Just Another Heart Attack…

The powers that want to be must be thinking it’s “cute” that the dude thought he was in an experiment to save lives. Let’s fix it. He was part of the agenda to end lives. No coincidence.

“extreme stress…” wrote a commenter over there, at eric’s place.

Well, eustress≈distress theory has got to be a lot like germ≈merge theory. Terroir grows terror, cabernet, whatever else, poorly, well, or not at all.

Neuroticism was already there, all along, was a huge chunk of terroir infirma, all along, & the latest excuse to unleash it is just the latest excuse. That’s what narratives are for. There have been plenty of other excuses narrated going rearward & there will continue to be plenty of excuses narrated going forward. Tread that mill, Blue Piltdown Wo/Man, youse authentic frauds, ya.

Who let the dogs out is a superfluous, wasted, question. Out, damn Spot, out ain’t got nuthin’ to do with Dr. Jekyll Island legerdemain-islation written by the silver (&gold& every other real asset sucking) light of the full moon…& the pointing finger is not the moon…& the five-finger discounting mooning you full in the face is not a giant leap for mankind, it’s a step/f.o.r.d. (fix or repair daily cuz war is the best make-work machine there could ever be) wifi that leashlessly cubes all those feral-domestic dogs into Mr. Hyde attack packs & politicalactioncommittees.

“There’s trained & there’s untrained.” And there’s impossible to clean car•pet stained magic carpet rides. Whenever I say “wannagoforide?” the dog goes crazy. (And sometimes that Steppenwolf tune comes on the radio & I go a little crazy myself.) The dogs love being taken for rides, are crestfallen not to be taken.

Carpet diem, O Captain! My Captain! The Lincoln is dead, long live the Lincoln log rollers, & the carpet that catches all those falling stars & tinkling reigns. Like that even needs be said about the walking dead. Unkillable, that Lots Wifi of salty dogs.

Trained only grows in the already trained, the entrained, the let’s run a train on “‘em” – on ourselves: Pogo Possum Posses, in the shapes of cubes…& comitatus (& act) was always just magic words written in/risible ink…always a japing ch/ink in the armor-amore of every heroic big block cubic narrative ever writ.

And in canned sweetended condensed milk-moustache fables, too: National Ant•hem&haw…gotta’ give Grasshopper his due that ol’ slant Aesop didn’t. Grasshopper knows “winter’s coming” & that no amount of AI (ant industriousness) is ever gonna beget an immortal ant.

Antslush, Anschluss, lets call the whole piles thing off…would it could be…but hemmorhoids gotta rage, rage against the dying of their lights brigading continulously into that ol’ infamous breach: “Got my 3rd jab!” Bang, you’re dead (The Mechanic…& Jan Michael-Vincent stayed in character, too…he can’t even remember who JMV was).

Kurzweil, other sons of different dragon mothers immune to fire was bent on breaking the wheel of slavish mortality, but winter came & s/he went ahead & slid the rest of the way off the road, same as all the other youth fountaineers that came before.

The unexamined life isn’t worth living somebody said. I have the symmetry’s calling feeling that Moog’s an examiner & Kurzweil’s wires are crossfiring his braineon light show that it’s synthesizer life that’s worth living…digital…5-finger-deathpunch discount condensed down to 0/1. Kurz mooging on over to google, being the director of engineering for the gang whose motto is “don’t be evil”… is there a codex decoder ring wheelie’ing down the singularity-lane road here, or is my brain just imposing a pattern?

Guy’s a wheelie genius. High speed, extended, & out on the demolition derby highways:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnU3dvhIQIw

Got my own take on being first responder, but Kenny Wayne Shepherd joins some boys that quilt a cover that works:

The entrained don’t like the untrainable because even just that wee bit of contrast makes neuroticism seem like it’s a problem, makes the neuroboros serpents feel bad, or worse, about themselves suckin’ on their own tailpipes, & those can’t-train-this (“can’t touch this” ~ hammertime) types violate the first rule of the entrained, “Don’t talk about fight club.” Censorority Sisters’ll Baby Jane anybody they can. And they know which mushrooms are which.

