I Digress

 

 

An Inverse Angular Momentum, Reverse-parenthesis Dog-wagging-a tale, one of the unpublished "Inside-Out" stories

 

I have, in my loopy time, t)r(ied to cinch a sinecure for our digressions. But all the roads. James Stephens: "the crooked roads are the roads of genius"--as if he could slip a hill under us--I, to be quite honest, have gotten into the "habit," or something, of allowing my metapgorical )sic( comparison of "unconscious assumptions" with "hills" to approach )dangerously, if you go for that kind of stuff( a kind of equation, and I don't equate metaphors with equations, though they may serve as metaphors for them. And I )would( add that a "typographical error" may indeed, or just as well, "be" a "typographical correction" made by my old, old friends "the sideways folk" who "live just round the corner of time." "Correction": a typographical alternative.

But perhaps I'm being catty. What? And my "but)t(" also perhaps "attempts" to "slip a hill under you" concerning some kind of evaluation of "cattiness," as if to be catty was some kind of subtraction, and this takes me, shaking, to "the Pentecost," or "the descent of the holy spirit," "spirit" "being" "the ratio of existing things"--"I'll say!" ) "I'll tell the world!"(, which we can torque round from its usual frontal semantical application to the meaning of telling the world like telling a story, and now I have made an apocalyptic reverse-figure by letting the free citizen of this discourse, the "extra-parenthetical" thesis-obedient snake of the "main" sentence-line serve the entity "within" my unique and wonder-potent "inve)r()ntion)sion(, the "inverted parent) (hesis," which little rudder, or aileron, judo-tosses the mind! I was going to say, "judo-tosses the universe!" and just did, and held in the "fingers" of inverted commas like a truck-block is carried in the fingers of a mechanic ]watch ho![ launch the great wagon train of particular vision according to my direction--he walks fast and with short steps carrying such a thing )"heavy, man!"( because I esteem it as an integrated alternative, thus opening the possibility of a school in which one can get both an A and a B for a piece of work/play, and if you are so damn penetratingly curious )awl-eyes!( right into the interstices of story molecular architecture, panting "like a hart panteth after the water brooks" "after" what "piece of work," I can say, "The work of learning the first two letters of the alphabet."

"Come on in" says the driver of the car to the spare tire, "don't feel left out." "But!"--and this is a word in full regalia as you can appreciate, the inversion of the parentheses renders the "main thesis" itself parenthetical, but free as such!--and yet the title, with its title to kingship, and presumably sending out sensible lines of unity by its radicle throughout the whole discourse, perhaps suggests that the discourse itself, "already" rendered of the race of free parentheticals, which, to allow the metaphor its inception, evolution, and bid for greater freedom toward the conceivable "pure digression"--and here it may be useful for you to review McLuhan's discourse on "centre-margin structures,"--let me say, and since in your time the essay is already complete so how can you not let me?--)well... perhaps by the best-known roads of magic( something like the thesis escaping into the margins to become or consort with doodles, and returned to relevancy )don't cry alas! yet, lovers of liberty!( by the King Title who, it turns out, is the greatest revolutionary radicle of them all, perhaps, because though she is in a position of power up on the dais, or throne, of the discourse, her very nature, or meaning, liberates her "subjects" and renders them, as it were )and is( "subjuncts!" And what if this is not the actual essay, but the actual essay tripped and fell, and that which lurks "between the lines" rose up like a dark understudy! What if you are now "reading between the lines" which, bewildered )"sic"( with light, find themselves upon the stage! Why the "sic?" Well. As if that which was "between the lines" which, even to me, carries under it the connotation of "wildness" could become "wild" )"be-wild-ered"( by entering the mainstream as it were )is( even though, as I have elucidated true to digression I think I think, the "main thesis" in these cases is digression, or, to be more and less exact, "digression."

Now Christ served perhaps as a parable of the more powerful serving the less powerful, but how do we evaluate power then, if the master serves the servant at the servant's command? "Your wish is my command" says the power-genii to the little Aladdin.

