It's all around you, like smog. This train isn't bound for glory.
Background by Deak Ferrand, who pwnz.
If you were referred here by Technorati, please note that the entry you are looking for is probably the one PRIOR TO the one you were actually referred to, due to a bug in their indexing process. Please see previous entry.
To be honest, I am disappointed by the thought of Kim and Thurston going through the governmental procedure of marriage - much less the governmental procedure of divorce! It strikes me as the least punk-rawk way possible of managing one's relationships and romantic and sex lives. Bastard and proud, I guess. I am inclined to reject the marriage system. It enforces a certain lifestyle by selectively rewarding it. In this, it resembles tax breaks for churches, which do the same thing - and, I suppose, for the same reasons.
She falls like snow - not so much to say gracefully as slowly, and straight down.
And should she dance from side to side, (as atoms swerve) in elegant diagonal or lithesome arc - though she sells it as her gesture, it's the cutting wind that moves her.
Fiction, myth, religion, faith, voluntary reality, ritual, and play. The stakes today are rather high. Of course, we never trust a guy who comes out and says he's wise. Nor should we, ever. But then there's Maude, and then there's "Bob". Why do I assert that "Bob" is the prime wholesale source of relatively uncut Slack there be? "Bob" said so, and "Bob"'s word is good enough for me, pal.
Or: The Cot$ is as good an RPG as has been devised.
It pains me write of it in such terms. This is fourth such enterprise I have engaged in - fifth, if you count MUDs. (For the uninitiated, consider MUDs as being like Second Life or World of Warcraft, (depending on the MUD) but with only text as the medium.) In some of these, there was a religion in circulation, to the effect that (in world) the MUD was understood in a metaphysical sense to be a MUD, and for some sectarians, the world in which it was a MUD was also understood to be a MUD, which is rather profound, and they allowed also for more levels above that. When I say "in world" I mean that one might proseltyze for said cult in-character. I am not aware of anyone proseltyzing for this faith in this world, but I may consider doing so now. This was, I should mention, years before that concept was exploited rather cleverly by The Thirteenth Floor, which is the one that isn't Night City or The Matrix. (Or Total Recall, if you noticed the eye-bulging thing.) I think that this may be actually true, insofar as "culture" is a sort of rule- governed game. And, as one moves between differing social contexts, functional spaces (home, work, recreation, school, store, church), and subcultures (which exist in all these functional spaces), one operates under multiple sets of rules; and in some cases (professional politeness) outright lies - or, to be more precise, incarnated fictions.
Years before, in late childhood, and into early adolescence - there was, first of all, XO Land - a world of my, shall we say discovery, that was a literal other world - plane of existence, you might say - which one could visit via subway. It was an realization of the world of Tic-Tac-Toe, populated with Xs and Os, with faces and appendages, (to say nothing of the occasional hat) who would be found, among, at later dates, additional letters, and the rare but notable mongoloid scribble. For some reason, I recall early on there being reporters, criminals, and some odd miscegenations that looked more or less like the word OK with minimal kerning. Commendably, these were regarded by all as providing a desirable variety to the population, and I recall no instance of discrimination against these, shall we say, characters - somehow, the idea didn't even occur to me. I feel OK about that. I do recall that the earliest episode in that world that I was aware of (having drawn an account of it), involved a letter O being shot by a letter X on a Tic-Tac-Toe grid. I think this may have actually been introduced to me by a baby sitter in the wholesome Varrio in which we lived. Nonetheless, it appears that XO Land got off on a rather gritty footing. I explored this with one other friend in the Third Grade and perhaps a little into the Fourth? Together, this got expanded to multiple worlds, with multiple subway stops. (I think the subway charmed me in those days as blimps do now - as supremely quaint and exotic.) Other means of transport were also added, and I recall taking an elevator behind the washing machines in the laundry room in our apartment complex, to George Washingtub Land, which the friend in question had apparently discovered on his own, and good for him. And after my initial friend and I parted ways, two later friends and I (under the influence, perhaps, of the Amber novels, which we all read enthusiastically) developed a knack for walking between worlds. At no point did any of us deviate from the party line that this was objectively real. That was the rule and yet the rule was never discussed, either, because how could it ever come up, supposing the rule is true?
