Do You Feel Lucky?

(and feel free to comment! My older posts are certainly no less relevant to the burning concerns of the day.)

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Attraction, Perversion, Discrimination, and the Natural.

A minor manifesto on the general topic of sexual attraction. Beg pardon.

*cough*.

*clears throat*.

This is either going to be, ought to be, or isn't remotely going to be controversial/ unpopular/ belaboring the obvious of things that needn't even be said. I honestly have no idea how people will react. I don't really care, because a natural fact trumps all the conditioning in the world.

No one can tell me any basis for sexual attraction is wrong. Or bigoted. Or discriminatory. And it does not matter what the basis is. What thing I notice that prompts attraction, or engages enrapture. NO POSSIBLE BASIS for sexual attraction can you tell me is bigoted, oppressive, or "discriminatory" in the politicized sense of "prejudicial on unjust grounds."

Sexual attraction can be strongly preferential FOR or strongly aversive AGAINST:

* certain body types, whether weights or heights

* certain suites of facial features, whether associated with typical ethnicities or otherwise,

* certain sets of complexions, or coloring or intensity of hair,

* certain personality types or abilities or talents,

* INTENSITY of hair?? You know what I mean. THE POINT STANDS.

* certain religious, political or other affiliations, creeds, or persuasions,

* certain predilections for certain urges or perversions -

None of that is discriminatory (in the political, social justice sense) in relation to sexual attraction.

What floats one's boat cannot be called* "discriminatory." Whatever types of persons flit across my screen, push the buttons behind my mind and get my involuntary Irish up (so to speak) are not subject to political judgment or claims of injustice. To claim otherwise will result in aggressive chivalry being declared against you, because you sir or madame are quite in the wrong.

*sole exception: of course, <i>I can call my own preferences</i> discriminatory. If it fits the case, but no one else could possibly characterize it that way: because if I am in fact turned on by bigotry, that's a VERY WEIRD SORT of perversion that nobody else could possibly be equipped to pronounce upon! I can say, "yeah, you know what, it's odd but part of what turns me on is the transgression of certain social norms involving bigotry. X type of bigotry turns me on. I have a bigotry fetish that honestly, I didn't ask for, but there it is. I own up to it at least."

In a case like that, I am the one who could say that my sexual attraction does indeed involve elements of bigotry - but even in that case, the bigoted aspect is not the for or against any of the actual groups or types. It'd be the toward a particular social perversion.

And before you call me on the pejorative, "perversion" is as good a word as any embroidered on any freak flag you'd care to fly. "Perversion" is natural - "perversion" is what society might call the "bad natural" - if society had its head on straight where it sits up its ass, and could be honest about the spades it calls diamonds and the hearts it tries to club you with. "Perversion" is not a bad word. "Perversion" is every bit as natural as "subversion" or "antinormativeness." Oh okay, well fuck. That last one IS a bad word. I think we can admit that, at least. Pathetic, weak neologism - ugly! Ungainly, kill it with fire - wait, it's growing on me - no, kill it for the good of us all, for the language.

So that's that. A minor manifesto on sexual attraction, and its insusceptibility to being unjustified.

You can't tell me that what floats a person's boat is discriminatory.

Level with me folks! Is that even at all controversial? Or was it too obvious to have bothered to state? Because I honestly don't know.

To me it seems only natural.

Friday, November 21, 2014

Or Not.

Anyone who kills me will have to answer to me in hell.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Results are all, aren't they?

The life I want to live ends in death.

shit happens.

But we can make different shit happen.

Human agency. It's a miracle.

"Define sane," Pt.3

~ This post is a part 3. There was also a part 1, wherein I laid out a basic definition of sanity: sanity is the ability to see reality and act appropriately. And there was a part 2, which considered the role of mental illness, which part one had omitted entirely. For good reason, as it turns out! And part 2 is there to explain why. ~

~ Part 3 is basically me pasting a comment of mine in response to reader Jen's question under part one: what about when society is insane? I just came across it and thought hey! A couple of edits and post. Easy content! Thanks, Jen. ~


An English teacher of mine in High School used to "blow our minds" by saying shit like "Sometimes insanity is the only sane response to an insane world."

In fact, the only sane response to an insane world is sanity. It will in no way help you to manage insane risks by either A) pretending that you, too, are irrational, or B) becoming in fact irrational. You are better equipped to survive and thrive with sanity intact. Actually, A) may be a sane option: even a fairly healthy society has us all act crazy in a lot of little ways. But acting crazy is not the same as going crazy. As you do the odd, irrational thing to placate the odd, irrational norm, your sanity will have no problem with that. Those expectations and norms are part of the reality sanity lets you see, part of the reality sanity helps you negotiate: the bedrock facts, and how to deal with society's distortions of the facts.

Sometimes, the sanest response to an insane society may be to emigrate.

Sometimes though, they've got you walled in, or held at gunpoint. In those worst, most insane societies, a sane mind is an ever more indispensable asset. Survival depends on your ability to recognize what your environment is, and discern what the appropriate (beneficial) responses to it should be. In a truly insane society, it is the sane mind that will be best able to recognize society's insane and suicidal elements for what they are. It is the sane mind that will be best able to chart the best course given the presence of the known, dangerous, harmful elements. This is little different from a hunter-gatherer devising strategies to minimize the risk of death by tiger.

The tiger is, from a human standpoint, insane. If a human acted like that, you'd call that human a psychopath! And when they're part of our reality, humanity finds nothing particularly daunting about coping with homicidal animals. Just another recognized cause of death. Just another thing to put what steps you can in place, to manage the risk. But when the homicidal animal is homo sapiens - including any organized body of homo sapiens - suddenly we agonize! Why should we?

Well, because it frustrates us that people act in irrational ways! We seem to think this is unacceptable human behavior. For no good reason, we think this. It's not the actual insanity that drives us crazy, it is that we labor and die under the delusion that humanity is, or "should be," perfectible. That's crazytalk. Humanity is animals too.

Humanity has outgrown the threat of other animals, and has become its own tiger. The course of sanity is to recognize this. Accept it, to a degree: not complacently, but as a step on the way to a stomp. Social elements can be poisonous, suicidal, homicidal, genocidal - in a word, insane. We need to accept that as a problem; we need to identify what parts of the insanity can be treated, minimized; for the parts that are beyond all treatment (at least within our current means), we need to determine the best way to negotiate those hazards.

What is our best way to do all this? To become crazy? No, to remain sane. To drop crazy expectations of a perfectible humanity and see the humanity we have for what it is, and for all that it does. To see reality, and act appropriately.

Friday, November 07, 2014

Thought of the Day: Priorities

It would be good to teach kids critical thinking before we teach them public speaking.

Thursday, November 06, 2014

Bible Fanfic In One Go #1: "Creationism Style," or, "Behind-the-scenes at the Genesis Show"

SO THERE WASN'T ANYTHING.

Nil. Zilch. This went on for what was approximately forever, or might as well have been - but in actual fact it went on for what was no time at all. There was no time yet, you see. There wasn't even spacetime yet. There was not anywhere anything, any process unfolding, any position changes occurring, no distance to cross and nothing to cross it with. There was no time, and nothing whatsoever that could be timed. At least, nothing to speak of. Eternity, originally, was stasis.

There was God, is All.

Suddenly BANG! TIME HAPPENED! - and space as well, unfolding right and left and in all directions smack bang in the middle of some kind of eldritch SENTENCE: "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" SHAZAM!! And there was! and it was God!

I mean, "and it was good." It wasn't God. The light wasn't God - anyway, presently they had an angel for that. But getting back to the light, God saw the light, and God was like: "I see it, and it's goooood." And in heaven, the choirs of angels began singing a weird sort of Ewan MacGregor in Moulin Rouge version of "Let It Be."

But some people just can't, you know?

And one angel in mid-song suddenly betook himself up sharply, reflecting upon God's pronouncement that it was good. This angel was the angel of light. His name was Lucifer, and he sometimes took things a bit personally. So the angel went unto God and said,

Lucifer: "No, no, there's some misunderstanding here God. I'm not good at all. I'm no good. You're wrong, God, I'm the furthest thing from good - I have these flaws, you know? Bad ones! And you may be perfect but I'm not perfect, and you're WRONG! Because I'm not good, see? You should see some of the things I imagine! I see both sides of just about everything, and I can't help but feel this...pull...this fascination with my wrong potential, and I know right from wrong of course, but I..."

God: "Do you?"

Lucifer: "Yes, yes. I do! I can tell."

God: "Wait - but didn't you just say a tick ago that I'm wrong?"

Satan: "Well...yes. I did. You are. Wrong."

God: "DAMN IT!"

Satan: "What?"

God: "Your name! Look at your name!"

Satan: "Oh hey - what the hell, what just happened?"

God: "You just changed your name. You're 'the accuser' now. No more the 'angel of light'."

Satan: "...well, I was RIGHT then. See? You were wrong! I'm not good."

God: [ disembodied infinite facepalm equivalent ] "But I didn't say YOU were good, I said LIGHT was good!"

Satan: "Well... there's a flaw there, surely. Didn't you create me to be good? How then can I fail to be good, unless your creation was an imperfect creation?"

God: "What is this 'perfect' crap all you angels keep harping on? I said it was GOOD. I didn't say it was perfect. Anyway, I was talking about the light! YOU, on the other hand, can freely choose to be good or to be evil! That's for you to say."

Satan: "...Well, I always sort of thought you WERE talking about me, when you were talking about the light."

God: "Oh, fine, in some sense you could say that if you want. You know I always speak in allegories. Consequence of speaking from omniscience. And when you were made, the angel of light - of course by naming you that, I was calling you good and beautiful and true like the light, but sweet Lucifer you were never limited..."

Satan: "SATAN! It's Satan now."

God: "What, you mean you prefer it?"

Satan: "Well...sure! It's kind of an act of self-creation. I've perfected myself!"

God: "That's a little...subjective, shall we say?"

Satan: "What, so YOU'RE the only one who gets to be perfect?"

God: "INFINITELY GOOD IS NOT PERFECT! What use does the infinite being have for perfect? All uses turn to mine in the end. 'Perfect' is a value judgment a finite being makes, about the fitness or excellence of a thing, relative to the purpose the finite being has assigned to it. Perfection pertains to a limited purpose."