 

I Digress: Chapter Two

And now to explain to you the Tao of a specific association, which took place in "timelessnessville" which may and subjunctively does, consist of a clock, an ouroborous )a Scottish one( with an absolute inferiority simplex, )a knot pulled so tight it "becomes" }unbecomingly{ a "not"( but is reported around, in, the 15th and 16th lines of Chapter 1, where the rain of the "story" goes from the word "subtraction" to thoughts about the Pentecost. Well. "Sub-traction" made me think of useful friction, or )there's lots of space( functional friction )in a case like this, "I was going to say"--and do, though a "coincidence" or some kind of inversion has retrieved it from its )at least apparent( truth, my use of the phrase )"(functional friction)"( may draw attention by being, as it were, unassuming, and as it )subjunctively( were, "going" without the regalia and "cumquattery" of the, shall we say, ample distribution of "my" inverted parentheses and my "many-metaphor)mos(ed" inverted commas, which we may "functionally/fancifully" regard as the motifs, or, let's say, mascots of this "team of one-person teams"--in idea, in concept, in metaphor, in word and sentence--as if it rained jaunty flowers into the hatbands of us all!

Now: I thought of "traction" and was tendered to potentials on the subject of the many-texturedness of the )absolutely }!{( phenomenal world, and some knotty/naughty "thought-fish" hard to haul on, or me weary at the thought of hauling in this thought, concerning the traction of the spirit to move through what has come to be called "the world," and more than the traction of running-shoe sole on, say, pavement, the "absolute traction" of the state of high-conscious ubiety! That is, "sub")under(traction, and deeper and deeper tractions, down to the bottommost traction of them all, the traction, say, of the sole of the soul on the textured body. And not to forget the ecstasy of certain frictions, rubbing this and that, and "especially" "Aladdin's" lamp; thus, the Pentecost, like a dream that eats meat.

And why did I say, "perhaps I am being catty?" It was a rather clumsy, I admit, association presuming the eye-pop of the surreal, from my )could you call it a( neologism "metapgorical" which I quickly took as a graft of "metaphorical" and "categorical" and all it needed, really, was a "cat-e." The spidery intellectuals among us may go off which-ways with our new friends, Categ and Metaph, to see how they ratio. To disport them within each others' magnitude-fields.

If you don't mind a little referring-back--or if you "followed" in the first place, or if you caught the spirit as it were or already had it and have stopped reading this or never even started, allright! I can relax now, free of at least your critical appraisal; but "then again" so what if you rejected me, or this discourse--where can it go? Do you think it can go "back" down and up between the lines, or retreat to the doodle-margins whence it may have led an unprepossessing lifestyle among the hobos, street-people, cartoon-characters and déracinés of the society of discourse, back under the carpet of the tongue where stray Freudian slips would be "only too happy" to go, and, gladly for them can't )who would want to be too anything, even too happy--and what might that be like anyway, or what is it like to those who experience it, and don't give me your inferior baloney about the sense of impending disaster that may accompany any "windfall" because that is not even sufficiency of happiness, never mind "too much"--no?(.

"Of course/by the way" this "whole idea" is a central/peripheral theme of mind, for some reason. And the inverted commas in the case of ""of course/by the way"" were as it were clothespegs pinning the new struction up on the line of your receptivity to such tributes to the explication of that which we call oxymoronic, or paradoxical.