Patty Hearst extremes don’t bear, because nothing like that has happened to most of the Stockholmians, & nothing like that is necessary to unleash the Syndrome. Blaming it on incomings from outer space misunderstands the species, & its condition, entirely – wags the feral-domestic dog. The species reaches for it, grabs it, pulls it in tight, suckles it, & feeds it – ebbflow•ouroboros•pit&spite•swappers.

“If I could live my life over again, I would devote it to proving that germs seek their natural habitat, diseased tissue – rather than being the cause of the diseased tissue.” ~ Rudolph Virchow

“The specific disease doctrine is the grand refuge of weak, uncultured, unstable minds such as now rule in the medical profession. There are no specific diseases; there are specific disease conditions.” ~ Florence Nightingale

Ethel Hume wrote “Bechamp or Pasteur,” about a “different” time & place, different faces & names.

What remains the same in all places & times (tho medieval’s bad wrap might clue a hint) is that pasteurized homogenized neuroticism trumps all champs, almost all of the time; two steps forward, 1.99999∞ steps back.

Ali was “the greatest” (tho I can’t see how he legitimately took out the unlisting & unlistable dreadnought Liston…Denmark fishy), until the draft board & the boxing commission, two well-known to know-nuthins (in that bunch’s particular generalized obeisant way) & connected partners in crime, stroked their pens & – symbiotic dysbiosis via chimera rapesex – feargasmed all over the blank pages that exist only to take the ink & growrite it into the book that brooks no contrary books & so gesundheit 451 dragonsneeze burns them up & Ali was taken down & out to the Galileo rest home in turnturnturn (Byrds). (And that’s why Saigon fell. Not sure yet who the designated culprit who dropped the Kabul ball will be.)

Olympic golden boy Cassius was posterboy-used to et tu Sonny (into Fredo) & to be taken down in/to turn by the same Gulf of Tonkin Fredo was rowed out into: when ya’ lie down with the fishes ya’ sleep with the fishes. Division’s fun & conquerin’s funner…but both heads & tails of that fishy coin(telpro) “pays” (extracts) the mulct. The massive mulct. (sucklesucklesuckle…I drink your mulctshake)

It’s 96:4. It has always been 96:4. It will always be 96:4. And those of a mind to save, or convert, or “deprogram” the 96 ain’t part of the four, either. Four gone is the conclusion: everybody gets what they get…& then they are only as good as got. Cue Bittersweet Symphony, most of it (The Verve).

Holy Smoke, deprogrammer gets hisself prog/rammed, owned, by downunder judoessie, winds up in a dress & lipstick, owning nothing, a happy stepford harpy:

Just Smoke (see Paul Auster’s The Music of Chance if you get the chance, or read it…):

From Human Smoke (Nicholson Baker): “Alfred Nobel, the manufacturer of explosives, was talking to his friend the Baroness Bertha von Suttner, author of Lay Down Your Arms. Von Suttner, a founder of the European antiwar movement, had just attended the fourth World’s Peace Conference in Bern. It was August, 1892. ‘Perhaps my factories will put an end to war even sooner than your congresses,’ Alfred Nobel said. ‘On the day when two army corps may mutually annihilate each other in a second, probably all civilized nations will recoil with horror & disband their troops.’”

