dick as though orgasm was approaching in two seconds. Now it seems he didn’t just jerk himself on stage, he pulled his pizzle in front of real women, in real time, when it seems none had asked him to, none wanted him to. Master man Jerry Seinfeld, wiseguy emeritus, genuinely wise, wonders what Harvey Weinstein is up to, wanting to shower in front of models: what’s CK up to, wacking in front of disgusted cast members.
Well, here comes pk, ahead on thing after thing, behind on everything else: I just watch Michael Jackson duet with Britney Spears. M Jax is always janking on his balls on stage. Spears has a sublimely round ass: at least when this film was shot. The audience colludes: the audience wants Jax yanking on huis balls, wants Britney to look like the universal tush.
And now I see, we were all practicing for Harvey Weinstein! How can we come down on Luois CK coming up when we’ve been encouraging them all along?
2018 02 26 The familiar monotheisms have it that God made man: and that God made man in his, God’s, “own image”. Therefore, one would think, that human thoughts and God’s thoughts were comptible: that man would have a clue what God was up to.
Traditional Christianity has it that man cannot understand what God is up to: and, further, it isn’t man’s business to know.
An extreme expresson of this comes up in Kazantsakis’ novels: Jesus’ disciples don’t have a clue what Jesus is up to, what he says, what it all means. Indeed, it’s pretty funny where Jesus explains to Judas that it has to be he, Judas, who betrays Jesus: “You’re my best friend: who could be better? How could the ironies be richer?”
Irony: there’s irony galore.Man is supposed to listen to God: man doesn’t. Or, he does, but man is incapable of hearing, of understanding. So: you go to Temple to honor God; but in temple, you don’t listen, you don’t understand. So you go to Church; but Church is not a place where understanding abounds. Newton found things to be parallel at Cambridge: his contemporaries knew he was smart, and there were times when Newton, elected to the Royal Society, was pround to for once have a peer or two: till he decided, by experience that he had no peers! Don’t publish, you have no readers. There are no peers, keep what you think between you and God!
Etc. Etc. So: humans give up on temples and churches. Instead they form schools, universities, governments. Does any government represent God or what God says?
Schools intimidate the immature: so the immature will believe that they’re flawed (mere orthodox belief acter all). The student feels his inadequacy keenly. The professors put on robes, have tiruals in dead languates. At any point is the school and its professors responsible for what God said? For what Jesus said? Or for what inspired disciples of God or Jesus said?
But wait a minute: God is supposed to be right, be definition as it were; but what if he’s not? What if the universe is true … (How could it not be?) And God and his churches are false? Then we’d be wise to listen to the smart guys. We’d be wise to honor the truth. We’d have to become intelligent t have aclue what the truth is.
We’ve gotten away with dishonoring the truth so far, we seem to have gotten away with it, we’re so stupid, so dishonest, we think we’re getting away with it. Like Trump! Like Nixon.
Consider the FBI. Federal collusions grant themselves the power to impose authority onto truth: it isn’t true if the FBI says it isn’t. The FBI runs labs, the labs cheat, the lab give the results the fed wants.
Go to the Church and ask what Ivan Illich said. The Church will give you an answer, but it won’t be what Illich said!
To to NYU and ask what I said? They’ll haw, and fumble, and finally give you an answr: a false answer.
The people exist to ratify kleptocracy. The land grabbers are in charach of whose claims to land are legitimate.
Back up: God tells man he can use whatever is in the garden, but don’t touch the tree of knowledge. What does man do? He cheats, he steams: then the moron lies about it!
White men like Nazis denied that Jews were “white”. Well sure: no one is white if you’re careful enough. Then the white men indenture themselves to steal land from North Americans. Then the white men vote to approve themselves as a republic!
Wait a minute: we could form a republic maybe if we could find available territory; but North America was not available! Certainly not Plymouth. And certainly not to indentured serfs: the bank owned them.
For theology or philosophy or history … to be anything but a joke you’d first need an honest “man”: or an honest God.
You’d have to find a university that actually understood what Abelard said: a thousand years ago.
How about a true Bible?
