| (no subject) |
[Jul. 1st, 2006|02:21 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Being Alive.mp3 by The Feloneous Tao | ] | Several years ago I was lucky (in the right place at the right time) to have a friend loan me a copy of the Tao of Pooh containing introductions to Taoist concepts using the well- known A.A. Milne characters from the Winne-the-Pooh books. It was simple and effective, but also confusing and seemingly contradictory. "Do nothing and nothing is not done" - does that even make sense? And how could "purposeless wandering" ever amount to anything other than getting lost or wasting time and energy?
Years later, my understandings of Taoism and Wu Wei have changed as a result of a inconceivably complex forces and coincidences that have led me down other paths. One such path is improvisational comedy. Most Americans know about improv from watching Whose Line Is It Anyway?, either the British or American TV shows. Improvisers make scenes on the spot, often based on audience suggestion or other environmental or topical cues. This can include spontaneous rapping, singing, dancing, character changing, time reversals, and the creation and resolution of multiple plot lines. Many popular movies and TV series have been created with (the Tao of) improv, such Saturday Night Live, Curb Your Enthusiasm, SCTV, and Seinfeld - the show about nothing.
I've performed and taught improv with Obviously Unrehearsed for over five years now, and I still am confronted by individuals who think they're being taken, that improv cannot exist. Who could believe that complexity and depth, beautiful, absurd, and terrible emotional experiences, and the suspending of belief found in scripted theater could be recreated from seemingly independent nonscripted agents? A Taoist could.
My ego-led intellect prevented me at the time of my original Taoist exposure to recognize its oneness with my then-hobby. But, like a Taoist would say, the way is simple. A fundamental principle of improv is "The answer is always yes". This means strive to accept every act (or perceived act, twitch, movement, or idea) into our idea of what is going on. Lao Tzu also advocates using more than just your body or mind to observe. As our coach was fond of saying, "Whatever happens was supposed to happen - act like it". This kind of true support makes failure difficult, if not impossible.
Consider - If everyone onstage is supporting your delusions - that you're a space pirate on a ship, with the experience and authority of the Seven Galaxies - and you, the eloquent Captain Laserbeard, stumble in the midst of a speech because you, the actor, messed up - what could happen? Do you pretend it didn't happen? No. Because it did happen. That's the new story now. Pretending or covering is ingenuine, because it goes against the flow.
Call it a promise to the audience, or the flow of the scene - call it the Tao - but that stumble is the best thing that could have every happened in your scene!. Infinite possibilities: You're losing your memory - treason: a nemesis; old age: a protegee, an exotic energy field: everyone stumbles too? Wait! Captain Laserbeard doesn't stumble, he conquers - is he an impostor? This is purposeless wandering, and you're as suprised and excited as the audience. That's adventure.
It seems contradictory, but in the moment when you think you have nothing, you have more than ever, because each contains the opposite. That means if you (the actor) have set notions about what will happen, you will miss all those lovely and spontaneous gifts of chance. And the audience, the flow, your fellow actors - the Tao, will notice. Just resolve to wander and watch the next moment. Don't worry about being the director. Just simply be Captain Laserbeard and the scene, your partners, the Tao, will provide.
Me and improv, we go 'round sometimes because I forget that no ideas held by an open mind are better then many by a closed one. I have been lucky (in the right place at the right time - with the right awareness) to be part of many 'perfect' improv scenes - I remember being counted down to start, and then applause, screams, shocked and unbelieving looks from fans and improvers alike. And I find myself sometimes remembering and clinging to those scenes, trying to figure out why they were so good. In doing so, I commit a grave Taoist sin shared by all hacks, wistful glory daysers, and latter day sketch comedies. But "the Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao". The audience might recall characters, names, or plots, but what really happened on stage is done.
I am struck by the phrase "The work is done and then forgotten, so it lasts forever." "Work" and "It" are not quite the same, though inseparable, like my part in a scene. Like Infinity - 1 is still Infinity. The Taoists look at this and say. Why subtract? Who are you kidding?
And besides: Adventure is your middle name.
Clint = 1 Infinity + 1 = Infinity Infinity - 1 = Infinity Infinity + 1 = Infinity - 1 ?