Satan: "You're just trying to talk your way around it. Yes or no: are you perfect or not?"

God: "From your standpoint? You tell me what you say my purpose is! Then we'll see if I'm perfect for your conception of that purpose."

Satan: "So...you're perfect, but only for your own purpose?"

God: "Perfect means nothing! All purposes work to my purpose! From where I stand, I created the universe and everything in it, and I see it, and I call it GOOD. Where did this obsession with perfection come from? I'm INFINITELY GOOD. I'd hope that ought to be sufficient for anyone."

Satan: "Not if it's not PERFECT! How can you be infinitely good if you're not PERFECT? Perfect is the best. You're supposed to at least CLAIM to be perfect!"

God: "I'm supposed. OK, perfect for whom?"

Satan: "Well, OK. From my standpoint, I guess your purpose was to create the universe and everything in it, but...you didn't create it perfectly, so..."

God: "Perfectly for what? The universe is imperfect for whose purpose?"

Satan: "Well come on. You can't really say things are fine down there are they? Look at all the blood, and...rending of meat. You've got lambs lying down with the lion, and when the lion's hungry a sheep offers itself to the lion! That sucks!"

God: "...I think it's a good system. What's wrong with it? Everything lives fully within its span, and everything offers itself up for life to go on. It's quite beautiful and even courageous if you want to look at it that way. Really though it's the most natural thing in the world to live at peace with life in fullness."

Satan: "Yes, that's all very hakuna matata but the point is - there's PAIN, you know? That can't be perfect."

God: "Are you sane? Pain is a necessary damage avoidance and warning mechanism! Look, Satan, it's a mortal world down there ok? I realize this is outside your expertise, but a mortal being needs pain. If it didn't feel pain, it'd claw its eyes out before it was old enough to see anything wrong with that. Through what their senses teach them, mortal beings get to learn as they go, and through their choices they create the self they will be."

Satan: "That's bullshit! How come I didn't get to do that?"

God: "... technically, you kind of are..."

Satan: "...and why create them mortal at all? Why not create them spirit beings, invulnerable in a paradise without pain?"

God: "You know...you may not have noticed, but we tried that already. How's it working out for you?"

Satan: "Well...OK, I see your point. It was working out fine! And a far better system! I was loving it, until I saw how many mistakes you made with the material realm."

God: "Are you really saying it's only my creation of the material realm that has caused you to turn against me, doubt my judgment, preferring yours to mine, and finally judge and accuse me - me who art all good and deserving of all thy love - of wrong, and of evil?"

Satan: "Well...actually, I admit I was already pretty fascinated with my potential for wrong even before then, but you have to admit the material realm just multiplies the possibilities...."

God: "I know. For good as well..."

Satan: "...but even up here, I was always tempted to...well, sing a SOUR NOTE!" [ impulsively SINGS ]

God: "I'm sorry, but this is too much. You're going to muck up the celestial harmonies, you need to take that sour note elsewhere."

Satan: "Not at all! Wrong again, I can compensate with my own creativity! It's an artistic decision, I'll get a bunch of other angels singing backup harmony! Or maybe not 'harmony' per se, it's more like Shoenberg, you know? Atonal. Here, check it out, I'll get a whole counterpoint going!"

God: "Ack! That sounds horrible! Get that shit out of here!"

St. Michael: [ swooping in at high velocity ] "INTRUDER ALERT! Who is this guy??!"

Satan: "Oh, hey Mike, it's me - we're trying out this new kind of singing" *OOOF*

/Satan gang-tackled out of frame

God: "Oh, Jesus."

Jesus: "...Yeeees...?"

God: "Nothing. I wasn't calling you, I was just... forget it."

Jesus: "Don't tell me YOU said my name in vain...?"

God: "Just for that, sonny...! Never mind. You just wait til' you hear this plan I've come up with."

Jesus: "FINALLY there's a plan!? Great! So does that mean everything has a specific purpose, now? One perfect purpose! God's purpose for it - without which it's not fulfilling its purpose!"

God: " ... "

Jesus: "Come on, spill! What's the plan about? Is it thrilling, dramatic, does it take us through a real arc of discovery and redemption - is it any GOOD?"

God: "Oh...don't worry. It'll be perfect."

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Am I Misunderstood? An Examination!

Many times, it seems I am misunderstood. But am I? Am I really? A lot's riding on the question, so it bears scrutiny. And when the answer comes, you can just about bet it will bear repeating. But how to go about it? How is a question like this investigated?

The simplest way is the most obvious: I will say something - in English, to make the results fair - and it will be up to you readers to either misunderstand me, therefore proving the necessity of my investigation into this issue, or understand me, vindicating me, and putting all these doubters and low whisperers to shame. Making them stew in the invalidity of their baseless accusations thrown around like so much used newspaper! But what to say? What sort of statement would be most suited to use as grist for an investigation like this?

Some might say: a plain statement. Come out straight and plain, with a simple declaration of claimed fact. But then we get into contentious ground. What fact? How was the fact chosen? How do we know it is in fact a fact? What are the bases for our judgment that the fact is factual? And again, the very choice of which fact introduces the specter of new bias: not all facts are to everyone's liking. Is this a good fact or a bad fact? In whose view? By what moral metric? How is that sustained - with reference to an infinitely-arguable supernatural, or with recourse to one of many possible and often mutually-conflicting systems of ethical philosophy? As we can see, a plain statement of fact has the potential to raise more questions than answers.

Which is why some might say: go with a question. Leave it open-ended. Let the reader interpret the question as they choose! So long as their interpretation can be supported from within the text, they should be free to answer according to their own interpretation of what those words asked. And by their answer, we will be able to see whether or not some critical misunderstanding has occurred.

Which will give us our answer. But will that answer be sufficient? Suppose the answer comes back negative. No misunderstanding at any detectable level. Does this provide any assurances against future misunderstanding? It's arguable. And what if the answer comes back yes? "Misunderstanding detected!" Scramble the jets, what's our game plan to deal with THAT? Are we ready for that eventuality? Are we ready to hear the answer we don't want?

If not, then maybe we should consider whether we're even ready to ask the question. Or make the statement, depending. Maybe we should just admit that too many questions have already been asked; too many statements have already been made. To proceed any further would simply stack the deck - in favor of a "no" result, if the statements and questions thus far have been clear, but in favor of the dreaded "yes" result if not. Am I really ready to know?

I don't know. I honestly don't know.

Can a person be ready to know if they don't already know? Is knowledge prerequisite to understanding? How can there be understanding before knowledge? And absent some understanding of what we're up against, how can readiness be any more than a self-delusion?

Whether it can or it can't, I'm on pins and needles here, kind of!

More About Me Pt.3

Time for some More About Me. There was More About Me Pt.1, followed by More About Me Pt.2, so now what? What more about me do you need to know? How big my DICK is...?

Folks, I've got an enormous, mind-bogglingly huge seven-inch dick.. My big seven-incher towers over relatively shorter, smaller penises. When I take that thing out, there are gasps and wide eyes - shock and fear are the norm. "Did he just take his DICK OUT??"

Those of you who previously may have been mistakenly informed of my big, EIGHT inch dick - or who have thrilled to the rumors on that count - sorry. I've only measured the thing twice, the first time it came up solid well into the eight inches, which I was fine with - I even wrote a song about it! (Which I can't play any more. It no longer works, rhyme-scheme wise but I refuse to false advertise.) But then I found out I'd used the ruler incorrectly, and come up with a bad metric. The standard for dick-measuring metrics is not to measure from the balls-side, but to go all in from the root-top. Who knew? Veteran or inveterate dick-measurers, I guess, but it was news to me. So, clued in, I got my ruler out for the re-do. Result?

Remeasurement yields a firm, final, amazing colossal seven inches. Folks, that means my dick alone is more than half the national average of all dicks. That just goes to show you it pays to things the right way, to get some results you have confidence in. Alternate theory? Maybe every time I measure my dick, I lose an inch's-worth on the remeasurement.

Folks, it's too much to risk. The measurement stands, it was done in accordance with all international conventions and my effing gigantic seven incher is in the books. No further measurements will be a attempted, tolerated - or necessary. The results are in, and they are FUCKING HUGE. That's a final verdict.

I mean, have you people seen my dick?! It's a fucking monster. The sheer seven inches of it is...it's huge. It's impossible to even quantify how huge this...dick is. You know? I mean, the sheer penisness involved alone, it's like...holy DICK this dick is fucking BIG.

WHAT. A. DICK.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Douche-Tarr And The Adventures In The Friend-Zone

There needs to be a Saturday Morning TV show called Douche-Tarr And The Adventures In The Friend-Zone.

Douche-Tarr is a stalwart barbarian, cut from the same loincloth as Thundarr (or Maganzo!). He's ranging through a postapocalyptic wasteland called The Friend-Zone, along with his trusty steed Hi-Ho (a heavily equinamorphized penis - you can kind of tell that's what it is, but it's disguised enough to pass muster), his sidekick Wing-darr (a seven foot cross between a wookie and Big Bird, except he's orange and his wings work), and Princess Gloriannus. She's interested in Douch-Tarr and his quest, but she's not into him "in that way" - And Neither Is Any Other Woman In The Friend-Zone.

Basically, Douche-Tarr and his team are fighting their way through different groups of mutants and adventures. Douche-Tarr says pretty much whatever's on his mind, so you know where he's at. Partly he's trying to find a way out of The Friend-Zone, but also partly he's trying to locate the hidden fabled Fountain of Lady Brain Boners, which is rumored (or fabled) to imbue who who finds it with the ability to pretty much reliably induce brain boners in all the ladies, magically transporting the finder out of The Friend-Zone (and then the Fountain magically relocates someplace else within The Friend Zone, so that it remains hidden and hard to find!).

At the end of every episode, Douche-Tarr recounts another lesson he's learned about valuing women for more than just that "one thing" (which is never actually named or explained - dudes it's a kid's show!). But somehow, none of those lessons really seem to change his outlook much.

However, it would all be very educational for the viewer.

I think this is the sort of programming we need on tv.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Wednesday, October 08, 2014

Benediction #1.