There are, or at least have been, people who understand a phrase or two from God, from Jesus … from Abelard, from Newton. There were people in the 1960s who understood a phrase or two, a poinit or two, from Ivan Illich: the Church should give up all of its property, the Church, if it wished to become Christian, would have to de-professionalize its priesthood. And, instead of schools, a people who would be free would elect for themselves a set of uncensored date bases: replace the compulsory, centralized school system with a cybernetic free marketplace. Had the kleptocrats not understood the impications there would have been little reason for them to come down on me, the offerer of such reforms. The priests understood how Jesus’ liberal offer of divine love, threatened their monopoly on power, on authority. Had they not seen the meaning they would not have been so avid to cheat!
The gospels tell how the Temple and the Roman state violated their own rules to sabotage Jesus: illegally. They violated their own sacred laws in order to contradict God.
Of course the FBI knows that it’s “wrong” to falsify evident, to give false testimony. Our institutions also know that the tax payers would castrate them in a trice if they didn’t cheat: take the God the Jews stole (from some little, lost, forgotten tribe, and steal him for themselves.
This could use a little editing, but what couldn’t?
2018 02 20
Last evening I watched the Pooja and Shanti story again, this time in the company of my beloved Jan. “I love that little girl!” I kept exclaiming.
And so I don’t doubt do we all.
Her parents, just off screen I presume, must love her: and boy, are they showing her off.
The camera loves her. Colors love her. Shanti the elephant’s mahouts love her.
Is there anything unclean about our love? How often does she get her bottom fondled as she goes by? By me? By the mahouts?
We’re a sexy species. And she’s one of the posters! Never mind how young she is: that youth is ancient.
She reminds me ot Emma Watson: beautiful at nine, beautiful at nineteen. And Reese Witherspoon. (Make sure you know the latter’s film The Man in the Moon: she, maybe eleven, maybe twelve, loves her farm boy neighbor: he, early twenties, sees jails, dungron, ruin … if he yields to nature, he’ll get the enmity of his tribe.
PS Poojah lives half the year in India, the rest in Germany. The name refers to a prayer ritual in Hindu, honoring a god. (And Shanti, if I remember my Sanscrit right, means “peace”.)
I also loved how clear the film’s German seemed. Without the English subtitles I wouldn’t have understood many of the words, but listening and reading, paying attention, made for great practice. Hear enough of any language and it will start to seem to make sense, whatever it is: Chinese, Algonquin …
2018 03 02 Here it is a few days later and I’m in the middle of seeing Miracle on 34th Street for the first time since I was a child. Natalie Woods made a huge impression on us: as a girl, then as a teen, then as Natalie Woods. But it’s in the context of Poojah that I want to comment. Santa gets the Macy’s Santa job, he bounces kids on his lap all day long. He winds up going home with Natalie Woods and mom, Maureen O’Hara. Mom teaches “skepticism” to girlie, Santa gently chides her on it, starts to convert her in the direction of ImagiNation: there’s the US, the UN, the Dutch Nation and ImagiNation. That’s ridiculous in itself but it’s an intrepid Santa bouncing little girls with cute little round bottoms on his lap that i want to comment on: where were the journalists? the cops? the mothers up in arms? the dykes, the lawyers?
In the 1980s I befriended an old guy in Naples, on the road to Marco Island. He was a physicits, retired from NASA: Eckland Hathaway. I loved how he lived on the edge of the wilderness, like Robinson Crusoe. Kids came to him to report fire ant hills, he’d boil some water, dispose of the ants: like the Pied Piper. followed by children, clamoring and dancing. But the children were welcome no further. Eck, with absolute wisdom, didn’t want parents buiding a head of steam over whether great-gramps is fondling all that toddle tush.
Years later I was camped in Sebring Gardens, Sebring FL. A neighbor, Betty, was caring for her mulatto granddaughter: adorable little girl, rounded below the waist to perfection. I watched at a distance as this camper fondled granddaughter’s fanny while that camper avoided demonstrations of affection like the plague. It was best to keep an extreme distance ’cause grandma called the ops on this one (but never that one). Go figure. Meantime grandma’s whore of a welfare party girl slewed her boyfriend’s hotrods sideways, building Florida sand moguls the size of dunes.