Yeah, but it sure feels different. |
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| Everyone's a Cassandra... |
[Mar. 31st, 2006|03:08 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Like A Raven | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Birds in my Yard - Morning Song.mp3 | ] | Bleary eyed and with tight lumbar doth the Monkey stroke the final key and, in a way that V never would, submitteth before edumacational authorities his latest semantic schmam (thanks, Yoga S. and T.) An oddity within the nest-mess catches an overstimulated, underblinked simian eyeball mid Jane Goodall porn hunt - CAN IT BE? A battered, mystery stained, creased, nibbled, weathered, dessicated, faded, and shimmeringly nostalgic "Takes One to Vote For One - Monkey 20xx" sign. Blinded and choking on cynical self-loathing, the Monkey coughs and blinks and stares.
3 Hours Later...
...and stares. Memories of civic binges, orgies of duty, massacres of inefficiency, ever vigilant against injustices...colliding with the Cynic Wall of the present stun the physiology of the Monkey. He is trapped, mid-click, mid-clit, mid-cum in a fugue of potentiality and quantum indeterminability. Labels are applied, lose adhesiveness, and fall. Positions are taken and abandoned. Waffles wear flipflops. YinYangs spin like pinwheels amidst falling chads in an exit poll breeze.
The Monkey MAY HAVE BEEN/IS/WILL BE Politically Active!
Existentially frozen, the Monkey can only watch in horror as his lower brain stem regurgitates more hopeful memes. H.L. Mencken, forgive me.
On Race and Peers
Reaction Paper #6 Most sociologists view race as a “social construct.” What does this mean?
Race, as a social construct, lacks definite and universal biological, cultural, or linguistic criteria. The total arbitrariness of racial categories means that race is actually a myth. It exists only for those who see it. Unfortunately, the deleterious effects of racial discrimination are more painfully real and pervasive.
Genetically speaking, ‘true’ or ‘pure races do not exist in the first place. Studies of the human genome have concluded that the genetic variation between so-called ‘racial’ groups is less than a tenth of a percent. Additionally, though numerous classification systems have been devised, there remains no evidence of any unique racial genetic grouping. Inbreeding or eugenics programs may select for and produce extreme or more uniform characteristics, but still no race could be said to exist.
Race does not predict intelligence, religion, culture, or language. Some cultures, such as the Japanese, have the stereotype that only pure-blood Japanese are capable of learning correct Japanese. Similar arguments have been made by many groups concerning the capacity of other races for intelligence and political and religious self-determination. Such arguments do not hold up to any sort of scientific scrutiny, however. It is known, for instance, that normal human infants are able to distinguish and produce any sound in any human language.
The final evidence for the myth of race is that racial criteria differ between cultures and individuals worldwide. Many white Americans employ separate labels to indicate degrees of African or black ancestry. To Brazilians in the city of Salvador, however, race words are applied on the basis of skin color, not parentage. Thus four children of what Americans would call a ‘white’ father and a ‘black’ mother might each be of a separate race to some observers, yet belonging to the same race to others.
Race may be a myth, but it remains a powerful tool for controlling identity and withholding/awarding privilege. Throughout human history groups have sought to distinguish themselves by more or less apparent, visible, or measurable means. If humans get past the illusion of race, then perhaps we can look forward to a world without the Elect or Damned, Pure or Untouchable, or even Sneeches Without Stars Upon Thars.
What is differential association theory?
Differential association is the phrase created by sociologist Edwin Sutherland to describe how deviance is learned. According to the theory, the different groups I associate with each give me messages to conform or deviate to the norms of society. The messages culminate in a net pull toward either conformity or deviance.
Studies on incarceration in families lend support to Sutherland’s theory, as almost half of all prisoners have at least one close relative in prison. Lawbreaking, in this instance, appears to be at least partially learned. Juvenile delinquency in neighborhoods and schools follows a similar pattern.
Our group associations exert great influence to conform or deviate, yet differential association is not synonymous with behaviorism or a socially deterministic denial of free will. Sutherland emphasizes that one may choose one’s groups, allowing a degree of self-determination. Any such choice, however, would certainly be subject to the effects of social class on networking and mobility. Imagine a chess game where not all players on the board can reach every space. The board is dominated by a select few, very mobile pieces. Most pawns work to support more powerful pieces, many are gridlocked early on. Rarely, if ever, do pawns reach the furthest row and become Queens.