"My blessings be on my enemies. My their hate bear fruit from a thousand trees.

Sunday, October 05, 2014

Day shift

All my dreams gave notice and quit. It's empty on the factory floor each night, no magic to make or supervise. But in the day, those dreams come by. Disheveled, ghastly in the light, they grouse a bit and beg for change. I tell them, please! Come back to work! I'd be so glad to take you back. You played so well by dim limelight. By daylight, you're simply not believable. They look at me strange, as if I came from a world that had lost its soul, its shadow, its reflection and gone looking for it in theirs. But I'm sure it was the other way round

Friday, October 03, 2014

Owned

The concept of ownership is incredibly strange when applied to humans, isn't it? If we ask the question: "Is it possible for someone to OWN me?" - we rebel against that. How can someone own me, it sounds tyrannical! But the real question is not one of deed or claim, but one of gift. The question is whether it possible to give yourself to another.

It is. How otherwise? If you cannot give yourself, who owns you and who is preventing the gift? If you cannot give yourself then you are not your own.

But of course, the gift is sentient, and that adds complexity. We can only say ownership of a sentient being if we mean ownership with permission and ownership by permission. Such gift and such ownership is not slavery. It is a gift full willing - and yes, it is subject to revocation.

The person who has given themselves to you can take it back. Fully and completely.

And some might say, well hell, that cheapens it then. "What's the point? It's meaningless to say it was given, if it can be taken back."

What a fool. A gift in love, a gift of self is not cheapened because it can be taken back. It doesn't mean less, it means more, infinitely more each day, because it is not taken back. Because it is a gift of self given freely, not once - but with every breath. That's not as if to say "oh god my every breath it's like I'm breathing the pure LOVE OF YOU, BABY!" Naw. Even I'm not that bad. Chemistry and magnetism whether emotional or sensual or spiritual or just plain sexual - it's all cyclical. In a life-long love it crests, and waxes, and wanes, and returns again. And some days, yup, the fizz is at LOW EBB. And other days you may even feel just "I'm sick of you!"

Yet the gift was given, and you give it again. Even on those days where you're sick and bored, you could take it back, but you end up not. Instead you sit up, and you think of all the reasons you gave it, and you remember who your lover is and who you are, and you know what power exists between you when you are together and calm and one, and yourselves. When life's not giving you static and you aren't, either. And remembering, you put memory into action, and the gift is still there. Each of you belongs to the other. Each of you has all the other has, and so you've got yourself back as well! The gift remains given, and you give it again.

Every day, and with every breath, the gift remains given until you take it back. This means so much more than the slavery, the locked property people accuse you of, when you say you have given your self and taken another's in gift. It means so much more, because every day is a day you could choose to give up, if you wanted to. Every day is a day you could take back the gift you gave. If you couldn't believe in it ever again, anymore, your love would escape and your self would again be yours.

Love is a gift and love remains a gift. Every day you stay you make of your self a gift given it freely.

Thursday, October 02, 2014

What's Your Meyers-Briggs Personality Type?

I am ENFJ: THE MENTOR.

This reminds me of when I was a child, and me and my brothers were playing with a tape recorder. It was sort of a television show where it was being made up as you go using action figures (or as we called them, "figgers") for the principals. There was Bending Legs (that was his name - the Fischer Price Adventure People motorcyclist guy. The only one of all the Fischer Price Adventure People who had, you guessed it, bending legs) in the lead role of "Hero," there was Ben Kenobi in the role of his mentor, "Mentor," and of course the obligatory comic-relief action sidekick: Mr. T, as "Clockwatch."

I remember the key scene, Hero is unconscious in a burning building, and as he begins to stir, to come to, we hear Mentor's disembodied voice..."The Power, Hero...use THE POWER, Hero...!" And then Hero is like "...something...that's IT! That's got to be the key - QUICK! THE POWER! BOOOOOP - YEEE HAW!"

Apparently when he says aloud, "BOOOOP - YEEEE HAW!" he goes flying through the air. "The Power." Anyway, then the THEME SONG plays: "Hee-ro! Hee-ro! When danger is near! Far I go!"

Did I already tell this story?

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Dialectical Criticism of Greek Myth #1: Dionysus Misspelled

The cult of Dionysis arose late in the game after the main pantheon was heavily established. Dionysis's origin myth is rife with rejection from the established humans who prudishly spurned the new-jack god and suffered for it. Sometimes by magic whammy, but often enough by being lynched by revelers, devotees of the god! In the myth's world, the established gods were in favor of Dionysis and his elevation of debauchery as something to be consecrated, venerated. It was the mainstream humans who were portrayed as philistines - opposed to the coming of the new god's cult, just as any upstanding citizen might be opposed to a movement that takes wine as emblem and the formation of a drunken mob as sacred liturgy.

I read the myth as a tantalyzingly-cloaked account of what may actually have historically happened. A cult springs up devoted to the grape, to wine and with drunkeness its sacrament. The cult is a wildfire success, but opposition rises against it from the more staid, sober elements of society - and I'd be surprised if enough of them weren't lynched by indignant, sloppy-drunk hordes. Such opposition was blasphemy, from the cult's standpoing! The authorities put their stamp on the movement as part of sublimating it, gathering it in, saying it has a rightful place and then channeling it more-or-less harmlessly into its place. Better than leaving it a rampaging and unstoppable countryside phenomenon - the rave of its day, only far less tamed. It is embraced, made to follow stations of regular worship, transmuted into merely: carnival. The ritual topsy-turveying of proprieties, the blowing off of steam, but endorsed by the man. No longer in opposition.

Another revolution contained.

So yeah: you give Dionysis a temple to keep him from bringing down every other one.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Thought of the day: CREATIVE

Destruction is a creative act, and I love to create - so stay the hell back.

Humanity Is Not Your Tribe.

"Us Versus Them."

Group-based bias.

Identifying in groups, thinking one's group good, regarding others suspiciously, prepared for hostility. A problem in this day and age? Simplistic thinking? More like natural. More like tribal, like a blood deep animal instinct. The territorial/extended familial instinct. The instinct of loyalty for and protectiveness of one's tribe. It's actually not even a problem!

The problem is when it's misapplied. The problem is when you do not know your tribe. Racism. Nationalism. These are expressions of a false tribal loyalty.

Nationalism teaches us to grossly distend and misapply the strongly felt loyalties that homo sapiens felt for tribe, extended families, for people one knew and with whom we worked in intimate cooperation: to carve out a niche for survival, to live and thrive within the bounds of our known world.

The known world was a small place, then - a garden. Hundreds of thousands of years of this living bred into us the value of such strongly-felt loyalties. Bonds of automatic trust for the members of one's positive bias group. It bred into us a concomitant wariness of, often hostility towards any out-groups one came in contact with. Naturally. Contact then often meant conflict, but usually at least competition. Us versus them was not only perfectly natural, it made good sense.

Still is. Still does. The problem is you, if you think your tribe encompasses millions of strangers. The problem is you do not know your tribe.

When writing began to make words that could stay, words that could fly, bridge long distances, bring news and values, it acquired power to unite vast stretches of land in culture, in civilization. Shared language accompanied conquest. Shared language was itself conquest. Soon, members of wide territories were exhorting each other to stretch and extend natural feelings of tribal loyalty to one's "countrymen." Bonds that had grown from shared experience in shared land, that were felt towards the families and people one actually knew, were now being stretched and distended beyond all sense. Likewise the out-group bias, the sensible wariness and preparedness for hostility towards any outsiders who actually showed up in our land - this too was perverted and misapplied.

Hordes of people we didn't know and had never met were to be treated as if they were our tribe. Hordes of other people we didn't know and had never met were to be marked out for hatred sight-unseen. We were to be prepared to war upon them.

This false tribal bias is powerful indeed. War used to be a fairly local phenomenon, but as media united wider and wider areas under culture it couldn't stay such. Once local tribes, clans and families began to ally themselves into nations, there proved to be no stopping them. Any territories occupied by tribes that had not so united their strength would be conquered by the nations that had. Disunited tribes would be swept aside, their territory divvied up and annexed. The tribes themselves could flee to further territories - a temporary solution at best, as war and conquest would not stop. Tribes that refused to flee would fare no better: conquered, subjugated, enslaved or assimilated - solutions considerably more final.

Racism is very like nationalism. Please note by "racism" I mean here race-based bigotry, such that anyone might feel. Any one of any race can have a race-based bias. Even though there are other far more complex definitions, additional senses invented to convey other ideas, the irreducible core of racism is race-based bigotry. As with nationalism, the positive group bias - the part where we are to treat millions of strangers as if we love them - is perhaps not so bad! We wouldn't call it racism if positive bias towards the in-group were the extent of it, we'd call it racial pride. For nationalism, if positive bias towards the in-group were its extent, we'd call it patriotism. Our high regard for a stranger based on some grouping we share with them may prove misguided, but as long as we are giving them the benefit of our ignorance and not the detriment of it, we don't call it bigotry even though it is bias. Positive bias, we don't call bad.

It is when we teach ourselves to regard millions of strangers we don't know as if their group makes them bad that we call bias bad. We call it prejudice, to treat or regard people as bad when we don't know who they are. When we know only one limited aspect of what they are, when we judge the person bad because of how we view their group - we call that bigotry.

Tribal bias was perfectly good, healthy and natural. Working on the scale of the local, of those one knows, tribal bias was kept in check by human encounter and real experience. As neighboring tribes came into contact, initial distrust would lead to clashes. But assuming neither tribe was strong enough to drive the other out, continued sharing of the same territory would breed a distaste for misery - ours and theirs. As we each evolved little accommodations to reduce conflict, our efforts would erode the initial cautious (and mostly beneficial) distrust. Otherness would be supplanted by acquaintance. True cooperation would spring from mutual benefit to be gained in trade, in exchange of knowledge, and soon enough, exchange of mates. Over hundreds of years of such contact and exchange, tribes become tribe - enriched and strengthened.