One day, in 1958 or 1959, I became fascinated with a set of steps a young artist made out of little flat bits of wood in pure excavated dirt. I can tell you now that this fellow was an artistic hero of mine--I was astonished by the extraordinary products of his creative imagination, and I, having superb access to my memory, recall that *)let me pry into the "queue" on a certain intuited cue here, to "defend" this particular... digression... ]here: here is a horizontal stack of inverted commas for you, as presents, to use any way you wish: """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""[ which if you are not "ready" to "go with me" "off on zany tacks" ]and anyhow I thought tacks weren't for "going off on" but for, as it were, pinning things up, "fixing" or "fixating" them, "stabilizing }crucifying?{[ on, as it were, a wall, and you have probably by now "got" that "we" are "continually" emptying our pockets as it were, that is, we are exacting/diffusing a tribute, or, we are "distributing" very off the wall wild discourses who, nevertheless, "obey" ineluctable "laws" which if I have the critical charge of entelechy/intellect/power of imagination, I would describe for you in terms of a metaphorical similarity to what R. Buckminster Fuller called "tensegrity structures" and his "observation" of the "intermolecular tension networks" of bubbles, that the molecules form no curve but are "chorded" by straight lines of force thus showing us that bubbles are not curved but geodesic, and that such discourses as this lean on the sense, or intuition, supported as it were by the announcement of "great thinkers" and mystics, that such "Play" as "we" are engaged in, if engaged faithfully, or, in the case of inspiration intensely, yields pattern, or, to use a better word,___________ }fill in the blank with the best word you can--or don't if you don't want to--though the obeying of commands is no negotiable gold, as it were, in "my" realm--except a certain sort of obedience which Roger Bacon referred to when he said "in order to command nature, you must obey her." I live at the sheer razor's edge of nature and culture{ that is, all its "parts" indeed "hang together" like a bubble's surface "hangs together." "Finally" the "primordial religious experience" is the radicle of metaphors, and the planet is a footstool for dandelions, and dandelions are barstools for drunken bees who get a buzz from bloom liqueurs, and no wonder }}of wonders{{ they "bumble--they are, as far as I am concerned, in insecstasy.

I had a brief "fling" with a wasp circa 1965: it stuck its "prick" right near my eye and venomously orgasmed, and soon my eye-area swelled up and my eye was closed for a week, thank God. The obedient wasp, as it were, had answered my prayer about an "honorable" "out" from a certain Little League baseball game. There is a photo of myself--and a little friend at Chesterman's Beach with my swollen face, and I was, as it were "fatly winking."{ So, though I may take issue with the idea of "going off on a tack" not only because it seems like a probably pretty uncomfortable ride, if we imagine riding on the point of the tack--and surely you know which end that is, so the need to ask "what's the point?" is obviated/]subverted?[--notwithstanding that the "point down" tack may resemble a metal dandelion, its point resembles a wasp's stinger, and off on the "tack" of that "prick" that branded a thick long wink into my disposition I rode.

Because it was my father who carried, "finally" the root of my fear ]sting of that "Pop" fly/wasp"[ and a voice suggests to me now that I obeyed some command of his to fail, in abject humiliation; but an old, obsolete figure I created out of those facts. Shoot--those facts seethe with alternative figures, as do all facts--they are veritable hives.*(

I looked up, one day in 1958 or 1959, from incredible depths of reverie down those little crooked stairs, and lo! I was alone in the playground. The bell had rung ]tolled[, everybody had filed in. Faces at the tall school windows in amusement to see when I might come out of my trance. And now I "find myself" )as it were/was/is "constantly" out in the playground after the "bell" as it were/was/is, meeting the rest of you sometime during recesses or lunch hours, playing, as it is/is/is, with little stairs of my own, spurious notions, spiral designs, escalators, elevators and waterslide bannisters. Fathom Me Much In Depths That Kid Knew, I commanded some unemployed gods I found uselessly standing around, some driving their Fiats. Veterans of old heavens whom no one wants to employ--as it were: after all, and during all, I want to hire them, I trust them to "gloriously" execute the charge of my wishes.