Differential association theory, by acknowledging the influence of our associated groups, accounts for much of socialization and perhaps personality, but not all. Societal rewards also conform to the theory, as conformist achievements may excuse deviance. Hence, the faults of historical figures are often forgiven by labeling said figure “a man/woman of their time.” Dr. Sigmund Freud self-medicated with cocaine, Thomas Jefferson had a slave mistress, and as for Socrates’s sexual orientation, well - they’re all “men of their time.” Perceived net deviance, however, may result more negative historical gloss. Such, perhaps is the difference between eccentricity and madness, independence and rebelliousness, curiosity and heresy.
If differential association were absolute, there would be little innovation and few geniuses, as society would depend heavily on intrinsically flawed groupthink. Such a world leaves no room for the conscience of the individual or perspective to think, experience, and act independently of all norms, traditions, or expectations of the past, present, or future. Ultimately, long after localized group judgements on an individual’s conformity or deviance have ceased to exist, only the effect of their actions and words will remain. |
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| Models and Role Models |
[Mar. 23rd, 2006|12:57 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | jealous | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Vincente Fox - Policy Down South | ] | I know where I want to live now...
http://www.commondreams.org/headlines06/0208-05.htm
Very attractive linguistically and cosmetically. I'm sure they hide some deep dark secrets, though. Anyway, they only have two genders (grammitical, y'all) and their verbs don't conjugate for person! None of this ich bin, du bist, er/sie/es ist, wir sind, ihr seid, Sie sind shit. Similar to Dutch and German, you'll pick up Norwiegans just fine, too.
Swedish - the responsible language for responsible citizens. Bork bork! |
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| Some thoughts |
[Mar. 22nd, 2006|01:26 am] |
1) Having surgery to get a bendy straw penis: cool 2) Getting to blow bubbles in your wife's vagina: priceless
People who believe in life at conception are having sex with their children in the room.
I'm tired. Monkey's going to bed. The post will be vindicate me. You'll see. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 10th, 2006|05:48 pm] |
The Monkey opens his eyes. A few critical seconds pass as he fails to realize a fundamental miscalculation of quantum space-time buzzword vector thoughtforms during his last unbounded samadhi. "What I need is a existing Master, not a community college yoga instructor with an Amazon.com account." he thinks, taking his bearings. While his consciousness surpassed the Ten Thousand Things and realized Truth, his body was rolling around aimlessly, more or less like a katamari ball.
"Stupid free-love hippy dippy gluons! Only downside of enlightenment, well, that and other primates will try to kill you."
Unable to move, the Monkey settles in for some thinking.
So, Monarch butterflies. And the butterflies who mimic them. And other creatures on this planet whose survival depends on being a good knock-off. They have no Manpower, Inc. No government. Only job listed is "suvival". Making a living is literal. Re-productivity.
Then you got your higher order imitators. Humans. We imitate. We feign threats or seemingly promise food or rewards for resources. So, How is a false advertiser different from an angler fish or alligator snapping turtle? How does a slaveholder differ from a pitcher plant? How does faking a robbery with a fake gun differ from a milk or scarlet snake imitating a coral snake to scare off competitors? How does nepotism differ from sounding food call only in the presence of your own herd, brood, or species?
Nature has these niches! But we've got labels and stigma and conventions!
If continental drift introduces a predator for a formerly predator-free species, is that like free trade and corporate mergers? We don't say plate tectonics are in league with a certain specie, do we?
I just keep coming back to the idea that everything can be found in two places - the natural world, and the inner world. Experience alters brain which alters conception with alter perception which alters experience. Like the whole world runs like a potato clock, with one old woman holding a finger up in the air and another to her temple, humming tunelessly, except for when she hums "Toxicity" at which time her rocking causes her to lose focus and move her hands in air guitar fashion. This has the effect of putting reality through a playdough fun factory operated by Amish demons who think playdough is made from Jesus.
"As above, so below" says a voice in the katamari, ripping off some tradition and butchering it.
The Monkey sneezes with eyes wide open, mouth, nose, and sphincters clamped Buddhaliciously tight. The pressure it exerts on his brain blows open his third, fourth, and seventh eyes.
"Now I remember the face I had before I was born. It was the biggest I'd ever smiled or would smile. If you practically swam in pussy for 9 months, you'd smile too."
And with that, the Monkey vectors away. The katamari collapses into a Soda pop can black hole.