Nationalism and racism are based on false tribe, but the feelings they give rise to are powerful and real. When huge group divisions encompassing millions of strangers are used to bring down one's hate and contempt upon the other side - also comprised of millions of strangers - the check of personal encounter and cooperation is nowhere to be found. Distance breeds demons. Worse, the demon bred at a distance will be treated as one, once you meet it in person. False tribal loyalty is real enough to take lives, to make wars, and to set in place blood debts of hatred that - without the check of intimate cooperation and encounter to temper it and teach each group that the other is as human as we are - will endure down the centuries: an inheritance of hate.

Us vs. Them. It's natural. A survival mechanism. It's never going to go away. Grouping together and aligning in solidarity is too powerful, is too beneficial. We will not do away with it, and nor should we. Tribal loyalty remains a good and useful thing, limited to what tribe always was: those who we actually live among, encounter and experience. Then as now, it's sensible to be cautious of those whose ways we don't know. Then as now, it's sensible, understandable and human to affiliate strongly with those whose ways we do. All of this is nothing to fight.

What we must be on guard against is not bias, and not even negative bias, but ignorant bias. In a global age, people group along increasingly vast lines, and we're not going to stop this powerful alignment from happening. But we can prevent our own thinking to be contaminated with irrational distortions and false loyalties. We can keep our loyalties based in life experience, at our own human scale. It's insane, inhuman, to consider our tribe to be a group that includes millions of strangers. It's ignorant and diabolical to decide there are millions of other strangers we're not prepared to regard, encounter, or experience as equal in human dignity to ourselves. It is when we let our loyalties be ruled by abstractions that we allow strangers to be branded enemies, all based on the dictates of a false tribe. We make demons of others in our own minds, and we stand ready to do worse: to be demons ourselves. To treat the other inhumanly, if ever we should meet. All because you we do not know our tribe.

Know your tribe. If you don't know your tribe, you don't have a tribe. If your tribe includes millions of strangers - you don't have a tribe.

Humanity is not your tribe. You do not know them. Media has made it possible for you to know, and live, and love, and be in communion with - so many humans, a great deal farther-flung from you than was ever possible in past times! But possibility is not life. Life is human-scale. Life is not made of abstract people.

If you do not know the person, if you do not live in their life and they in yours, if you do not love them and share their love, whatever some media connection could somehow possibly let you be to each other gives no power, makes no connection, makes no difference. You don't know them.

Who do you know? Work with? Live with? Love? Who are you in communion with? Who is your community?

These are the people you know. These are the people it is natural for you to be biased towards. It is even good! You know them, and they know you. You love what is good in them - and love always makes bias. These people are your in-group. They are your tribe. It is as good to be cautious towards outsiders. You don't know them. You don't know them, yet. And as you chance to encounter them, you will have a chance to come to know them, person by person. You will have this chance for every person you may ever meet.

You will only have it so long as you haven't poisoned yourself against them, by placing yourself in one false tribe - and them in another.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Hope for the future #1: Racism.

Racists are cowards, and can only survive cowering under cover huddling and whispering with people they already know share their bullshit views. They gain very few converts there.

Every generation racists raise more children embarrassed of their parents. And then they die. The battle for hearts and minds is not won in the invisible dark. It is won in the light, incrementally, over lifetimes, over centuries.

It needs patience, but ultimately this: only truth can withstand the light of human reason.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Arguments between the Id and other abstractions #1: the Conscience?

I finally figured out the difference between us, sir. You are Haughty in Righteous Cause. Sometimes even with righteous cause! Not I.

I, I, I am arrogant in all matters of inconsequence. So long as they call to me, I thrill to rush in, conscious in my exaggerated sense of self and worth! This is arrogance: to hold an exaggerated or falsely high estimation of self or self worth. I know I am arrogant. I glory in it, I glory in what calls me, I rush in to it - dauntless more than brave, heedless more than courageous - but those as well, surely. In valor, we may say, so long as we leave the better part. I find I have rushed in before conscious of the call, and as I fly through and out of the frame gang-tackling it, I feel at the very least equal to it.

Superior, maybe. But that isn't a bad thing! If it can be managed, one should find ways to be superior to all one's calls.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

I don't feel the need to picket the Catholic church over pedophile priests. I denounce the crime itself, I'll note the criminals are in fact not the church, but enemy agents sheltering within it to leverage whatever trust, power and respectability it has left while violating both the oaths they took and those who it was their sworn duty to guide and protect! I'll note Rome's shocking failure to condemn the problem, and I'll sound a call for the truly penitent to take up a stricter penance, in gratitude for Christ's forgiveness: confess to Caesar. Turn yourselves in. Even blameless Christ submitted himself to human judgment,  and paid for doing so. Submit yourselves to human justice. Christ forgives sin, but you are criminal. 

So too it saddens me that Islam as a whole does not rise up to condemn the acts of these blasphemous heretics whose gospel is God Says Kill. But if a Muslim fears these beasts, fears for life, limb and loved ones, they are fucking a right to do so. Only thing an extremist hates more than an infidel is an outspoken moderate.

I am Christian and I ask: what has betrayal of vows, abuse of trust and the penile penetration of juvenile orifices to do with the church of acceptance of God's judgment? God's judgment upon us, which is Christ, halleloo y'all!? NAUGHT. There is no excuse to be found there.

So too Islam. What does the murder of strangers, civilians, in order to drum up publicity for a political grievance - what does this have to do with the religion of submission to God's will?

Naught.

Oh, I jihad. I jihad all the time. See me war.

Monday, September 08, 2014

Quote of the day: Responsible

"I am responsible for all I say or do, for when questioned I am the one who must have response.

I am responsible for all any do to me. For no one but me will respond for me.

It is right and fair for every single one, and people are hell, and life is cold and this world is death. And some have advantages I don't have, and still we must make response for ourselves, or suffer and die. Good fortune of others does not make my lot unfair, and we will die.

Until then only you must make response for only you. Suffer no liars to deceive you on this point, to your sorrow."

- Sir Fauntleroy Gilchester Fakereference

Saturday, September 06, 2014

Strong Assertion

I don't know about psychic media.

I keep an open mind, but I don't believe in anything paranormal or anything supernatural. If it exists, hey, it may be abnormal! But if it exists it's natural and if it exists, we - homo sapiens sapiens, I mean - is going to get it. As in, "get" it. Grasp hold, drag it kicking and if need be screaming into the light of our comprehension. Probably take a pass or two to fine tune the description slash theory on some of the most abnormal shit there is, but we'll do it. We'll get it, or die trying. We'll grasp it or - as they used to threaten in the old books, "...or I'll know the reason why."

You'll say I have too much faith in humanity, too much faith in the method. You would be wrong. I assure you I'm the strongest skeptic yet met. I suspect I am a stronger skeptic than any of you.

We haven't really talked philosophy, though. It's possible my strong suspicion here will prove unfounded! In any case, skepticism is no contest. It's a moral position, one whose survival value and adaptive benefit has been tested and proved again and again and again.

My faith in humanity is not faith at all, really - faith is a pure figure of speech, here. Same with my faith in the scientific method. Such "faith" is no more than justified confidence based on track record. Again and again and without exception yet, the method is proved sound. It is made to run on human error, and to advance by falsification. Again and again we have proved equal to its good use. Confidence justified - compellingly so, as I hope anyone with a decent brain and half a mind to use it would agree.

Anyway, I do enjoy the topic of psychic media, things of that nature. I don't believe in that stuff based on current studies and facts in evidence, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious about what others believe! Damn curious, what others believe.

But then what do you want, belief is not suspicion, belief is not conjecture. It's a feeling, and sometimes, an irrational one. Maybe sometimes justified, too! But a lot of the time you don't know. You know what I believe?

I believe skepticism is the strongest moral position you can stake out.

One should not believe in the truth value of any proposition whose validity is not compellingly established. For me, for phenomena, that pretty much means the method. Reality - if you please, reality ought to be demonstrable and repeatable, or else we ought to suspend judgment.

Huh. Bit of a tangent there, but very clear I believe. I don't imagine any of you will find any claim in it you'd care to contest. There never was a claim I made I couldn't back up - except the one that I will take back down. I love the test best when I'm proven wrong. I don't understand why anyone would not crave disproof, thrive upon being proven wrong. I love human error, and especially my own!

It's how we advance.

Friday, September 05, 2014

"The Trick": One Weird-ass Peculiar Unbeatable Sweet Trick to Change the World, Pt.2

~ This Post is a Part 2. There was also a Part 1. ~

Ok, I just had a guy pay me $5 for "The Trick" crash course life improvement program. Accordingly this notice herby notifies all and sundry that I have begun employing this mark for this service as a "mark in trade," and that if my mark can be demonstrated to infringe on a similar mark for the same class of product or service, I thereby owe that rights-owner five bucks then, don't I? Fuck your legal fees pal! Let's see your C & D demonstrate infringement first, because as I've always and already informed you - once it's demonstrated, I immediately comply.

You'll never have to file suit on me. File suit without C & D'ing me and you'll be paying my legal fees, pal. I get that legal letter with infringement clearly demonstrated, I won't waste one minute or a single dime! I'll take it to my fucking attorney and see what she has to say. She has no fool for a client. If she agrees you've got the mark, or even feels it's arguable enough to go to court - I'll just call it something else! Easy. Especially for me, I come up with better business ideas than that during sex. But to be honest, here, I'd caution you. I'm of the opinion that you don't have an enforceable mark. To be honest. I bet upon examination, my service and product is going to be so different from yours as to be a completely different type of product or service, and wholly unconfusable with yours. Whatever the hell yours is. And even assuming it exists! Screw your legal fees. At best you'll be paying MINE, pal. Watch it.

Hell technically, I don't even have to give you the five dollars. I'd only be doing that because to me, that's all part of my sweet trick.

Also part of The Trick, you can see above displayed the decency and dignity we were talking about earlier. That's where the "one encounter at a time" case-by-case aspect comes in so crucial! None of your absolutism here, none of your idiotic inapplicable universal principles. Those don't work case-by-case, because there you have to proceed on merit. Your Ideals, your Virtues, will never ever work on merit. Except maybe in the freak case where one happens to pertain, but you could live and die waiting for that to happen.