"Now": you might call my tactics "guerilla tactics" because I represent here the unregimented soldier of utterance--and don't go thinking you can close your account)s( on "utterance" and its fathomless cache-halls and deep-springs of meaning)s(--the "soldier of fortune" who works/plays the peripheries in to the "hungry centre," pries apart "elitist" coteries and idioms turned slightly so we can see that they have depth as symbols )just the two halves of a broken coin- symbolum( realizing all the while that the word "guerilla" derives up, somewhat perhaps in far-fetched metaphorical intuition, like a snake swaying up to a Fakir's flute to the present from the basket of the past, from the original Spanish guerra, war--and I don't mean the "First World War" or the "Second World War" or "the" "Third World War" although a kind of war is going on which reduces to a "war of values" between the "new world" epitomized by the caricature the media brings to us of "America" with its ever-swifter uniting gigantic actions of corporate mergers, tax "incentives" to big industry, and "bank bailouts" though I, if, guerilla that I am, say so, it looks very much to my educated-so-far mind-access that certain banks are institutional parasitism of a gigantic sort as we depart 2001 )the year(. If not, who may I ask, are the debtor countries--most countries--in debt to? And the "new international division of labor" with its "Third World" wage structure, the Third World workers, driven off their farms by conglomerates' use of technology and into cities just as in England during the "first" "Ind. Rev." and caught between starvation and wage-slavery chose the latter or violent guerilla warfare unto death--the factories they work in mostly American-owned, and millions of Americans )and "Canadians"( "automated out" thus and thus compared, at least by implication, with the Third-World wage-slaves who are their "competitors" in a land of consequent union-busting and withdrawal of what was called the "welfare state" throwing millions into what has come to be called "the streets" where the "black market" rules--after 30 years of a multi-billion $ annual advertising budget to convince North Americans that they have a right to "the good life" and the "American Dream" backed by "Uncle Bbaamn" )the two-gun starting pistol (drive-by shooting) of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, reminiscent of the way the West was "won," a starting pistol for a new race! Why not? And let me say that Jesus "Christ" brought paganism back into the world, pried pride, opened the clam-heart of beached Jehovah and his return was in Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the ovens of Buchenwald and Dachau converted an old wandering race long ghettoized--to what finish line, wanderers? To ash, flour ground out by the "mills of God" and if we have lineups at food banks "bailed out" by the guilt and fear, and, yes, commiseration of the North American middle and working classes--on up to Bruce Springsteen, so that the poverty-stricken's growing population don't get mad and overrun nice safe homes and recruit their sons and daughters, nowadays running a new Jolly Roger up their backbones, as happened in the sixties after the twin starting pistols, one aimed at each brain from the opposite hemisphere while the "superpowers" found it difficult to get any internal work done while holding a giant "Rambo" gun in one hand and keeping an eye on the "enemy," broke into the sacred vaults of the tradition of atomism, Jehovah )"no gods before me"( and once more released ten thousand trapped gods who danced with joy before the dreaming acid-trippers man, asking, as all gods do, "what do you want?" And then the Japanese, famous for judo, rolled forward with the Yank-punch, took up the "American Dream" and surpassed the punchy Yanks at it! Some Jews minced around, some turned terrorist with the prestige of having "suffered the most," some turned to profound reflection, personal work and fine art )soul-making(. But the "Third World" may climb the slope to "prosperity" unprecedentedly fast, or may themselves, in their "non-equilibrium state" recognize the obsolescence of the industrial "work ethic" and accept the boon of technology in democracies of leisure: no. I am referring to the ongoing "warm of Armageddon." What can we do with the "typo" that adds an "m" to "war" to make it "warm?" After all )or some( I guess the "cold war" might have gotten 2 warm 4 comfort, although in the McLuhanesque view, a "cool" medium invites participation as it were, and a "hot" medium is pretty exclusive and tends to the adamantine, tends to, as it were, "tell all" so that the audience "can't" participate, and "get involved" and though I disagree with this and have explicated it elsewhere, I must say that a "hot" nuclear war would be all inclusive/exclusive.

What "ongoing war" then? you might ask. What "War of Armageddon?" Well, let's just say the war of A in each of our souls, eh? The "warm worm" of our struggles to get what the hell we want, in the way we get a joke. Oh, that's what I want! It is, as it were, a horizontal war that may, though I doubt it, have started with the "ancient" Greeks and the phonetic alphabet and reflective thinking and "inner" space."

Some trace that notorious entity, "reductionism" and "atomism" which entities it is currently fashionable to excoriate--yes, to excoriate!--to the "quantum-leap" of evolution and what some have called "abstract evolution" that happened circa the 6th century BC--which can trace up to the "continuous psychosis that is human history": to the "split within," to the "mind-body dualism" and all the tributary interesting "dualisms" with their oxymoronic and paradoxical honor guards, which we can say guard the outside world from the involuting-evolution-evoluting toroid or "ring cloud" which is "her holiness." )But( that is getting fancy and abstruse, )but( hooray! Here's to the abstruse! May it yield delicious juice! That war; then "wandering" Jews were herded )"The Nazi thy ]German[shepherd"( into "linear," and, take this on the jaw, reductionist death-banks. Hurry home to heaven! And they went. If they were true believers, then no problem, all ends well, or proceeded well, into the good life. God awaited them, with lots of hot chicken soup for the soul.