This Austrian cuts the “Oak” ~ remember “girly man,” SNL? It was *supposed* to be a funny joke ~ into barrel staves, coopers those, & fills with an impurities-few distill that ages gracefully:

“The great crisis of Protestantism in the Anglo-Saxon as well as in the Scandinavian world is intrinsically connected with the breakdown & shrinkage of the average man’s power of imagination; this is after all the loss of a faculty which is a serious as the loss of a limb or sense, or perhaps even more so. One of the most important differences between “modern” society & preindustrial society consists largely in the great antithesis between phantasism & realism, between man & machine. All fictional heroes in Europe, from Parzifal & Don Quixote to Peer Gynt & Dostyevsky’s “Idiot,” are fantasist dreamers. (That explains the lack of ambition of the nonprogressive European who always would feel outraged if accused of being ambitious. A young Englishman or American would consider the same characteristic as highly flattering; in France the remark “c’est un ambitieux” is extremely derogatory.) The “traditional” European, & especially the nonprogressive easterner & southerner, has almost always an “inner realm” of which he is king. (The best conservative cultural review of Germany is called Das Innere Reich – The Inner Realm.) This is the reason why he does not feel the grim realities so keenly (as we outsiders imaginer he does) & manages to retire into his realm of dreams like a tortoise into her shell. The total materialists (who are called “realists” without justification because their nonrecognition of metaphysics as well as lack of imagination makes them anything else but realists in a higher sense) have always led uncomfortable & drab lives, hurting themselves continuously, while the dreamer might live in all luxury among the creations of his phantasy. The dreamer & fantasist is in a way invincible while the “realistic” materialist is exposed to danger by more than one Achilles heel. The fantasist & dreamer has moreover the added advantage of a greater dexterity in the interpretation of the visible world, thanks to his well-cultivated artistic vision. With transcendental perception his eye sees *through* things & happenings, & he thus uncovers & senses the deeper causalities & reasons which remain hidden to the cold & expressionless fishy eye of the “realist.” Protestantism as well as technicism has contributed a great deal toward the firm entrenchment of “realism” in the modern world. The former preached an unnatural “soberness” while the latter actuated a real “desiccation” of the human mind. (“As late as the year 1777 the city of Birmingham refused to have a theater as it would encourage ‘laziness’ & therefore impede trade.” ~ Max Weber, Die Protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus. The hostility of the Puritans & the Protestant extremists, all forerunners of our capitalistic system against phantasy & its products, was simply unvelievable. Not only did they view with mistrust the theater but also the novel & ‘fiction’ in general had to suffer. (There is still a fair amount of contempt for the writer & reader of ‘fiction,’ which the german calls Romane – implying the romantic element in that product of art.) The Reverend Richard Baxter (mid 17th century) wrote in his Christian Directory, a passionate attack against novels.)

Already in decadent Rome, where a populace with a phantasy crippled through a megalopolitan way of life clamored for circenses, do we witness this decline of the imaginative & artistic faculties of a people. That process is today accelerated through the leveling tendencies in general education & the increasingly technical & collective methods of production. The average man from the nonindustrial world (South Italian, American Indian, Arabian, Persian, Ruthene, Slovakian, etc), is often unable to read or write, yet he is self-sufficient & can be independent of the artificial forms of megalopolitan amusement because he can sing or produce poems, carve wood, paint or compose; he is able to invent new fairy tales, to weave, to stitch, or to play an instrument; he is often a good conversationalist & his humor has roots without being derived from half a dozen funny papers; as a peasant he has a deep organic connection with nature & as a craftsman he can be a true artist, using all his personality to create objects of art. The craftsmen of Ur, Shinar, Lagash or Babylon had undoubtedly greater satisfaction with their finished products than the workers in Henry Ford’s River Rouge plant – in spite of the fact that the Ford worker can read & write (in order to send telegrams & read ads). Yet the workers of Detroit contribute less to literature than the Old Karelians who in spite of their illiteracy produced the “Kalevala.” *It is even highly probable that all the great European epics were composed by illiterates* & only later on recorded
.