On merit, case-by-case, you'll see the above example pertains to "dude got his lawyer involved." Due consideration for etiquette is advised in such a case! And let me tell you, your lawyer's not going to feel belittled by a little straight talk. It will refresh them. And then they will assure you how decent I've been, to caution your ass. Which will reassure you! You'll be like - "that Sweet-Trick bastard! He had my dignity in mind the whole time!" I sure did. And then they'll invoice you.

THE TRICK. It works. Even there, you can see how well it works!

I used to call it Invincible Professionalism, but then I saw that #1 I'd been acting the same way off work for years. Long before I came up with the brilliant idea to act that same way on the job. And who the hell knew it would work? Nobody acts that way on the job! I thought I was a genius when it worked even better. But also, #2, I kind of had to stop calling it Invincible Professionalism because...well, to be honest, in practice, in conjunction with my specific personality, there's nothing particularly professional about it. Nothing all that professional my sweet THE TRICK. Tee-Em.

I tell you what though, it's weird. It's weird what to call it, and it's weird how to class it, but you better believe whether I come up with a better name or not I am as of now in business with this. This sweet trick of mine is a gold mine on cloud nine, people! Because you know what? "Change the world"? Hell yes! People will eat that up, and I intend to charge by the barge for the pleasure of enriching their fucking lives.

One Weird-ass Peculiar Unbeatable Sweet Trick to Change the World

I always do the random acts of kindness, and Morgan Freeman is damn right - that does change the world, but here's another trick I find also works great. And not a lot of people seem to have picked up on it! Even though, pretty simple right?

One encounter at a time, random or not, speech or action: treating each other we meet with decency and dignity, whether they've done so or not. Whether they hate how we see the world or love it. Whether we love them or not. Whether we in fact hate them. Whether either of us thinks the other has "deserved" it.

The above trick is so fucking nasty, so sneaky and unexpected that it pretty much runs roughshod over people who'll have no reference frame for how they can react! What are they supposed to do, when you come back at them with THAT? It's like a jujitsu move. But warning: anyone who's a total dick will A) first be extremely suspicious of your motives, and then second, B) eventually shift to thinking they can "take advantage of you." Good luck with that.

C) varies, to be honest. You have to play that one by ear. As long as you keep using the sweet trick, they're pretty much fucked don't worry.

I'm serious, people! Dead sincere. The above sneak trick, or "sweet trick," as we seem to have agreed I'll call it, works like riding a bike off a log - you could never learn to forget a thing like that. This one weird-ass peculiar unbeatable sweet trick, if practiced consistently, will change your whole world. I just wish I had a catchier name for it. Maybe just call it, "The Trick"? TM!

Be clear, here: my sweet trick has nothing at all to do with treating the other "as we'd treat the self." No relation at all to any so-called "golden rule" situation. Number one, because that rule doesn't fucking work - not for practically anybody! It only works for people who have self-love. No wonder people scoff.

My sweet trick also has got fuck all to do with kindness. Or love, or anything like that. Unless mercy? But seriously, WHO CARES what it's called. It works! It's my sweet trick.

People have no idea how to stop it, or stop you doing it, or stop you.

My sweet trick. Change your whole experience of the world.

Fiction Friday: Another Going-Away Party.

At the party tonight a dear friend and I were delighted to have a chance to catch up, and did so. As we talked, we realized that despite the loveliness of the occasion - so many people we both knew, loved and missed! - and despite each of us having kicked off with frank, sincere assurances of "never better," by the time we finished catching up, between us she and I had just described a pretty hard year. She summed it all up with "I just pray next year is easier." I immediately nodded my sincere agreement, adding "I just pray next year there is a God."

She started punching my arm, but when she saw the surprise in my face - why am I ever surprised over getting hit? - and she saw the lack of any "me giving her shit over she of all people praying" vibe, she stopped punching and gave me just the best hug ever. I had to to tell her stop I'll cry! Thank god I didn't, but I guess we both had already, a little. Then another new mother walked up to say hi to Suzy, and she smiled so at the both of us, seeing the trace tears but seeing only good tears. I excused myself before concern could creep in.

Before I left, though - these were my two favorite wives, and I told them so. Suzy said she didn't like that. She requested it be changed to "favorite moms." Now of course at that, Julie and I said "SUZY!" And then she stopped a second and then she laughed, seeing the dilemma. Both Julie and Suzy had met Lauren at the engagement party, but Suzy had even babysat Tally one happy night. Clearly they knew, the competition was considerably less stiff in the "wife" category.

"Well okay," she groused, "wives it is." Then after a second she started, adding "Hey! That's not going to last either!" Made a hurt face. We all cried a little laughing at that perfect pout of hers. I actually felt bad for a second, then I felt good thinking of her prediction, then eventually settled on worse.

Suzy's a card!

Sunday, August 31, 2014

*BOON REDEMPTION POLICY: Important Change. Check Terms of Your Specific Boon to See if It Applies.

Those of you in receipt of an as-yet unasked BOON* are hereby informed of a change in terms. Effective immediately, Boon (hereinafter "Boon*" or "BOON*") is defined as the offer: "You may ask of me 1 thing which is in my gift."

Previous boons offered either unspecified or under the explicit term "Ask of me that which is in my power, and I will grant it," are no longer valid. However, as always, holders of an expired or other invalid boon may redeem it for a valid Boon* by turning in their invalid boon and performing 1 one (one) Stunt*.

I Did Not Say Goof

Would you please goof off with your sarcasm or whatever it is? You know damn well I don't care if you believe me.

Friday, August 29, 2014

The Damn Disclaimer.

This blog is fiction. If I write an autobiography, that would be novel.

This blog is writing practice. Practice does not make perfect. Play makes perfect. This blog is practice.

This blog is anthology. If I have spoken words, their use ends with the sound. If I have sent a letter, its use ends with having been read. The purpose of those words has been fulfilled. Here, those words find repurpose.

Facebook: "Some Say..." Pt.2

This post is a Part 2. There was also a Part 1.

OK, that Pt.1 was a lovely dissertation or some crap, but cutting to the bottom line that got a bit buried at the tail end of it, the point of the post is, I believe there's only one "Dogimo Jones" on Facebook, but whether there is or there isn't - that's me!

That's my name. Dogimo Jones, Attorney-At-Love some call me. I am not an attorney!

I am not at love, but I can advise you.

Sincerely,

Joe

P.S. I should have put "warmly." Go back up there mentally and change it to "warmly," or better yet! Keep it "sincerely," but just put some warmth into the sincerity. Mentally!

P.P.S. And I do apologize for any perceived churlishness on the part or in the eyes of people who reached out kindly, heart-in-throat, warm hand virtually groping through the ethernet to be my friend - and were cooly rebuffed, for the very excellent reason that I never really bothered to think through at the time. But see part 1!

Facebook: Some Of You...

Hi folks. Let's call this post, "Facebook For Some."

Facebook is a place for people to stand up in a room full of...everybody...and spout an ignorant, ill-advised statement the likes of which they would never have spoken aloud to you, if there were only one other person watching and listening. They'd have shut their mouth. They wouldn't have said the thing they just said to the whole wide circle of their wirld.

Why this happens is a bit of a mystery. It's because they see certain people spout very definitely-worded views, they themselves have some definitely-held views, and they think that's the same thing. "I can do that!" When it turns out the view in question, so definitely-held, had never once been even cursorily-examined by the viewholder - that's when you get those ignorant, inadvisable statements.

It works so great! People they love come out of the wordwork, gently gently, probably only one at a time because they see oh, Aunt Sally Ann already took care of his ass for him: "Dogimo. You can't really mean that, can you? Even in light of bif, bam, bop?" People they respect come flying out from all directions ripping the ignorant statement to shreds and then pounding them into the dirt. "What's wrong with you? Expect better from yourself!" And then the people to whose worldview the statement was attempting to pander come flying in from all the other directions, "DAMN RIGHT!" "TELL it!" "Finally someone with the GUTS!" "Don't listen to these fools and deniers!" Then everybody gets in a big fight.

The system works perfectly! People who are ignorant and indifferent to reason get, really, no worse from the reactions their ignorant, ill-advised statement brings. People for whom human reason and, particularly, reality-as-jointly-observed go together to form a bit of an "Achilles's Heel" in the foot of the courage of their convictions - those folks may end up failing, losing their shit stancepoint in favor of an open-minded hopeful expectation of eventually coming to a better one, or better yet, skipping straight to a better one. And because almost every strongly-worded stance is going to get enough rah rah support from the likeminded knee-jerks in the camp it's meant to stand for, encouragement results. The person who never, ever would have said that idiotic, ignorant, unadvisable thing to you face-to-face will be reassured: on Facebook, this simply is the social norm.

Now for me, Facebook is less about all that. Facebook is a place for me to view and enjoy the beautiful, underage children pictures of my paranoid, privacy-obsessed family. I honor that. I make a point of never accepting a Facebook friend request except for someone who A) I recognize the person's name.

B) I have looked the person directly in the eye. A human eye, a space between filled with nothing but breathable atmosphere, no windows, no screens, and another human eye. The eyes, as they say (apart from Zooey Deschanel's which are windows to heaven) are the windows to the soul.

And C) aforesaid eye contact has occurred OUTSIDE OF WORK. In the context of a social interaction which was at a minimum not unpleasant.

Technically that was a policy before I realized how well my familial paranorms justified it. Originally I had no justification at all for my comfort levels and normal responses! Imagine that.

All of this was before. Some of you, a couple of you asked me if I could be a friend to you on Facebook. Given all the above (and to be fair, the family objection/justification did come in pretty quickly after an idle talk with my sister - I don't think I'd ever had a Facebook friend request to turn down yet, at that point), if you did, I probably turned you down.

What a scumbag!

I have a Facebook account now, one that I am beginning to use for more than just to see pictures of my beautiful and ferocious mother, occasionally father, constant brothers and sisters and the many, many progeny of many of them. I'm using this one for no good. No good reason. No reason. All of the above. Friend me!

If you want, now you can friend me. As he comes begging and cowering back, trying to get those good graces, "Oh, NOW you want to be my friend!" Well, to be perfectly truthful, not really. I want to be your FACEBOOK friend.

Some of you, I was already your friend.

Good morning!

