Preistcraft

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Drives away the cold. But not the stupid. 

I will never cease to be baffled by the pride that a good chunk of humanity seems to take in submitting to preistcraft. By preistcraft I do not necessarily mean religion.

In this broadened definition I include many ideologies and yes…among them I dare include that shibboleth called ‘science.’

Now, I am not a fan of comparing science to religion. This being due to the fact that science is not religion. But there is a sort of popular notion of science that may as well be religion.

It is both pro and prescriptive. It has a metaphysic. It has an ethic. There are within its dogmas not only cosmological claims but outright prophecies.

This is not the science of Spinoza or Feynman. That is to say it is not science. It is whimsy and hubris systematized. That is to say religion.

It has priests and teachers of the law.

I do not even so much here begrudge authoritarianism as I lament sloth. For its profound mental laziness that causes so many otherwise rational people to utter the demure prayer:

“I am not a scientist.”

Well…so bloody what?

Do you not have access to books? Or to get less medieval… to the sodding internet?

Ah but you require special training. These mysteries must of course be properly understood.

Yes, and did you not spend at least twelve years of your life in the school system?

Alright… I get it…that institution is deteriorated and generally rots the mind. Fine, all well and good. I too am cynical about the supposedly unalloyed good of mandatory public schooling.

However…even the most barefoot, twelve-toed, slug snacking Appalachian scion surely understands that the beauty of science is in its inherent democracy. Or if you prefer Libertarianism.

How is it that the experts to which you submit your reason came to their knowledge? Was it through sorcery? Did they approach a shewstone and therein decipher the mind of the most high God?

Or did they apply the fairly simple mechanisms of the scientific method to expand and expound upon the current body of knowledge?

You tell me that you cannot do the same?

Or are you in a roundabout way asserting that I cannot do so. That I must flagellate myself. That I should toss my critical faculties into the purifying flames of inquisition. That I should shroud my brain in the same Catholic darkness that gives you the jollies?

Suppose all those mea culpas ever bleeding from your rosary are valid. That we are both at sea before the vast incomprehensibility of the universe. That we require the confessional booth. That we must submit to a higher power.

Fine.

But I have a question…

WHICH?

To which higher power should I surrender? I suspect that your answer will depend entirely on your political persuasion.

If you do not know the things of which you are speaking of. If they are so arcane and require so many years of academic pilgrimage to fathom…then how…in all sodding Christendom do you know whether you agree.

Would it not be simpler to just vomit Druidic litanies?

Or at least more cough than humble bragging…

If you have ceased to be able to work with the facts and theories thus far achieved and must now entirely lean upon the insights of the clergy. How…HOW…pray tell is this science? The thing whose chief strength is mutability. A strength nourished by diligent scrutiny.

I guess there’s really not much use in railing against this madness. It seems to be more of a drive than a philosophical position.

I doubt I’ll ever understand it.

I guess I just don’t have that kinky submissive streak that plagues such a large chunk of humanity.


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Should You E-fast?

IRL fasting has many benefits. Check out P.D. Mangan’s amazing anti-aging site for more on this.

If that’s not enough.

Even Jesus loves fasting. There’s some juju out there that can’t be banished any other way.

Except maybe the internet.

Image result for goetia"
Pictured: The internet in its most malignant form: Teh kittez. An ancient evil of possibly Canaanite origin.

So should you go on internet fasts?

Folks like Bryan Lunduke would probably say yes. Folks like me would probably say…maybe.

Fact of the matter is that I’ve been trying and planning to go on a no electronics sequester, where I produce a bunch of somethign, with a lot of focus; for well…it’s embarassing…for nearly….if not exactly a decade.

Sweet Elijah! You might cry. Your discipline sucks.

Image result for chariots of fire"
Lo! I have not gaze upon the spicy memes! Giveth me my wings, Lord!

At this rate the chariots of fire will never beam you up and reveal why Maynard is such an infuriating shtilib.

Absolutely. Yes. I’m a whimsical beast with very strong drives that are not easily tamed. Which is why I prefer letting them run free. Seems more humane. That is until they go over a cliff.

The nubmer one complaint with all things web related seems to be wasted time. The internet seems to be a distraction machine.

So, it is only natural that people throw up their hands and ask, “Hold on a minute! Hold on a minute! What if I wasn’t voluntarily pulled in a million directions at once! Wouldn’t that be…I don’t…sane?”

So all the goal setting and good intentions begin. Only to be shattered by the realziation that most of your work and social life depends on electronics. Even if you aren’t a blogger.

“Welcome to the machine.” – Roger Waters or some such hippy.

Yes. And now you’re booting up and logging on to answer e-mails or apply for jobs or write this or that and…boom now you’re on YouTube…and well….frankly…welcome to Hell and goodbye time.

Or so it would seem.

I’d suggest that there’s probably a happy medium, wherein you use your baser browsing urges to spice up the legitimate ones, and catalyze learning and productivity.

But at the same time perhaps some fasting would be good towards that end.

Not here to make proclamations just to ponder so…I dunno you tell me.