And this dovetailed with one friend's IIA, the Insane Imps of America - an organization of the insane by which the superiority of insanity over sanity was asserted as objective fact, the superior staus of IIA members (and Messmakers - our Managers, of which I was one) thereby assured. I believe we had a refinement to the effect that being out of our heads, we were effectively "over the hill", but moreso, and would ceremonially cross over multiple hills - there being an art to it insofar as one too many would be a bit too much inspiration. That all of these excursions involved no drug taking whatsoever I boldly assert here and now, for I didn't touch anything until college. Again, one can hardly disagree with the proposition that consensus sanity is clearly not what a dispassionate observer would call "healthy", so you figure it out. The fact that the IIA and the XO Land complex originated independently in our two prior lives and yet operated under such terms remains remarkable to me. Another, later friend and I took up a similar interest in a novel religion whose three dieities - Almatea, Symmetrus, and Psychus - and assorted symbolism still warm my heart - along with the the modified law / chaos emblem, the Monarcy symbol designed to dissent from the at that point nearly banal Anarchy symbol. And the opposition of Chastity, Purity and Chamber Music as against Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll. These were good days. A loved one relates to me having been a mermaid for a while, and I imagine those, too, were good days.
I wonder, too, sometimes, if Otherkin are playing on the same turf, naysayers being dismissed by us all as pitifully lacking in imagination, particularly with regard to the art of living. And perhaps, in a certain sense, religions are also playing this game, without necessarily being fully, articulably aware that this is what they are doing. But what is "Faith" but willful assertion by choice and not by evidence? Relgio - it is a binding together, as under an unspoken mutual oath: "Let us behave speak and reason together under the proposition that this is the case." - Or rather, that it were the case. It is a subjunctive orientation toward life, and as such, is perhaps forgivable. (In which case Shiller was right, and the Will to Believe is Will James after all.) But so is materialism - and upon an equal footing, I fear. (Pace Dawkins, who is, I concede, no dummy, but I fear perhaps not a top-flight philosopher.) And we do fear to relate that behaving with practical epistemic neutrality is pragmatically impossible. Regarding the voluntary elements of valuation, I have two books coming up on that, so let's just shelve them for now, written or not.
But I do feel terrible for having said anything - even obliquely - against the ongoing pageant. I especialy regret if someone not entitled to understand these ideas (because they got them from me, rather than getting them honestly, and simply being reminded of them by me; these are two very different classes of entities) gets it in their head to act on them without the discernment to do so with excellence.
So, what is a SubGenius? One smart enough to see what's going on, but not smart enough to do anything about it, but open to suggestions from geniuses, if any there be. And then there's "Bob". Or: One possessed of a Spirit. And engaged in play with it.
The mental health industry has a long history, much of it politically implicated by, oh, for example, Foucault - curiously intertwined with the history of those institutions of CONTROL the government and the church. For an uncomfortably close instance of a form of authority making use of the mantle of science, here's an example that lays the whole grotesque mechanism bare for all to see if they have eyes AT ALL.
Runaway slaves were diagnosed by this bright fellow as having Drapetomania - which is the irrational desire not to be a slave. Racism having been outlawed, they now use this approach on all of us. Can't abide the current culture, work-marketplace capitalism, crass selling everywhere you look, and even in personal relationships, and in families, and everyone's afraid, and the government is just getting pushier and the nutters are getting nuttier? Well, clearly you're one pill short of a maintenance dose of get-back-in-line-asshole-ium. You're welcome, citizen.
Let me for now merely remark that the War on (some) Drugs is inextricably tied to the same entities who push other drugs (all psychoactive substances representing a series of choices as to which mental states one will be in and means to the control thereof) especially in promoting, validating, or subsidizing them - and as such, it is an effective choice by CONTROL of which mental states shall and shall not dominate in the society thus governed.
(P.S.: Did you see what I did with the punctuation back there? That was Elk-fucking crazy great. Seriously, who else do you know, right now, who does that? LMK, SRSLY, KTHXBAI.)
As someone whose young psyche was profoundly affected by an environment of Jack Chick tracts and related propaganda and the active arm in the form of scary Christians of the sort they don't necessarily get in the South, but the kind you get in San Diego... - As such a person, I feel I am in one of those tracts right now, because here I am - the day after the Rapture, and I'm stuck here with the rest of you unrepentant assholes.