Was the little girl as cute as Natalie Woods? Close. Close enough.
God’s Profits (I mean Prophets)
God tells Jewus to toss the money tables at the Temple. He does. We torture him, kill him.
On the cross Jesus asks God why he, God, has forsaken him, Jesus. He doesn’t seem to get a very good answer, but does it strike you as typical? That’s how it strikes me: as Edgar Lee Masters wrote in Spoon River Anthology, God standing idle while his son is tortured to death sounds exactly like him!)
New answer me this, how come Christian churches are still pretending to care about what God says? At what point does God chime in? make a statement?
And what’s our basis for believing that we’re competent to know what God said to Jesus? or what Jesus said to us?
Until God is heard from in a way that would convince an intelligent, cautious person, shouldn’t we all just hold our tongue?
This and that church holds up text they call the “Bible”. Do we have any basis for accepting (or rejecting) such statements?
God told me to offer you, the human world, an internet: a digital Who’s Who, What’s Where. I knew it was God telling me for one reason because God had clearly said it first to Ivan Illich: God talked to Illich, and me, and others, giving us a nudge to get rid of kleptocracy-controlled data bases, compulsory brain washing. Men were free once, sort of, we could be free again: sort of. Worth a try, anyway. No?
But you tortured me. Still do: these fifty-eight years later.
How do you know I’m telling your the truth? Same way you know anything: you don’t! Or, you know it because it makes sense. It has the ring of truth. Because nothing else makes sense. If God didn’t tell me, or Illich, then God should have told me, and Illich.
I’ll tell you another reason to recognize the inspiration as from God? Because no one understood a word I said! !!!
Did anyone understand Jesus? Did anyone understand Illich?
Can you show me one person who understood what I was talking about in 1970?
Or 1980? or 1990? Or since?
Is that in itself proof? Is everything you don’t understand from God? No, that’s not what I mean. But things not understood, things rejected out of hand, things triggering torture despite laws supposedly protecting speech, stand in pretty good company.
What Do I Believe?
I know one thing: if you think I mean what I say literally, Go straight to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Consider further: I might have meant something literally once, but no longer.
Could what I say be translated into someting literal? Maybe I could have once, but no longer.
Take religion, for example. Few writers define their terms as regularly or as carefully (or as creatively) as I do: but what I mean by “God” changes form day to day, minute to minute: use to use. It all flashes like a strobe light.
Or take politics: I believe in “freedom”.
But what is it?
Beware, I often mean things as a joke, and often as a trap.
Once my jokes were hopes that God would save you. or that I would save you. or am I trying to save God?
Some of what I mean is perverse. Taught as a Calvinist, as a wiseguy kid I was anti-Catholic. My weapon against the Catholics was to take their regimen literally.
I no longer know what that means. But I used to know, maybe you can guess. Maybe you don’t cafe, maybe that’s your downfall: God and I can laugh at you at Judgment. Or is it that God’s been laughing at me all along?
Yes, Robin Gibb, the joke’s on me.
Hell is still today wearing yesterday’s costume.
I believe in freedom. for individuals. I do not believe in freedom for centralized powers. I do not believe that Hitler should be free to murder 18 million fags, Jews, Commies. If he does, he should be stuck with his action. Hell is still today wearing yesterday’s costume.
I just made a typo: a huge amount of text rolled into this file. I’ve corrected what I’ve seen, who knows what I haven’t seen. Be patient, be generous. Or don’t.
I scribble, I save some scribble. I make a typo, reams o ftext inserts itself somewhere before I know what I’ve done. I try to trim, but volume gets the best of me.
Well, maybe heaven keeps perfect records; the rest of us don’t. So hell.
Do you believe in God?
In a serious religion that question would be a waste of time. and efort. and be rude to boot. Anyway, the much more important questions is
Does God believe in you?
When God asked me to offer you an internet, 1970, did he need Congress’s permission? Did I have to fill out paperwork at the court house? Pay a fee?
Continues as reverse chronology: Monthly Archive
Such archives date backwards: counter chronological: today, yesterday, the day before … (Continues in several archive choices.)