Now: to untie all bound beginnings. These words are not really lined up in this stacked "linear" fashion, though I hasten to declare that I most emphatically do not excoriate the "linear" but celebrate it, as well as the "reductionist" and "behaviorist," the "logical," the "atomistic." Here's to these great gifts to the human race! No: these sentences range out radially from points on the circumference of a "circle" which is actually a god-form, an evoluting-involuting ring cloud continually drawing what is beyond its peripheries, or circumference, to its centre, and periphery and centre meet at every point. Try wearing that body, Mrs. Clothes!

Now: we have arrived at this afternoon. I "am" )as it were( a little North, in the camas and grass, of the Druid's grove, off the bottom of Menzies. Lovers occupy the space I would have chosen. Or, they are "too" near the bench for me to choose to sit on the bench and still feel as if I weren't invading their space, which "incidentally/of course" was perhaps somewhat more extensive than it might have been had they not been displaying as lovers. I would have enjoyed watching them in their erotic play more than I did--I did see him playfully pull her bikini bottom part way down at the back, to her vociferous "protest" and saw her on top of him, her blue bikini bottom like a flag of the maddened eros just emerging into the first sunbathing day of spring. Saw him feeling her leg, and a couple of small fragments I don't wish to elaborate on right now. But mostly I faced the other way, listening to a cassette of CBC Ideas on "Revelations," and reading Hofstadter. Way up overhead, a cloud )cirrus( death-angel dove through the sky, extending long arms out in front. Sex and death.

Now: Spring and archetypal lovers in the grass, pushing back the bikini-edges of Victoria)n( propriety, causing quite a wide circle of )A( Noticing, and )B( Hurrying by. Fair was there with his back to them, but his back created them, and he thought that it would be OK to have a lover, but that he was impacted with an emotion when he saw them make intimate contact, and it occurred to him that sure he would enjoy watching them in their erotic play, preferably with their knowledge and consent, but that the weight of proprieties unnerved Fair for any approach in that direction, in fact such an approach never really occurred to him. But the angel of death was sweeping in on cirrus from the South, and sweet Spring eros was at Fair's back, and the warm spring sun was on his face and his bare chest, and he could say now in a broad gesture that time fanned out before him into the spring, and he could, if so inclined, touch for a note the social instruments wherever he had contact, to see what he could see, to do what he could do, passion in, passion out, passion across the spectrum of colors, some more desirable than others. The mystery of eros, the feminine/female mystique Fair coveted his distance from again, that he might brood, brood to it again to find deeper symbolic layers, levels. He stood up, as it were/is/was, and raised his glass To Distance, to contemplation, to "voyeurism," to brooding in the field of eros, that which wanted deep brooding.

Oh, sex was fun--to participate in the erotic communion; and it boded fun to take distance--

And, as to "jealousy"--a word we will substitute for the "proper" word denoting Fair's present passion, moved him to gnaw the darkness off the bone of fact)s(--which in this case takes some time, how long time would tell- )whether or not that child will ever learn to tell time time will tell.(

Consider typos. I don't like that "cutesy" little "pet" word that might sit on the desk of a sexritary )honest, I didn't intend to use that "ms"nomer, in fact I conscientiously decided not to use it, but it got used anyway! }like one of those awful little pig-trough cutesy plastic beings blurbing saccharine cuteness.{ Therefore: "typos" = inverted commas can lift practically any ugly naked word into dignity. Gnaw the darkness off the bone of fact, O my soul!