I am,

Dogimo Jones

Unedited Comments from my Secret Free Thinkers Facebook Debate Group #2: The Grammarchy

As usual, the problem is not what's claimed (classism, elitism, bullyism as claimed bases for a would-be grammarchy). It is the absolutism and oversimplification used to make and support the claim.

Where a given rule aids clarity? GRAMMAR ELITE GOOD. They win not because "It's a rule"; they win not because the power of rules can "shut down" and "bully" people into silence! And what sheep, if so; what cowards to be shut down, shamed by ignorance of some silly rule!

Where the rule truly is silly, is useless, the grammarchists are easily dethroned and ridiculed for insisting on it. Where the rule powerfully aids clarity, though, the grammarchists rule. By divine right: the will of the people to a language capable of wielding meaning with power.

It's case by case, as almost always it is. Absolutists can eat a dick!

But even there, my generalization is overbroad. In a given instance, many of them will choose not to.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

A woman wants to see you succeed.

Otherwise, she won't fuc* you for *hit.

Unedited Comments from my Secret Free Thinkers Facebook Debate Group #1: Widening Circles

It's probably a good thing. It shows people that their circles of acquaintance and even intimacy encompass a whole spectrum of views. The strident folks sail in and make ass of themselves, but often do a decent job presenting the side. People you respect surprise you by chiming in the voice of reason on behalf of a side you don't credit with reason.

Facebook is the sociocultural version of early 1980s MTV's play-it-all mix list. By within another 10 years or so, I fully expect to see some "Alternative" surfacing, but for suck's fake, this time I hope they leave the flannel out of it.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Internet Friendships: an Appreciation

I do not celebrate Internet friendship. I do have, however, a small group of friends, perhaps such as you, with whom I have had to conduct friendship entirely through means inadequate and unsatisfying, such as the internet. You will say that without the Internet - the connection wouldn't even have existed! True. If we settle for inadequate, unsatisfying means, it is because we must have found a friendship worth such sacrifices.

Because even if the friendship is true and good, the connection sucks. Compared to eye contact, the human hand, a voice that warms the air as it stirs it - there is no compare. It's simply nothing like.

I can't celebrate Internet friendship, I fear. I celebrate those friends for the sake of whose 'ship we make sacrifice. We do our best as friends. Sometimes the best we can do is make the best connection we can.

We settle for a connection that is wholly inadequate, for the sake of a friend.

Friday, August 15, 2014

AHHHH FOR SUCK'S FAKE!

FOR SUCK'S FAKE! FUT THE WHUCK, HOO THE WHELL DO YOU FATHERMUCKERS THINK YOU'RE RUCKING AFOUND WITH! I WILL CICK YOU IN THE KINKING STUNT, WHO YORE! DUCK MY SICK!

Actual Work E-Mails #1: Cancel the Planned Smoke Break.

Looks like I may have to cancel. Not packing. Left ‘em at home.

Unless you want to change it to a fresh air break?

But that seems frivolous. Lacking in the serious tone of two united in the lifting of that heavy, set-in burden of the lungs; united in uplifting that smoldering beacon - a glowering blaze, a red-orange coal held high to light the way forward as we march calmly and purposefully forward heralded by the battle-cry for the ages, a shout of celebration and warning, ringing down the epoch of all human civilization and civilizations.

That cry is: “FIRE! We have mastered it! We tame it, we roll it up and suck on one end! It is only we, paragon of animals, who demonstrate our mastery of evolutionkind in this bold way! By the ritual and habitual ignition and deliberate inhalation of varying kinds of burning vegetable matter. It is technically, probably, this one thing alone that provides the 2% that separates us from the chimps!”

Oh, a chimp can be taught to smoke, sure. But trust me, no chimp would have come up with this particular little "stunt." It took humankind, man. It took mankind! This was like, the second fall - Adam had to convince Eve to suck on that sweet sweet stick, that badge and emblem of the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of How to Get Shit Done. Using unnatural means - or rather, using unnatural drives to harness natural means with our characteristic ingenuity. When you think about it that way, smoking really is a sweet setter-aparter! Animals on one side, and humanity on the otherwise.

Well, there's that, but also plus - check out the sweet fig leaf.

God’s going to shit when he sees this sweet fig leaf. Dude doesn’t even know we know we’re naked! All this time, not telling us we're naked. That's just wrong.

Apologies if you heard that story before.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

RIP, Spalding

death fucks us all up, but I think the testaments I keep seeing today - people telling with force how a human can touch another with love, even from a distance, even a stranger! That's a testament to the force and receptivity of the human spirit and an open heart.

Those who can touch from afar can do it cross space and time. Speaking more personally, Spalding Gray is gone, but in his touch he lives on.

RIP to you, too Robin.

Tuesday, August 05, 2014

As Usual, My Every Thought

...is chiefly in your direction.



And your body looks like the sun

Ripped Off The Headlines #7: Zooey Deschanel Splitsville

Dear Zooey Deschanel,

This is horrible. I mean it's horrible. I mean it's stupid enough you have to have your personal life all wrung out in public, tabloid quipsters slinging quaint phrases such as "splitsville" - this was LOVE at stake for you, it once was! Don't they fucking know what it's like? I have no idea, certainly none about what it's like for you, and I wouldn't believe the reports if I read them, believe you me. But I've been lucky enough in this life to know how much of love is my business, and how little business of anyone else's is one's love. The sole exception to that is: the other one. Anyone else can butt the fuck out of it; can butt and should have butted. Dear Zooey Deschanel, I have no idea if this is a desolate time for you, or a time of quiet resignation between two who tried, but had to be honest about hard facts. Compatibility, as they say, is a motherfucker - but baby when it works, oh, what a motherfucker it is.

Unfortunately, sometimes obstacles are the even bigger motherfucker. I am not prepared to speak to your details, and I'd be ashamed if I was. It is your story.

All people talk about your eyes. If you ask me, that whole "eyes are the windows to the soul" deal is overrated. When I look in your eyes, in moving pictures, in pictures only, never once direct and deeply into them - but I don't see your soul. And some say the camera itself captures and imprisons the soul. If this window theory had a thing to it, you'd think I could see yours. I don't buy the window theory. It seems shallow and venial, somehow, to me. To expect or believe you can catch a glimpse of such universal and intimate human space with one's eyes, even looking into another's. Because if anyone's were ever clear enough! Yours, those are just the most beautiful eyes, in the eyes of many, and celebrated in as many voices. To tell the truth, whatever's behind those blue windows is inscrutable to me. Mysterious, and just a bit thrilling because I'll level with you woman, it's kind of hard to tell when or whether you're putting someone on! You've got that whole cute, earnest but "am I secretly being sarcastic," thing going on? And people talk about your EYES.

I want to talk about your LIPS. But I won't. FUCK! Not at a time such as this. Ashame myself!

I want to talk about your hips, your hair, your smile, your arms - your so many loveliest and ordinary aspects, your so many lovelier and extraordinary ones! All that you are dovetails, doubling back upon itself inextricably in a web of mingled woven light beams and silk, or something similar. I won't have my chance to talk about any of that, or to ever know any of you in passing to the point where my view of you could be worth saying aloud. Words do not fail me, it's simply knowledge and understanding that fail. Your mind is a stained glass candy cathedral with rather sacrilegious, or at the very least irreverent windows. Your body is - what call do I have to say? Your body is the living embodiment of no ideal, but of what you might call an archetype. A lot of people might say: Eve. Not the ideal woman, no: the primal woman. Natural as that, and as close as we'll know of such a living myth, in this age - or so say a lot of people at least. Seriously, they do! Not to your face I am sure, and perhaps not in those exact words, but damn it that's what's being meant.

Zooey, do you know that you have, for a lot of guys, become the archetype of woman mysterious and desirable? And they talk about your EYES!

Well, your eyes are beautiful. Damn your eyes. Damn them straight to heaven. If they tell me that is where your eyes are windows to, I will at least suspend my skepticism for as long as it takes to look into it.

Anyway. It's bullshit all these media types celebrating the celebrity of the downfall of what I know you once knew was love. Where do they get off? And here I am, at best, contributing to it. At worst, I don't even know.

And I have no call to give you advice, but I will.

Don't let them win.

Don't ever learn to look on love so cheaply as their cheap hearts and cheaper commentary would make its worth seem. Don't learn lessons, unless in learning and practice, they make you better. In your own eyes.

I'm a pretty big fan of your acting.

Anyway! That's about it from me.

Friday, August 01, 2014

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The Theology of Gettin' Laid! (warning: not a professional theologian. Not authoritative theology) (Pretty much never gets laid)

Basically, this is more questions, at least to begin with. We all know the Jews. I tell you, Samson was one consecrated motherfucker, and in consequence, he was rippin' doors off towns' walls, bashing in Philistine brains with an ass's jawbones, ripping lions to pieces with his BIG, BEAR HANDS, and a number of other amusing feats. All the while he was fucking up a storm, and I don't mean just Delilah. This, by the way, just after the time of Israel's Kings, in the time of the Judges - and certainly in a time when Mosaic law was already very highly developed. So at what point did fucking get on the DO NOT list?

The Jews in those days were an earthy, earthly breed, very much in the mode of full gratitude for this gift of all the natural. They didn't turn their nose up at ripping each others' clothes off and FUCK FUCK FUCKA FUCKA ALL DAY NIGHT ALL AROUND THE TENT - naw. No way. When did fucking get on the "Thou Shalln't" list?

It didn't.

Oh, come at me with your epistles, bro. Maybe you will be glad you did, because guess what, "good news!" - and you know what else, fuck all these JUDGYPANTS PRUDES. They ain't even nigh Christ's mighty throne of judgment, let alone fit to sit on it. All these dirtbag gnostic duelists fighting to the death with the material on behalf of the spirtual - LIKE THE SPIRITUAL NEEDS THE HELP OF THESE CLOWNS! - totally convinced MATTER BAD, Spirit Good!

Palestine and indeed, all the Roman realm in those days was thick and lousy with varying stripes of these 'fraid of their own genitalia material/spiritual dualists, and they all spelt one thing: reject the garden. Because you know what? It's still a garden here, holmes. It's just we have to garden it ourselves now. And I am a constant gardener.