The decline of phantasy naturally engenders a decrease in the manifoldness of forms, because all new combinations (inventions) are nothing else but “Castles in Spain” brought to reality. (“…All the great things on this earth begin with a dream . ‘Woe to him who has never dreamt,’ it has been written. One does not rise to heaven without passing through the clouds.” ~ Gustave Thibon, Etudes Carmelitaines)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvDp4chZMt8

The terrifying lack of phantasy is also the reason for the imitative urge in our modern American civilization & thew predominance of monotony in the industrial centers. (Willian Dean Howell in his *Criticism & Fiction* (new York, 1891) attacked phantasy as an “aristocratic” vice. “Democracy” in his opinion is bound to “realism.”) This decline can only be measured by comparison with phantasy (& intellectual-artistic production) prior to ochlocracy, mass immigration, & industrialization. Hardly is there anywhere in the United States a church possessing originality which has been built after 1840. (This is typically “Protestant” limitation as the North European development of ecclesiastic styles stopped with the reformation. Neither did Catholic architects have enough courage to build modern churches. An imitation gothic church is not a sufficient or efficient challenge to pagan modernity. Modern art nust be either destroyed or “baptized” & it can only be destroyed if we provide a living alternative.) The houses of God are usually misplaced gothic or Romanesque imitations squeezed in between dismal railway stations or surging skyscrapers. It is evenmore shocking to see the abortive efforts of town planning, or the utopian habit of naming streets after mere numbers or letters. A cultured man cannot possibly live in room 6489 on the 64th floor of a house on the corner of 109th Street & 10th Avenue. This may be fitting for one of the unfortunate creatures in Huxley’s *Brave New World* but not for man created in the image of God.

We have touched already the problem of the child of technical civilization who is unable to amuse himself alone. Most English people suffer from the same shortrcoming. Conversation is almost out of question. The South or East European (or the Central & South American) on the other hand is still able to sit & to talk or even to be silent & to look for hours thoughtfully into the sky. Not so the product of the technical world; he needs his artificial clubs & his very amusement is provided by an elaborate & expensive industry; this amusement industry is of an astounding manifoldness, it comprises not only Coney Island & Playland, but also the whole legion of trashy magazines full of sex, crime & financial success, & – last not least – the movies, this serialized production of daydreams. Even England has an average of 17 million “picture goers” weekly in peacetimes; on Albion’s green island relatively good seats can be obtained for as little as fifteen cents in out of town cinemas for double-feature performances. Here the little man after the day’s miseries is received by a smart-looking gentleman in a tuxedo, usherettes with naked legs, & the sweetest fake smile, who accompany the “patron” to his upholstered seat where he receives consolation & forgetfulness.(The June, 1940, number of the American monthly *Screenland* brought an article entitled: “Satisfy Your Suppressed Desires at the Movies.” Thus the cinema is acknowledged as a clearinghouse for Freudian “complexes” & a repair shopfor defective personalities.) Drugged by the oscillating pictures our little man starts to identify himself with the hero. He, the little accountant in the button factory, who is suppressed & persecuted by his boss, his wife, his daughters, & his “friends,” now identifies himself with the athlete of Hollywood on the screen, who chokes the tigers with his bare fists. Similarly, the elderly working woman seated next to him identifies herself with the glamorous daughter of the millionaire who has only to give a languishing look in order to have ten men with sleek black hair & buccaneer moustaches at the beck of a finger. Then comes the awakening & the emptiness….

Yet the most important result of the shrinkage of phantasy is to be found in the lack of ability for religious metaphysical visualization. The decay of the imaginative faculty has in this field the most detrimental consequences. (“To romanticize is to give a higher sense to the common, to give the dignity of the unknown to the known, to touch with a ray of eternity all that is limited in time.” ~ Novalis) Eternal life, God & devil, the angels, the lives of the saints, Golgatha & the Resurection, the whole theistic *Weltanschauung* surpasses completely ethe faculties of the technical *homunculus,* who like the unfortunate Apostle Thomas only believes what he sees.” ~ The Menace of the Herd, Kuehnelt-Leddinn

“Wannagoforide?” She’s dancing, a dervish. Steppenwolf, here we come.