Before I chop into elegant sideroads toward what the "implicate universe"delivered from stating the speculation, "maybe the procedure of increasing my "literate vocabulary" which, by the way/of course, feels "freer" in terms (sic( )just an experiment there, suggested by a "typo," or a "typographical opportunity"( of extension, on "the" page, because, I suppose, or perhaps know, that "the page" is bountiful with precedent, and the bulging implication gestures "of course" to one's questioning of the possible presumptuousness of using words like, for instance, "algorithm," which, in my experience, is not a common word in "the demotic vernacular," but then neither is "demotic" and "vernacular"--so, to stay the wolves of curiousity who would plunge their sensitive noses into the steaming guts of this )or, rather, the preceding( "digression" for the nonce, to toss in an old idiom-coin that the thought-distributor handed me for the occasion, which occasion "of course" welcomes any future exfoliation, extension of gesture, I will "simply say" something about the "necessary" or perhaps more correctly, factual elitism of the written form which requires "literate" people, that is, readers, and by its style and vocabulary implicitly assumes a "select" readership. That is, the readership of those who have used their access to a, to be speculative, critical number of the "less than/more than" vernaculiar)?( words, so that they feel as if they are being addressed "at a certain level" as it were. But )a word I rarely use( I now feel like withdrawing the word "elitist" and replacing it, because for me "elitist" is implicate/immanent with connotations, and indeed may even nakedly semantically )full frontal( carry the definition, of a group that is conceited )inflated(, and that is another can of different-colored horses to "pry" into soon, and I "only" mean something like a "special interest group" like chess-players or Chev enthusiasts or people who can speak French in an "English speaking country." Hopefully that opens sufficient earth for cultivation of a few--would be a valuable algorithm in solving the problem of my 'intellectual inferiority complex.'"

"So." Whether or not it behooves you to witness this birthplace of ideas--and indeed that word is pregnant itself, and right in there with other important things to consider, that is, refer to the sphere of our aspirations as "stood in stead by the stars" which we group in all their "non-simultaneity" and orders of magnitude and difference in distance, into pictures of our "myth" figures: here the inverted commas allow heavy emphasis on the word "myth" as it also and definitely needs a "pallet on your floor" for laying-in. You see, here we allow something like the braiding of "digressions." And we can, I think, and we can find out how organically, liken the white page to the white hospital walls I hated so much. But hey: don't identify birthplaces with hospitals--necessarily or otherwise. Birthplaces under great apple trees in long grass are fine with me. And this is a birthplace of constellations, and their function is to regulate my blood sugar, among other things. Gods rush in to particular tasks, I say.

General relativity says that all coordinate systems are equally valid. And that includes one from whose point of view all motion takes place with respect to a fixed, nonrotating earth. Thus Einstein tells us that Copernicus and Galileo were, after all, not any righter than Ptolemy and the pope... There is even, for each of us, a physically valid "egocentric" system of coordinates in which I am still, and everything moves relative to me.

Douglas Hofstadter, Metamagical Themas

 

Now, an "idea friend" has been waiting an hour or two to come in when the "scheme of things" in this "unfolding" or exfoliating procession of explications which I hereby liken unto the bubble-wild birthplace of bubbles at the foot of a waterfall, here where metaphors and ideas--epiphanies--a "line of apocalypse" arise from the arisings of the particulars of the general matrix of arisings in the wild "construction boom" of "bubble city" potentially generating whole individual bubbles from the networks of "pi-less" water-membranes, that the space of air may hang with many whole noble bubbles... maybe... and "by the of course way"--if you carry one of the standard images of "doubt"--a dark cloud, you may replace it with the image of a bright sun. You can call doubt "the ventilator" that, like a great tree-press, presses oxygen into the atmosphere: like that the clean skeptic expands idea-universes by "interpolating" more elements and perspectives "between the lines" which are ubiquitous--and I don't wish to lose it, though I doubt if I would, but it would arise when the time or timing is ripe, that is, when the river moves into the territory and atmosphere of its theme, but because it is permitted, I'll introduce it here, and in the geodesic "interlocking grid of ideas" which I have likened unto the "intermolecular tension network" of a growing bubble, its "arbitrary" "interruption" of the organic growth of this entity will be, as it were, absorbed and its organic relevance to its neighbours will be created retroactively.