The Monkey is finished using the Terminal. |
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| So that's why... |
[Feb. 28th, 2006|01:17 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | That Numa-numa iay Romanian Pop Crack Song | ] | "Write it down; then let your body forget it. A steady stream of research shows that jotting down emotions about illness eases symptoms in an astonishing variety of conditions, including cancer, high blood pressure, asthma, and arthritis. "If you're true to yourself and write down honest feelings, expressive writing works as a cathartic to release bottled-up stress," says researcher Susan Bauer-Wu, DNSc, of Harvard Medical School. In her most recent study of 171 women with breast cancer, Bauer-Wu found that those who wrote for 4 days had a decrease in doctor visits months later. In other studies, expressive writing reduced pain, headaches, and fatigue, and even boosted immunity.
Try it: Write about positive and negative feelings for 20 to 60 minutes, 3 or 4 days a week."
Authors: Matlack, Jennifer Source: Prevention; May2004, Vol. 56 Issue 5, p58-58 --------------------------------------------------------------
In that case: My room looks like the ruins of Troy which makes me feel like a good Lost Boy or a really inept human. Perhaps I'm nesting? My floor would be a very stimulating environment for rats, who would, if carefully examined, exhibit brain growth and synaptic growth as compared to rats living in Martha Stewart's room, which looks like no one lives there except for childless sedentary professional OCD ghost maids.
18 minutes to go...
My Venus Fly trap has continued losing traps. I named it "Kharybdis"
A haiku:
No flies to be found You wouldn't eat the stink bug force-fed with tweezers
12 minutes.....
I went for a short walk to get laundry quarters. Beautiful day. When nature looks like it feels good, I feel good too. But sometimes I think of my impact on the old ecosphere and I cringe.
Time's almost up...
I'm excited and a little worried about using my info-sponge abilities for school research. I'm using all my social science and writing classes as pulpits for my own interests. I cannot fully describe the sense of vindication and antiestablishmentarianism I felt when I got a perfect score on an essay called "More Than a Bean Bag: Choosing the Right Hackysack". Ditto goes for sociological articles that reference improv comedy and identical twins. Fans of The Monkey will be perhaps pleased to learn my final research paper (in English composition, no less) is on modern scientific findings, concepts, and definitions concerning meditative practices.
For years after I quit college, I carried chronic sense of missing something, of not fitting in with my coworkers and friends. Don't get me wrong. I needed the experiences out of school far more than I needed to go back. And it turns out that all I needed to motivate myself to return to school (aside from the late night "ifs") was a full ban on, you guessed it, 'Rusty's Frozen Custard' TM. 6 months with no custard and even I will muster up some gumption.
It's not a big change. All online classes, all core requirements. But it's like I'm being rewarded, encouraged, and challenged to do what I was doing by myself, just in a more focused, efficient, and timely manner.
Unexpected result: Correspondence habit. Deep down I suppose my brain remembers that the best way to get better at something is to do it, and nothing fosters a skill like habit and challenge, but after a semester straight of emails to long-distance girlfriend, absentee professors, brothers, of responses, essays, papers, chats, and so forth - something dormant in me has been activated. The Monkey was sporadic. 15 posts in about 18 months or so. Now I've up to a post a day - and I still go outside!
So, apparently writing makes writing more natural.
And that's my feelings quota for today. |
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| Feloneous Tao |
[Feb. 27th, 2006|10:10 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Kristiina Kuusisto & Mari Mäntylä - Tomas Gubitsh: Villa L | ] | I miss my friend, Feloneous Tao. I just read a smashing article on 'inner empiricism', which I could summarize as a call for scientific rigor and support in meditations and introspection:
http://cogweb.ucla.edu/Abstracts/Needleman_93.html
His dream is break open the world of philosophy, to write the irrefutable paper that forces philosphy to abandon pure reason and semantic tuffles or become irrelevant. They ask the wrong questions. They look to words and logic for answers. Feloneous would suggest the merest self-knowledge, the pin to break the camel's back. Try it. Close your eyes. Stop moving. Pay attention to your breath. Now, just observe. Don't ruminate, don't deliberate, don't think. Observe. For five minutes. Set an alarm. I dare you - hell, I'd bet my Ethos on it.
Now try to tell me there's a single united self in your head. Untapped potential there, mateys! Set sail!
Feloneous, I haven't forgotten you. Just your email address.