Or if you don’t want to chat with an overcaffeinated time slayer, then ponder your way to Vallhalla.


Speaking of Valhalla. Pillaging is no longer profitable and mead remains expensive. Please contribute to a thirsty bard.

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Blossom (Poem)

Image result for night flower
Image Source – (Gives a database error. Go figure.)

I expand

And become

Formless as the void

Blossom

Through the through and through

And the in between deployed

Blossom

Gather dew

Drunk and drinking

The stem, the root, the measure

Never few

Thought is living in its death

Ah the blossom

Of the soil that’s Void

This is not a song of gloom

Bloom O blossom

Bloom


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Getting in the Mood for Mystery

Image result for appalachian stream at night
Image Source – ideas.ted.com – Radim Schreiber

Or Notes for Pedants and Spoilsports

It’s altogether easy to lose your sense of wonder. Especially when questions can be answered instantly.

But it isn’t the answer that kills the magic.

It’s the speed. It’s the lack of space.

Mystery is a living thing and needs room to breath.

One cannot write weird fiction or write at all without the animating force of wonder.

Why describe a twilight Appalachian brook if it’s just rainwater lazing through rock and dirt?

If its suggestions are nothing more than the inevitable electric pulses stirring a chemical stew whose aim is to leave behind a profusion of bones?

Yes, in such a world of concrete half truths. In this world that is the foundation of life there can be no mystery…no art.

How glad I am that I’ve been given the space to wander, to spy the stairs and landing, and to ascend through the door into the house of Magic where true life dwells.

For a house is not merely the foundation.


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Why History? Why Learning?

Image result for lyre
God damned hippy

So, I stumbled across the Shindo Renmei. An interesting group that sprang out of an interesting set of circumstances. It is a peculiarity in the truest sense of the word. Absolutely dependent on the specifics of its time and place.

That is the case with any bit of history.

So why study it?

The popular answer is so that we do not repeat it.

I see no reason to be contrarian. But I also see no reason for such narrow apologetics.

I think the main reason to study history is that it is a gold mine of catalysts and ideas. I think this is the main reason because it is so much more fertile. And also because the wise fear of repeating history is often hijacked by this or that pundit to cherry-pick examples that ‘prove’ why this or that is going to be catastrophic. Or more colloquially, “You’re just like a HitlerStalinTerrorist.”

I think it’s possible to extend this notion even further. This ‘mine’ is perhaps the ultimate case of art for arts sake. Art here being any endeavor including science and philosophy.

Art…or ‘well informed doodling’ should practiced precisely because practice begets art. There needs be no other reason. No harried seeking of supporting themes, or grants, or panty parting guitar solos but simply doing for doings sake.

So, go forth and study for no reason whatsoever.

In so doing I guarantee you’ll find one.


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Under Construction – Up Since Three

Image result for birch tree ice


I sit staring at a hotel curtain. The pattern reminds me of birch trees. Beyond are some Loblolly pines and Carolina starlight.

The room has that new plaster smell that reminds me of the apartment I stayed at while working at a fiberglass plant. My highschool buddies dad was some bigwig there and it was my buddies apartment. I was gonna pay rent but got pissed and decided to try living off of cheap tobacco and tins in my hatchback. It’s just a few towns over.

Showed up on a girls porch to talk shit and get drunk. We kissed at some point and went to the stupid ocean and came back and loved but sort of off and on.

The place had an Irish name and was still under construction. Sort of like everything is, and will be forever, since forever.

The stars are constantly reconfiguring themselves, exploding, and assembling into perpetuity. Like shitty cosmic suburbs. That’s right God I just compared your handiwork to Detroit.

There was a birch tree covered in ice – dripping ice outside my elementary school window in Moscow. That was more than a few towns over.

The chronology isn’t very linear but I’ve never been good at keeping rhythm. But sometimes I imagine I make pretty sounds and that’s enough for me.

Once my dad punched an icicle under a kiosk and got a bloody knuckle.

I was at a paramilitary summer camp and felt my head explode as it hit the hook on the door. The short kid I was boxing was pissed. We both ended up sharing aspirins and laughing at the faces we made as the water stung our bloodied lips.

The ceremonial cannon shots exploded. Exploded like memorial supernovas. Bursting in realization that these grounds, this grass, had drunk a crimson dinner.

Gotta lose a few when everything’s under construction. Ever see a worksite without sawdust? Forget  about it.

What I can’t forget about is the madness of that shitty feeling that comes from pairing Lagers with waffles. How strange for it to mix with symphonies and the crisp cold magic of space dotted with shreiking angels of flame.

Angels that build while molasses drips.

Like the tears from her eyes after I’d given her a good fucking and she was afraid that I’d leave.

No it wasn’t the poems, the wit, or the dinners. Just a good shag. That’s what made her pine. I don’t grudge her for it. I’m a lousy lay most times. But then so was she. So I guess we’ll call it even.

Cause we’re both under construction. We just built in different directions. Maybe some day the buildin wind will blow bits of our ashes into the same lighthouse. And our ghosts can teach the birches to bear the ice just as beautifully as they always have.

Cause freezing over is the same as thawing out.