So, with some trepidation: Gwynne Dyer, in a Times-Colonist editorial on 20/3/86, reiterated the cliché: "A large proportion of Britain's "category three" people are living on welfare one way or another. It is a testimony to the basic solidarity of British society that they are kept afloat, but other people are doing the productive work that supports them." Now, turning this moral problem around to view it from different perspectives, a simple fact occurred to me this morning, dropped from the blue spring sky: It is automation, its efficiencies on exponential flight path, that has rendered these people's labor of less value to the employer than the "labor" of a robot or computer. One astute observer stated categorically: it is cheaper for a company--and let me fold in that the larger the corporation, )there is a "merger boom" happening that itself seems to be accelerating( the less overall cost of "re-tooling" or automating, because the multiplication of articles--such as computers, reduces the unit cost--to "automate out" a job than to pay a worker, and what company in a free enterprise society goes beyond the "bottom line?"--Not to say that humane activity may not improve the "bottom line"--such strategies can be taken into account )sic( nowadays--therefore the "unemployed" welfare recipient is not riding on the shoulders of the working class, but on the robot class! And if robots are not for "riding on" then take your car, or a public bus into your house and let it lie on your lap and pamper it and save it drudgery. If you point out to me that it is still the working class that pays most of the taxes out of which welfare comes, let me in turn point out that that is because the government you voted for favors the corporation to the extent that it gave/gave/gave/gives/gives/gives... gigantic "tax incentives" to them--roughly the same amount as the national deficit so I read in an article by John Mika, TC 4/11/85, which are purportedly for "increased investment" based, of course, on the "bottom line" which is increased on the production end by automation which creates "unemployment." What shall I do then?

Now for a few true confessions. And I may be misusing the term "confession" here if it means strictly confession of sins or guilt, because I intend to confess my own goodness, cleanness of heart, strength and handsome selfhood. I intend, that is, to brag, to crow, and to sing and celebration of my beauty on down the layers. Here's how I begin:

My "mating instinct" rose after my lover/partner "moved out." Very delicate yet here the fetuses which move through successive "snatchings" into more inclusive arrangements, through marked-unmarked, equilibrium-non-equilibrium, "plasma-gel-plasma-sol," entropy-syntropy states of evolution--metaphorical fetuses with soft bones, suggestions of great, overarching, strongly articulate metaphorical utterances not so much like the dinosaur skeletons progressively "evolving" out of the eroding cliffs in "Somewheresville, Alberta badlands," as the parturition of live dinosaurs; and here I discern, or, say, half-discern down in the well of metaphor just emerging from the inchoate, some articulation about "articulation" itself--getting right down in the mystically meaty subject of bones: "but" is it faithless, as it were, to invite this life down the radicle up now--may it not abort? May it not show shy to be its face? But may it get lost, asks the counsel for the defense of laying bare embryonic )em-Byronic?( metaphors. So what? gestures the counsel for "laissez-faire" out toward the aspiration cognition of Abundance, and "reflexive abundance" in the sense of, as it were, wheeling the great ship's wheel of the starry sky around on its pole-star, and "leveling this lift" so that "we" walk "on the third floor of heaven, with the stars around our ankles" and our aspirations, as the "code of Abundance" are where we are rooted, and we are "star-rooted" and "rooted at the tips," and "low as we now lie," we are still and always bound for glory, and in peculiar ways Eternity, as it were, to use one of "Its" names, intersects with time at every point, and it would behoove us as human beings who believe in the true path of such a transition, from placenta to lungs as it were, to have faith that all jewels will out, and all fabulous metaphors, and in hours of inspiration will out so profusely and abundantly that the quantum-leap occurs by which an idea, a conception, or a billion twig-tips of "omni-interrelated" conceptions snatched into manifestation)s( factual, actual, and partaking fully of the rewards and associations of the ubietous phenomenal world; becoming concretely explicate and passing from a state of having never existed to a state of having always existed.

Why so protective?- zeroes in the counsel for the defense of trying utterance as a method of evolving metaphors--which, of course, many successful formers have formerly done. If we are paying our tributes here, as it were, to Heaven by "practicing its presence," then what is lost in an abundance by an experiment?