Peace and Zen |
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| Logic vs. Transsexual athletics |
[Feb. 26th, 2006|02:43 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | "One Step Over The Line" | ] | My new coworker was reading a few articles out loud on the fairness of transsexual athletes. I couldn't resist, either. My Socratic hackles immediately jump up - but it appears common sense is defeated by science in this case. I thought that male-to-female athletes would have the unfair advantages: all that muscle mass, testosterone, size. But no. Turns out male to female athletes lose tons of muscle mass, and they're nowhere near dominating their new sex. But female-to-males get to take extra testosterone, which is technically an illigal performance enhancer. This is what I don't get. I'm all for human potential and expression, but...transsexuals get to take testosterone so long as it is the in doctor perscribed amounts. If gender is what's between your ears (sexual self-concept) and sex is what's between your legs (manifest sexuality), then is anything allowable so long as it brings the two together? Testosterone is illegal for normal, non-gender transitioning athletes. But sexuality and gender are continuous spectra! Most people and animals bunch around the extremes. Do we only aknowledge transitions that cross the very thinly defined, hermaphrodite-straddled axis between 'male' and 'female'? So physically I'm an average guy. But what if, in my mind I'm Jack Steele, manly man, uberman. And the distance between my gender and sex concepts is roughly that of a moderate transsexual shift. So why can't I get my peace of mind and the testosterone that goes with it? I wanna be all the male I dream myself to be. Inside my man is a more manly man. "I'm full of tinier men!" Plastic surgery and implants are used all the time to make males more like Muscle & Fitness Male and women more like Maxim Female. It's like, move on the board, pass Go, get 200 dollars. No problem. But don't pass Go, and yer wet cigarette butts. And there's no rule to stop me from changing my mind/genetalia! I summer as a nubile femme in south France and winter with the other CEOs as Ernest Hemingways meets GQ. Your little black book just turned gray.
Man, I should be working on other stuff, but like everybody who saw Bloodrayne, "I'm rivited!"
And this, of course, further screws up public indecency laws. "Sir...um...Ma'am...er...would everyONE in the car please get out and lift their skirt/kilt up for administration of the sexual identification battery?
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2003/more/11/13/bc.eu.spt.oly.transsexual.ap/
More later. |
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| Confounded yet awed |
[Feb. 26th, 2006|12:10 am] |
Nourishment awaits upon yonder stove, another day boils itself down into digestible chunks. Today I ran an improv workshop for kids ages 4-20, with a 50something thrown in. We played. And that reminds of a paper I wrote on improv and personality theory...goes a little something like this:
In my second reaction paper I expressed a preference for symbolic interactionism. It is not surprising to me, then, that I would find the theories of George Herbert Mead’s of role-taking, the self, and the mind as social product most interesting. Personally, I have two experiences which most probably have influenced me in this direction. Firstly, I have been raised with my identical twin, and second, I am an improvisational actor. Being a twin has allowed me the experience of bonding through gradual role-taking. Identity grows over time, and so have the differences between my brother and I. Taking his role now is not easy, but when we were younger it was simple or perhaps automatic. Interestingly, though he and I have lived apart, we now confuse many of our childhood memories. We each think several memories rightly belong to just one of us. It is safe to say that every game I have played, I have played first, perhaps with my brother. Also, mimicry and role-taking stand out as our primary interaction. Long before I encountered Mead’s ideas, my brother and I were known for our accurate and silly vocal and physical impressions. Perhaps we know ourselves so well that any deviation is noticed immediately and taken as play. If one of us is kidding ourselves, my thought is that we might as well have fun with it – which leads me to the subject of improv comedy.
As an improvisational actor, I embrace Mead’s games in all their stages. Mead would love Whose Line Is It Anyway? and improv. The practices required have allowed me, thankfully, to keep the nonsensical and raw imitation games of sound and movement, often lost to many adults. Second, the games of ‘house’ as a child have evolved in performance to the archetypal play roles of improvisational characters. The spirit is the same, though the house has grown in size to be only limited by my imagination and experience. Finally, improv is a great example of Mead’s stage 3 team experiences of games requiring multiple roles. In a single improv show the same actor plays furniture, background, animals, humans, moderator, and audience. Improv also utilizes advanced role-taking concepts, such as status and authority changes and the endowment of character through reaction. A good example would be: Actor A enters, walking casually. Actor B is startled, and falls to his knees, nudging Actor C. Actor A immediately knows she has high status and begins playing as such (a priest, a boss, a king, etc) – as if she had never been otherwise.
Mead’s final division of the self between the “I” and the ‘me’ is more easily understood by actors. As Shakespeare wrote in something I can’t remember, “Life is a stage, and in his time man plays many parts.” Their craft hinges on awareness of the line between appearance and internal reality.
What do cases of social isolation teach us about the importance of social experience to human beings?