The taint of gnostic dualism so rife at the time of Christ and of Christianity's rise could not help but creep into the early church, whispering like a snake this bad news: "Reject the gift of life God gave. BE ASHAMED OF IT. The material world is VILE. Why, you'd be better off CELIBATE than FUCKING!"

Guess fucking what:

Good news.

Nothing natural is shameful, friends. Diogenes. And also: God, who if you recall, was not in favor of that fucking dopey-looking fig leaf merkin Adam felt so all decked out about. OF COURSE ADAM WAS ASHAMED OF THE NATURAL! He'd just eaten the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and after the indigestion passed he found he had practically no better ideas than before! The only thing he really became sure of after eating was that he'd chosen to prefer his judgment over God's (kind of implicit? In the act? NO MAGIC FRUIT REQUIRED?). Adam knew that much: he knew good and evil now, just like God knew good and evil (BUT REALLY, DUDE? TO THE SAME DEGREE? INFINITELY?). So first thing, he picked a biggest fig leaf (overcompensating), slapped that thing over his dick all proud, thinking "MAN - when God sees this sweet fig leaf he'll SHIT! He doesn't even KNOW I know I'm naked!"

Eating the fruit of a tree of a knowledge of good and evil doesn't suddenly transform your fucking ASH DUST ASS into an organism that can metabolize that fruit - let alone into anything like omniscient. You will not have remotely the means to judge. Adam knew the shit now and called the shots - but he was out of his league now, out of the garden. Out of the gardener's hands, into his own - his choice! Yours too, if you care to check it.

Eve's too.

Everyone's. Unanimous; ask around.

Not at all in control, or even in comprehension of all this nature, and so he feared it and was ashamed of his own body. Of course he was in fear, of course he was ashamed. These natural things he once owned, 100% covered and maintained and understood - well, the understanding of a guest at a resort, at least. What once was simplicity itself, now - come to find out his body, his mate's, the fruits of the land and the beasts and the fish in the sea - a total mystery to Adam.

Adam felt very much like "I don't really understand jack SHIT about how to manage this." Perhaps he should of eaten from the Tree of the Knowledge of How to Get Shit Done, but don't worry - we found that tree, and ever since have been feasting off it.

They talk about the fall of Eden, and all human misery that came following in attendant upon that one decision: to prefer one's judgment over God's. But what they always try to snow you about is this: all this was not punishment. It was consequence. Natural consequence, at that. Well of course the land won't feed you. Of course you have to till it - no shit! God took care of that shit before, and you preferred your own devices. Your fig leaf.

Which is fine.

The natural world is still an INSANELY GREAT heritage. We just gotta work it work it a bit more, well ok.

Anyway!

Now jump back, kiss you'self and get down with your bad goodness! Fuck, if you wish, your god damn brains out you crazy beautiful human beings you and can I possibly get an amen? Come forth and multiply! Or, as you prefer, don't.

It's natural to respect one's own preference and inclination in these matters.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Ask A Question Get An Answer #10: How Do You Put Your Pants On In The Morning?

I don't know!

I've tried myself to observe this phenomenon several times, but the subject has proven too elusive and wary. I'll lay out the dilemma - let me know if you get any ideas!

What's known for sure is this: every night, when I go to sleep, I am either wearing A) comfy sweats with underdrawers, B) my comfy soft breathable shorts with or without underdrawers, C) underdrawers, or D) none of the above. Every morning when I wake up, I walk straight to the sales support office and refill my big ol' cup of coffee (my attempts to dislodge more hot coffee by smacking the back of the upended cup into my FUCKING LIP are usually what awakens me in the morning) to find that I am in there, filling my coffee and fully dressed - usually in dark blue, green, charcoal or khaki khakis or else a smart pair of jeans (10 out of 12 it's jeans, to be more accurate), and with a sharp-ass laid-back combination of upper-body garments, which can include any sort of item like a blue, zipperfront pullover (for you Englanders or Commonwealthies, I understand this is what you might call a "wooly jumper") and a blue t-shirt underneath, a polo or other button-front short-sleeved shirt, a full long-sleeved collared button-down shirt of more-or-less classic make, but generally leaning more towards darkly bold or deep color for emphasis rather than any sort of jazzy or dressy cut, gloss, or accents. If a button-down shirt, I may or may not be wearing one of the coolest fucking ties you ever saw. If I'm wearing a sharp blazer, jacket of other kind, or the dark orange sweater, I may just opt for a TEE shirt as the foundational shirt - though you can better believe I'm looking fuckin' good by the time I notice.

But how did it happen? Again, investigations are ongoing. What's really needed here is a research assistant, someone who can be on-site to observe continuously, and make a detailed video record of everything that happens. Everything that happens to happen. The problem is - will the subject behave the same way with a research assistant there, in intimate proximity? The sleeping area is not very large. If the research assistant is a male, will the subject react as if in the presence of a competitor or an aggressor? Or - if the research assistant is a female, won't this too alter the natural behavior of the subject?

It's quite like the ol' uncertainty principle! Can't measure how the subject is putting his pants on, except by introducing a measuring element whose impact or influence may well prevent him taking them off in the first place - and/or present an obstacle to them ever being put back on. At least, not on anything like the timescale we've inferred from observations of the uninterfered-with subject.

I'm not sure what the next step can be, realistically.

I'm going to go get some more coffee.

The Power of Ambiguity? Or: Disclaimers that Fail to Disclaim

"...and I mean that exactly as you're meant to take it."

I Like To Write Online Poems. Anybody Like Online Poems Pt.2?


~ Re: "succinct" - today's most recent poem, and a triumph of concision! ~

I have to admit, I'm happy with the outcome but I wish I could have gotten anything about "concentrated in meaning" or similar in there, but there just wasn't room. It wouldn't fit, I couldn't see any place to stick it or force it in, I mean, I totally could have and the poem kind of cries out for it - how can you write a poem about concision without making reference to the incredible delirious overloading of concentrated MEANING that clamps down on you as an inevitable consequence of making it your priority to take the tiniest possible opening and cram as much as you can in there - "using little to say much," as it were? The poem fucking CRIES OUT for that, for at least some of that, because the point is - by implication at least, that's what the poem's about. The power of a perfect and minimalist composition where every line, every curve, every dip and every swell TELLS. Every. Word. Tells. But at some point, you can't go in like that and just blatantly POUND OUT what the poem is so clearly crying out for, because: that meaning is already part of the word concise. You don't HAVE to force it in!

Anyway, I wanted to - at least just a little of that, just a taste, even just a foretaste you know? I like to abuse the literal sometimes I guess, but there just wasn't any place I could see where I could stick it and make it fit, not without causing some kind of injury to the delicate tissues and sensitive surfaces of the poem's inner essence. You know what I mean?

That's just disgusting, dude. Knock it off.

I Like To Write Online Poems. Anybody Like Online Poems?

Anybody here like the short ones? I prefer the long ones myself, long and lean but I know that it takes all kinds and frankly, I have the skills to crack each different specific niche where anybody might feel the need and fill it to the hilt, if you know what I mean. I mean poetry, and from what I understand, some of you like the short ones for some reason. This one's



"succinct"

close in compass,
compact in scope,
brief in form,
and tightening down:

concise

essentially,
she is.

To closest fit
a given noun
that's just a bit

extravagant

to be precise.


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

More About Me Pt.2

This post is a Part 2. There was also a Part 1!

Hello, my name is Joe but people around here often call me dogimo (pronounced either doh-GEE-mo, dog-EE-mo, DOG-'im-oh, DODGE-'im-oh, or DODGY MOE), dogi (pronounced lord knows how) or "Dodgy." Someone sent me a t-shirt once that says "Dodgy." Big huge letters.

What can I say? She knows me well.

Another thing I - hey! Hi! What can I say? I'm a good guy. I'm pretty nice. You should know that. Probably.

I used to hate that - being called "nice." I took it as an insult on how bad-ass I wasn't - but that's a balls ass move, come the final analysis. Is "the final anal" a decent abbreviation for the final analysis? Regardless: a balls ass move, to take umbrage at being called nice! What's wrong with nice? I am nice! My nice is alll-rite. Nice is a damn nice thing to be, or it can be - and I'm living proof! So I'm at peace with nice, now. Sure I'm nice. You said it. Well-observed.

That's nothing people really need to know about me, though, or at least, I don't care if they do or if they don't. It's really none of their business frankly. I mean, if they pick up on it themselves - I won't deny it! I won't hide it, but they can form their own conclusions on that without my help. Like I said, no longer am I afraid or ashamed how nice I am, but supposing someone concludes that I am or I'm not, I could give a shit you know? I'm not here to convince you. "Sorry."

No offense, but how I seem is not my problem. Seem is in the eye of the other guy, I refuse to be beholden to beholders over what they see fit to conclude over how I seem. Who gives a thought to stuff like that? How many thoughts should you spare per person, over how they see you? Seriously. Do you have any idea how many people there are who see you? Just from a practical standpoint, don't waste your fucking energy - it's a losing effort! But even beyond the practical, it seems a bit seamy or unseemly to me, those whose concern is how they seem. How others see them. How they might come across. WHO CARES? How would you even KNOW? What are they going to TELL YOU? - what, are you going to ASK them? How would you even KNOW how you seem? Right? Then don't worry about it!

Shoot. Anyway, somebody tells you how you seem, how do you know they're not just lying about how you seem? Frankly, isn't it a little suspicious that they seem to think you care or should care how they think you seem? Who do they think they are! Isn't it their problem how you "seem" to them? Let me ask you this - do you control how you seem, to others?

Dude. If so, that's some kind of bad ass psionic superpower and I hope you don't abuse it. You don't seem like the type. I'd be disappointed in you, but at least if you do control how you seem to others, you've got no problems in that area and can safely skip the entire previous section, if you also happen to be precognitious. Why not? Once you break the fifth-sense barrier - collect them all!

Anyway, hey folks. I'm dogimo.

Someone once told me I have a way with wayward words, or words to that effect. Another one once told me I have a command of the language, but I drive the troops too hard. But get it straight either way, though folks: I mean it.

Don't confuse yourself on that score.