More out on this limb and the sense begins to emerge that this is beginning to appear less like a digression than like a red herring, but then how may we fish for red herrings and hit paywater? A big order of red herrings. A big mess of red herrings! Well, which is it? (as if that were the only choice)

But! says the counsel for kindness: "If every hair on the head is counted, as it were," says the mouth of a Nazi death-oven, "what is the burning to ash one tender little human body more or less, in a "human potential movement" )after all, R. Buckminster Fuller himself says that "you can't learn less from an experiment, you always learn more"(?

But! says the calm, happy counsel for the defense of tenderly looking at growing sprouts with a heart to seeing how to help them, and it goes with)out( saying that that help may be to ventilate the soil, or to give it a little time, to "embrace with open arms," not necessarily, as a lurking implication whispers, to haul it out of its soil-bed or cutting its umbilicus too early.

But it is articulation that feels right that you want, to save you returning and scrapping the first attempt, which takes us to the metaphor that has been itself evolving up through the various stages of its own model, concerning the particular evolvings of certain things like, for instance, to use a current situation, the emotional reaction, or response, to one's "primary lover" having a "good time" in carnally intimate terms with someone else, the entity here to consider "beginning" with, to use a rather loaded term, "jealousy," and evolving "up" through perhaps successive stages, representing personal past matrixings on the subject, which in fathoming "back" to earlier experiences of that type, for example sibling jealousy over parents' loving attention, and perhaps feeling of abandonment in crib when still wanting breast, etc.-- "up" through such memories and memory-patterns along the theme of fulfillment, achievement, the great joy that comes on a paradigm-shift, when the adolescent finds a greater family out beyond the dark and bright-faced enclosure of his relative family, finds the ecstasy of a whole atmosphere/biosphere of air )abundance( out beyond placenta, of superabundant riches out beyond poverties: the ecstasy of the non-equilibrium "state" finally snatching into a new form; the view from the newer, greater territory in successive "views from a height" on the maturation process )a loaded term, now at the unloading doc}k{( this metaphor tells of an apparent pattern of re-evolution in such cases, specifically in my case the initial "pain" as of a dark sea reaching up and drawing me into its darkness--of "jealousy," whose internal organs seem to be a sinister suspicion, which, for a time, no matter what the stars )the encodements of abundance, the "positive COEX systems"( say, operates from its darkness; "betrayal" which is the entity which, here in projection, that is suspected, add the reaction to that, which takes the form of a strong desire to "kick away." To withdraw, consisting perhaps of more than one part of a desire not to give my body to this dark emotion, or it may cause damage, because it is inconsistent with my "coming-up mood." In the happy solitude of withdrawing my physical presence, the evolution takes place, and soon I have found myself on the broad high tier, frontier from which I view the events from, as it were or perhaps, a "higher chakra"--and from that platform I am a man as it were, and a loving father, and from the abundant riches of my "late" discovered territory, I bless the lovers and genuinely wish them well. Wishing well. Now, I leap here to make connections with reflections: splash-speculation: the "primordial religious experience" is the great "flip flop" of re-uniting our very earliest experience with that abundance of which we have tasted and know slaking of our old thirst.

During an explication of the metaphor of emotional evolution in "evolution holons," which seems to involve, emotionally, "running the whole trail again" but this time with less intensity of the initial "immature" reaction which is/was "scarcity-based" and a faster accession of the "mature" view and emotional participation in the situation, my portable typewriter, which I'll call Alison, started dropping her "n's," this "interruption" is indeed an opportunity which I have chosen to apply by aiming at replacing the broken "n" linkage with the # linkage, which didn't work, I was so dumb I forgot, in my cleverness, that the arms are different lengths on the bank of keys.

Now--the metaphor in question. I won't birth it right here, but report to you that it has to do with the potentials in the difference between articulation of such things as bones, and such things as bodies. McLuhan's ghost whispers that the articulation of bones is "cool" and of bodies is "hot." No? Talk to me, articulators, about extending the gestures of a skeleton. Talk if you can, about extending the gesture of a blank page! About tulpas and "something out of nothing," about "the void out of which all things may grow." About the lines/surfaces of distinction in, say, Alison in her shell, and the infrastructure of lines/surfaces of distinction in her inner workings, parts and whole equally articulate.

 

 

 

End or Beginning or Somewhere In The Middle of digression