Studies of isolated humans and other primates suggest the existence of a uniquely critical developmental window for socialization. For example, Genie, a girl isolated until the age of 13, never achieved functionality with language or motor skills despite intense training. Similarly, she could not interact on any appreciable social level with others or take care of herself.
The experiment of psychologists Skeels and Dye suggests the effects of isolation and neglect are largely reversible before a certain age. The study placed previously neglected orphan infants in the care of similarly institutionalized young women. In the experiment, 13 orphans were chosen from those that tested most mentally retarded. They were put in the care of young women in a ward whose mental ages were only 5 to 12. After two and a half years, the mothered group had gained 28 IQ points compared to a control group left in a nursery who had lost 30 points over the same period. A follow-up study twenty-one years later found the mothered group had achieved many standards of normal socialization. Most had married with at least high school educations, and all were self-sufficient. In contrast, the control group had an average education of three grades, only one had married, four still lived in institutions, and the few who were employed held only low-level jobs. Similar studies with rhesus monkeys (who develop much faster than humans) indicate a correspondingly shorter developmental window. Regardless of specie, early social experience clearly lays the groundwork for most of what is considered as normal social and linguistic intelligence.
I wonder what we're missing out on becuase of the close-mindedness of our society toward metacognition, mind-body awareness, and human potential in general. It seems a damned dirty shameful waste that we have so much leisure time (more than developing world, less than undeveloped world such as hunter-gatherers, strangely) and so many taboos against some of the more interesting states of consciousness.
Welcome to your Mindgarden. Enjoy the garden, but don't leave the path. In fact, if you're not looking at someone else's commercial garden (picked for size and color, not for taste, substance, ripeness, hardiness, or disease), then something is wrong with you.
Sewiously Strongbad, our culture (barely) knows what to do with kids who read without being told to. Show any interest in breaking the cycle of public school, token patriotism, national religious dogma, worship of mediocrity, children, REPEAT - which would be very much understood and cultivated by, say, Buddha-minded individuals - and yer on yer own. Sorry, American Wizard, but your soul is too amorphous. Your pleasures of surreality are angering the other children who, like myself and the majority of biots, fear the twinges of lost awareness rekindled. We have severed our link with the awesomeness of existence in exchange for a smelly, tangled, holeyer than thou burlap rag to permanently rap and trap our decaying mindbodies on our way to glassy-eyed soft splat oblivion.
We only have everything to gain from crossing boundaries. Today's explorer of the forbidden is tomorrow's guide, the weekend's anachronism. Mental patients become psychiatrists. Hackers do network security. Con-men become secret agents. Who can tell us more than those who have been there? This tradition is older than time. To become shaman you must journey and come back from the land of the dead, the spirit world, the dreamtime. Then you become responsible for others.
Didn't Buddha wait to make sure everyone went through the door?
What the fuck are we doing here? What am I doing here?
So this all comes down to the hive, that collective part of humanity of which I am a specialized part. I have benefitted from a partially shared world. Didn't pay a dime to grow up. Fantastic parents, really. Uniquely eye-opening experiences. Awareness. What do I owe the hive? And what constitutes the hive? The people, the ideas, the institutions? I'm getting kind of sketchy here. I guess my point is: WHAT'S THE POINT OF A SINGLE ANT? One of billions? If the hive is eating itself anyway?
I get wary of biological/genetic cravings around now. Where do I throw the wrench to stop the world? I'm pretty sure everyone wants to get off - deep down - past the ego-food-sex-status-monkey-media-god in their heads. Bill Hicks knew it was all a ride. I'm not talking about suicide. That's the basement. I'm talking about the fucking roof.
O neurons! O electrons! Please be adjusted so that my wetware antenna bodybrain picks up the cosmic modem (I bought Homeland out of foil) I'm so tired of the default browser, default OS, default software suite.
What?!!!? I have to program my own kernel from scratch? And it won't work for years, if at all. (Nietzche, kinda.) What?!!! Learn to stay at the command line? And see Windows Worldview for the GUI it is. (Semantics 101.) What?!! There's no set manual? It's just put together without any automatic compatibility? What?! Hardware bias is unavoidable? What?! I've got to steal cycles from my own system to do this? (Distraction, karma, meditation.) What?! Effective user pool is almost nill? (The road less traveled by) What?! It's open source, too? (Not all those who wander are lost)
Nice.
Best news I've heard my whole life.
Happy programming.
The Monkey is finished using the Terminal. |
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