For once, and for all, the corporations aren't the problem. The multi-national corporations are simply the vehicle by means of which the European and American middle class destroys the planet and murders the Third World to empower itself to shove junk food into its slack face while watching Dancing with the Stars, and all without having to do any real work. (Sitting at a desk is not work, asshole.) The American middle class, in my experience, is the biggest mass movement of killers and rapists since the great totalitarian movements of the 30s and 40s. And it accomplishes this through the magic power of "not knowing" that it is the primary force for evil in the world today.
I am as excited as a thirteen-year-old girl going to a Justin Bieber concert, because Crispin Hellion Glover (yes, that is his birth name) is going to be in town with his travelling movie/slide/talk hootenanny thing. Mr. Glover is an artist, writer, musician, filmmaker, etc., who funds his art by working as a film actor, which is much cooler than buying a garage full of Bentleys. One thing I appreciate about his art is its consistently amoral tone. It is, as Uncle Fritz would say, free of moralic acid.
What do I mean by this? Most of the time, it seems that our arts - especially "popular" arts - feel absolutely compelled to serve some socially useful end. This simple story about a dog is supposed to remind us of what is right or wrong, or to urge us to give money to some insufferable band of do-gooders. That romantic comedy is meant to remind us to be true to ourselves and to others. Isn't art noble? Well, fuck off, Mother Goose, and take Aesop with you. I am more or less an adult, and I hardly need someone so feeble-minded that they ended up as a film major to remind me of my essential humanity; I am already human enough for my tastes. At least!
But as Oscar Wilde pointed out, art need not be subservient to other ends. Consider murder. (I mean as a topic - not as a lifestyle option.) Many, possibly most, of our popular TV shows are about murder, and they inevitably follow this scheme: a murder is discovered, and then an effort is expended to find out why it happened, and how, and to capture the person or persons responsible and to punish them - or to fix them. This effort generally succeeds. (Rarely, it does not, after which failure, there's a huge wallowing in Weltschmerz, and a suggestion that it darn well will be taken care of in a future episode.) This schema reveals a tremendous moral anxiety. Apparently, we wish to depict murder in art, and watch it, but we must have an answer, an explanation, and must see the killer captured. But there is nothing to prevent a work of art from simply depicting a murder, and leaving it at that. It's a compelling topic, touching on final things, and leads to all manner of edifying reflection. Why must we feel uneasy without the stereotyped resolution?
In Which I Establish the Moral Superiority of Sales
What is the difference between sales and evangelism? Don't worry! It's a rhetorical question; I'll do the work.
In conventional sales, you end up exchanging money for an particular concrete product. If you feel like it, you can palm it off on some other sucker, and recover at least part of your investment. In any case, you need only buy once, and you get something for it, which the salesman has previously obtained. From the point of view of the salesman, this model is suboptimal.
As Burroughs observed in his discussion of the Algebra of Need, drugs provide a helpful model of sales perfected, by selling themselves, and converting consumers into an extension of the sales force, with virtually no marketing campaign required, and they almost guarantee repeated business that is insensitive to the normal constraints of the household budget, national economy, etc. Addicts will spend what they do not have. From the salesman's point of view, the details (debt, theft, prostitution, etc.) take place in a black box whose output is money, and input is Junk. But Junk is illegal, requires an elaborate production and logistics apparatus to support it, and is sensitive to competition, supply and demand, and other inconvenient truths of economics. So we still do not have a perfect model of sales. We've cut marketing out, but overhead is still high, and fluctuations in sales figures are likely.
In religion, you exchange money for a Notion, and are arguably worse off than you were before you had it. In the process you gain a tendency to continue paying for the same intangible product regularly, and in excess of a sensible budget. You gain also a tendency to recruit others to spend as much as you - with, again, no need to increase inventory, because there isn't any. As with Junk, the customers become the sales force, and the product sells itself. Competing products are actually attacked - and sometimes utterly destroyed - by the existing customer base. Some would say the consumer doesn't have to spend anything for this product, which floats free as a whim from mind to mind. In that case, I wonder precisely how it is that the preacher has food, clothing, and lodging? And let us be candid - the preacher has these of better quality and more reliably than the parishioners. As Nietzsche said, the priest is always a beef-eater. At the very least, the community as a whole is paying out, somehow, and those who get, as it were, free samples are selling like mad to those who will pay.
Religion is simply sales perfected - sales without overhead. Something for nothing, indeed.
subscribe to my feed