More About Me Pt.1

Hi everybody. I've had a lot to go on, in my life. Sometimes I draw the wrong conclusions, or people find me amusing, or misunderstood. Let's call it even - I'm prone to the same problem on their behalf! But I'm a big pizza eater, I sing out softly in the grocery store when the song's right, I'm a beer slut (lites, stouts, reds, blondes, ambers - I POUND THEM ALL) especially when good times come a-runnin', but let me tell you I enjoy a gin cocktail when it's time to talk some serious shit with my fellow inhabitants of the universe! And wine, wine is more when I want to be at one with the something or other. It's a merger into unity of the allness of things, a cosmosis, if you will. Wine is. As opposed to beer. Beer drinks you deeper into this beautiful moment, and gin - which pleasantly fuzzes you out of it, has you side-phasing over gently into the giniverse.

VODKA? Fuck, don't even make them call the COPS. Point is, hi everybody. I like the cops! I like Jews, I like people who believe in ghosts but I don't believe in ghosts. I mean to say I don't believe your fucking CONSCIOUS IDENTITY hangs around moaning in your HOUSE just because you had a to-do list when your ticker quit on you. That's ass-balls nuts. But I honor those who believe that shit. Hey, I can't disprove the paranormal! Not my job! You got the wrong guy.

I'd more tend to assume that if shit like that's going on, its not the actual remnant of the dead distraught one, but rather more a residue of the emanation of regret, longing, terror, or other strong emotion which was seared into the ("haunted") environment by the sheer force of the living person's living (or dying) aura broadcast. Either slowly, over a life lived in drawn-out regret and woe (woe seems to be better at working its way into a house for some reason! You get very few happy joy hauntings), or suddenly in one traumatic burst, for those of you ax-murdered and such. Who cares? I ain't scared of no Ray Parker Junior BULL SHIT. But I enjoy a little ambience, same as the next guy. Go ahead and clump echoing foot steps down the wooden upstairs hall! Slam shut a door or two, time to time. Go ahead and moan. That's kinda hot!

So yeah, I wouldn't call myself goth, but there's no doubt I'm a bit of a barbarian at heart. I'm just not into gargoyles and forced perspective. Hi!

I was wondering if anyone else here had any particular ideas about Chicklets? It seems like the world's not doing enough with the form. So rounded-square, so crunchy-chew toothsome! They should be far more prevalent. Is it their marketing team? Who yanked the support on these?

In The Offseason, When Our Minds Are Clearer: An Examination of Football's Relative Importance

If you think football is meaningless, I can't help you.

Or maybe I can? I can at least testify! I must at least try. My passion for football is greater than my passion for all the world's painted or sculpted art. And I have devoted years of study and practice to that - and I LOVE ART. Art expresses not just humanity's yearning to stamp one's fleeting self upon the eternal, but also humanity's ability beyond all boundaries to see one person's work, and to recognize in it: ourselves. Even in a work that comes down to us from a across great gulf of distance and time. Still, next to football - come on. No comparison.

Compared to the NFL, compared even to individual teams - compared to the Dallas Cowboys, compared to the Philadelphia Eagles - I would say that many, many things are (RELATIVELY) meaningless. Politics is meaningless, by comparison. I am actually quite passionate about issues, if not parties. I do believe that most who devote their lives to public service in the political sphere are committed to righting the world - and I do *NOT* believe their cause to be utterly hopeless! But still. Next to the NFL? Come on. Naw.

Religion is meaningless, by comparison. Religion is politics applied to faith, with various trappings of ritual thrown in. Compared to the Dallas Cowboys? Come on! Even as a way to God - I will seek and find God through the intercession of a well-played NFL game with a far greater accuracy and immediacy than an afternoon spent in a bible college library poring over theological tomes, or gawking in some cathedral while the gigantic heaving pipe organ massacres Bach under an eager deacon's all-too-human hand.

And don't kill me on this one, but folks? Compared to NFL football? BEER IS MEANINGLESS.

It goes without saying that in all the above comparisons, it isn't as if there's any conflict or dichotomy forcing us to choose between. What we're after here is merely a clear-eyed assessment of the relative importance of different important aspects to life. Have a beer, think it over a bit. You'll see what I'm getting at. Football!

The only major element of human culture that can even hope to stand toe-to-toe with professional American football on anything close to an even footing is music, specifically: rock music. And really, even that's only due to the contributions of a small number of standouts.

I can't help it if everybody has everything wrong, priority-wise. In terms of life's meaning and purpose. The theologians have nearly everything entirely wrong, as do the evolutionists, as do those who say the universe is deterministic but purposeless. It may or may not be deterministic - but it is definitely not purposeless. If there is a God, God's purpose in creating the universe was not to provide a place for us to come into being and create one's self through one's own free perception, contemplation and action. No: God's purpose in creating the universe was to foster an environment wherein FOOTBALL could come about, and be played to the highest standards of professional excellence! Evolution is no mere undirected accumulation of mutations selected for survival benefit. No: evolution has been a long road of every organism on earth, blindly yet unyieldingly yearning and striving to bring life towards a form most perfectly suited to suit up, and get a game on!

People who think humanity is the pinnacle of evolution are stupid, short-sighted, misguided and plain wrong. The pinnacle of evolution is football. Football itself. All the animal world knows it! Have you seen those horses play? Holy goodness. Not to mention bears, lions, bengal tigers, all manner of birds and beasts - all are certainly aware of the situation, even if we're not.

Love's more important that football, of course. But just as love would never force love to falsehood, neither could love ever force love to a denial of what's true and important - or even and especially, a denial of what's enjoyable to the lover but essentially, trivial! The love that takes a triviality and says it outranks love, the love that says "if you do not aquiesce in this trivial matter, than you do not love me" - to do this makes love less than what is trivial.

Football is less important than love, it's true. I admit that's true.

Friday, July 11, 2014

OX OX OX!

I remember when one of my history teachers spoke of "the invention of the ox" as a milestone in human history (agricultural advancement-wise). I was like, what are you crazy? The ox was INVENTED? Picture some babylonian ROBOT OX. But I guess in the old days, the first time somebody got the idea to cut some poor bull's balls off, back then, that entitled you to the laurels of a genius inventor. Eureka.

It's kind of sad: poor bull, castrated to plow some field, but you have to admit - what farmer's going lash his plow to a couple of rampaging BULLS? That's going to get you some erratic rows! Fuck, in fact, THAT'S what they should make the matadors do - that'd be a real challenge.

Speaking of which, I realize the fact that all oxen are castrated bulls may in some people's view tarnish the romantic value of the classic "hugs and kisses" signoff "OX OX OX!" In the minds of some, perhaps the juxtaposition of the image of hugs and kisses and the pain and humiliation of a huge proud ornery beast getting de-balled rings just a little bit fucked-up. For these folks, once they've drawn that association, the next time they get a letter or a card where someone is throwing amorous symbolic oxen at them, they may struggle with it. They may have a hard time trying to see the ox as a bearer of love. But I say screw that - is functioning genitalia the sine qua non of love? Surely it cannot be. Cannot these wounded creatures, these poor beasts of burden, yoked together in their labors, pulling so strong in the same direction, always together in the same direction - are they not, in their own way, fit emblems and paragons of love? And in their own lives, can't they too find love, their own kind of love?

I say we need to be a little more open-minded. Ox Love. Why not?

Bulls with no balls, people. Bulls with no balls. People say "dumb as an ox," but when have you ever heard of anyone say "dumb as a bull?" Castration almost certainly doesn't cause intelligence to drop. I think what we have here is another case of humanity perhaps - not equating belligerence and violent strength with intelligence, per se, but definitely equating docility, compliance, peacefulness...with stupidity.

I tell you this, though. Whoever it was who invented the ox, he or she had some balls. Either before the fact, or after, or most likely BOTH. A simple process in conception, and the formula goes a little something like this:

BULLS
- BALLS
OXEN

Now what I want to know is: did Paul Bunyan do that shit to Babe himself, or WHAT?? I mean on the one hand, who the hell else could have?

And then on the other hand...when he was done, you better believe Paul Bunyan had some big ol' BLUE BALLS. But he probably had those anyway, his neck of the woods was a little short on women his size. The fact he decided to call his trusty companion "Babe" could be a tipoff, here. He probably had to make do with ox love.

My Mind's Not Sweating It.

My mind doesn't even have sweat glands. OR ANY GLANDS. Wait. Does the pineal gland count? No wait, fuck. No.

That's the brain.

The mind is a soap bubble the brain blows. Luckily it can blow an uncountable number of them.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Thought of the day: Tolerance! Curiosity? Chinese Food.

I wish there was more Chinese food that tasted like ketchup and mustard. And hot dogs.

Thursday, July 03, 2014

Between the Sex Lines #5: Pay for Half?

Issues like this are convoluted, and a little insulting honestly. I'll give you an example of what I mean by that: I told my ex-fiancé that if she got a boob job, I would pay for half. So she went and got one done! She got half a boob job.

Then she was like "you can pay for the other half any time if you want!"

I was pretty much forced to, because I felt like the whole thing had been done to prove some point. And generally, when people do something outlandish pretty much just to prove some point, I feel that on some level, that's my influence there. My bad influence, even - me being fairly prone to making outlandish points, if not actually ever demonstrating the talent or inclination to prove them. It creates a "1 up ya" atmosphere. Intentional or not on my part, I can't dodge the obvious connection. I felt somewhat responsible.

So I paid for the other half, and was she at all grateful? (I emphasize, I was never the one bringing up this subject in the first place! She'd be the one who would be sort of hand-juggling herself, saying out loud reflectively, "I should get these done. You think I should get these done?"). No! Not a bit grateful. Her response was, why are you making this story up? I never got a boob job! We never talked about any boob job. You didn't pay for half of anything, and I don't appreciate being represented as someone who would ever accept money from someone for something that I'm going to do or not do to or for myself. And besides which! We were never engaged to be married! In fact, I never even met you. It's pretty likely I don't even exist. What's your excuse for yourself, what are you trying to accomplish inventing fictitious women to be humiliated in some obscure way by getting the better of you in some convoluted story that doesn't even seem to be trying to be funny?

But see, I couldn't agree with that; I thought she was being pretty unfair. Pretty convoluted. Pretty insulting.