It’s just under construction.

I’ve been up since three. There’s everything right here. In waves that undulate like the corporately clean curtain.

Under construction since three in the AM.

Till sleeping adds some temporary walls so I can’t see inside the house again.


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Milk-Bar Clausewitzes

Image result for soy boy
The preferred beverage of those silent servants in the civilian officer corps who’ve been sending waves and waves of our men at somebody, for some reason, for generations. Godspeed gentlemen…Godspeed!

It’s been 15 years since ‘Team America World Police’ taught us the meaning of patriotism.  It’s heartening to see that the seeds of freedom it planted continue to blossom in the hearts of keyboard warriors across this brave land of ours.

Image result for team america world police fuck yeah
McNamara’s Domino Theory of War

I decided to comment on a YouTube video and received a swift bald eagle to the nuts for my communism.

Here is my shameful faux-pas: Not digging the slippery slope argument. Our involvement in the middle east often precipitates further destabilization. Saddam and Gaddafi weren’t saints but they did bring stability. I’m surprised that someone as reasonable as yourself on the Assad kerfuffle is spouting neocon foreign policy just to stick it to a wanker.

This Marxist screed must be due to my Russian origins. Forgive me I’ve had a bit too much vodka. Sure supporting military adventures all around the world while the economy stagnates might seem unwise but that’s because as a godless Bolshevik I don’t have enough faith.

Thank sweet baby Jesus, and the applepie bakin’ mammy that birthed him behind the Nashville bar, where Elvis made his first pelvic thrust into our hearts that a true patriot was around to set me on the straight and narrow: blah, blah, blah, everything is always America’s fault. Got it. How did America deserve the ’93 WTC bombing? Was that just “blowback” too? Is America always at fault for everything?

Ah…but alas surviving on canned goods for the benefit of the Politburo has stupefied me, and I can’t help but spread red propaganda from Frankfurt school luminaries like George Washington and Dwight D. Eisenhower.

nobody said america is to blame. the military industrial complex that eisenhower warned us about gets us into foreign entanglements that george washington warned us about. your idea of patriotism is unamerican, gets americans killed, and impoverishes the nation.

Dear readers…is there any hope for me. Please help….this problem seems to have even spread to Vietnam veterans….: Milk-Bar Clausewitzes, Bean Curd Napoleons

They’ve been letting Communists into the Marines since 1955…for shame….for shame…

Will no thin, dainty, pallid, soy-fed wrists twitch spasmodically into action and banish this pinko plague with banshee wails for more American blood?

Even as I type this I feel my mouse pointer hovering towards the buy button below the leather-bound copy of John Locke’s treatise on government.

It may be too late for me so…

For God’s sake save yourselves and flip on the tele!


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Catch Phrases (Poem)

Image result for free domain images visitors

 

All the well wishers came by again

All the tales

Came by to sigh again

When all else fails

If there’s a dreary rain

They’ll fill your sails

With hot air again

Transported past all ails

All along the main

Yea, the well wishers came in hurricanes and hails

To explain again

That everything’s as rightas rain

Cause ya know what I’m sayin’

Of course you do

It’s all so true

These catch phrases for me and you

They’re me and you!

So don’t be blue!

O please don’t come again…

Why, o why Andrew

I’d rather have the pain again…


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2008

Image result for baron rothschild

Is there really any reason for it?

Are there any less raw resources?

Any less technique with which to harness them?

Any serious collapse in enforceable contracts?

Why then does it collapse?

Its corpse choking the destitute and enriching the powerful.

What bizzare miseries ignorance and sloth visits upon mankind.

Twin urchins ever drawing down Dickensian mazes of convoluted preverications.

There is but one false science.

One powder laced, smoke and mirror show, whose name is economics.

Nom like nom de plume.

A false flight of fancy to add riches where none exist.

Is there any folly greater than credit?

The promise of goods made more valuable then goods that already abound?

Life then becomes a series of notes.

Exchanged by gamblers for the sheer joy of sudden fortune.

Before whom kingdoms crumble.

All for a childish game.

Oh, how the crops perish before the harvest while the locusts lounge.

The ant too became a locust for the sake of fashion.

Hopping on a will-o-the-wisp and sailing into oblivion.

Oblivious now, unprecedented amnesia, where every good is fed to promise.

Promise that no feast can make less empty.

Promise, the sacrament of economy, a rite towards Sheol.

This is why I drink.


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Rosa Ma Rie (Poem)

Image result for yankee rose


Rosemary

Rosemary

What did you find

At the end of the sea

Was it the same

As the start

From whence we came

Destroy your heart

Rosemary

Rosemary

Drop a leaf

Change by degree

Seasons teeth

Masticate

Matters dull

Spirit liberate

From the lull

Rosemary

Rosemary

Awake by scent

By degree

The arrows bent

Forever be

My dancing blossom Rosemary

Delight’s thy bosom

Drain Nepenthe

To the source

Dregs to thee

Bitter sacred sweet set the course

For we’ve the dawn to meet

O Rose

O Rosa

O Rosa Marie


Image Credit – https://twitter.com/yankeeroseradio


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