From our micro-copings to cultural absurdities

 'God' bless the comics and those with the gift of being cleverly articulate. They have taken the time and made handsome monetary careers from audiences who recognize and share their observations of the absurd. Unlike the modern existentialist authors, they don't bemoan the absurd state of affairs as they show how we psychologically compartmentalize those absurdities to mostly minimize their effects in our lives.

We regard the absurdities as part of the phenomenal topography of our existence. They are the embedded props that come with this stage of 'civilized existence'. Because it's a commonly shared aggravated fate with  others, we exist within the margins and spectrum of accommodation. Subconsciously, you know or now admit that we exist in a social psychological 'Stockholm Syndrome' within the existence of this time matrix.

 

I won't go into the emotional minutiae of these states than say how behavioral conditioning can be effective on a cultural , thus historical level. The historical effect would have its psychological (and possibly the collateral cognitive) consequences. That being the likely case any extension would be presumed to have embedded latent characteristics of the historical psychology (and resulting cognizance). From the short term efforts of such as Peter the Great of Russia, Stalin of the Communist Russia, Mao of the Chinese Communist Cultural Revolution, Pol Pot of the Campuchia 'Killing Fields', have shown that it takes generations of behavioral modification as were done to the First Nations People of North America, the African Slaves brought to the Americas for chattel slavery, or the cultural after math of the Mongol invasions for their to be an cultural accommodation, if not adaptation to the change in cultural behavior.

As can be learned by the 'Stars and Bars is going to Rise Again' strategy and rhetoric, that were the lingual inspiration, motivation, and guide for action of a determined few with the complicity of the disorganized and apathetic many, a viable-IF NOT POPULAR OR COMFORTING-counter-narrative can exist

 

Titillated -Over Stimulated psyche

 If you're posting things like this..

NOT THAT I TURN MY EYES AWAY IN DISGUST FROM SUCH OPTICAL CANDY,,

But what is also behind the celebration of the different forms of flesh is the last gasp of a humanity debased to these defiant gestures of tying to make some sort of connection that can be cherished.

 that exist across the cultural spectrum 

 to the point that positive thinking borders on the sociopathic nihilistic, that YOU, the autonomous individual can have your dreams and aspirations in the face of an premeditated deprivation of the many so a few can live in affluence and convenience

 

The over-stimulated psyche has been culturally nurtured that being a live is a license to have what you CAN, than what you should

Serially, 'Just passing through Dodge'

 JUST PASSING THROUGH DODGE..

 

We are distinguished NOT by our mundane commonalities but by the micro-idiosyncratic extremes and the historical outrages. For those are the markers of the untethered and unrestrained being. The Victorians had insight with the Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde depictions. Even Jack-the-Ripper was suggested to be from the Royal Family. 

      

Posting of our similarities and likenesses for 'Likes' is denial and avoidance with a strong implication of disingenuousness. Only our slavish herd tendencies and trends give the former proposition of 'likeness' any extrapolative confirmation.

Ohhhhh.. What we conceal in the camouflaged darkness of our thoughts! See the statistics of suicide and battery, which undermine the homogenous 'good-will intent' that we bandy about in the loose rhetoric of apologetics responding to the indicting criticisms.

From this false proposition of sameness, used by those seeking to set up some emotional cadre of support for themselves, there comes the social choreography of expectations that devolve into similar disingenuous gestures of teasing titillation, as a fetish, than as a realistic interchange of contemporaneous intent between two serious, not gesturing adults: something worth getting mentally and emotionally worked up about which is worth the price of reaching my hand down there.

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CONFESSIONS OF THE MANIC-MAD EMPEROR

 Confessions of the Manic-Mad Emperor Hank de-1st

August 15th 1970 , I was as high as a kite on my return walk down Howard Ave in New Haven's Hill Neighborhood nearing the corner of Congress Ave   (note the 'X' on the sw corner).

My brain was in celebration from the subjective perception of the joyous mood that had developed on the street-to the tune of 'Glad' from TRAFFIC's 'John Barleycorn Must Die' . At THAT moment I realized I had engaged a conversation with 'Me', 'Self', and 'I'-all having disagreements with each other. Awareness of this stunned me to the realization that I had gone into multi-polar personality insanity.  I asked myself, "What  can I do?". "Self" responded, "Do what ya gotta do. No time to wait on others to understand or be with you. Go ahead and begin what you must do with or without them.

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(Knowing my status with most of the people I knew,)

The DREAM for the RECORD

foreword

this is being told as an advisory for all those who intend to engage me so that you will know that my latitude of interest is focused on a particular outlook and i have little time for other considerations.

‘The dream’ tells about my relationship to my life and the people in it.

In the early winter of 1971-72 i had a dream that was so symbolic for the time, yet so encompassing of my lifetime going forward to this point that i have considered it my personal prophecy.

the dream begins with me at a chalet during cocktail hour.

The crowd that was there with me i sensed that i had known them or will have known them in my future.  There is the normal chatter that occurs at cocktail parties.

In my boredom i move away from the crowd in the room to take in the view of the scenery surrounding the chalet and the overview which the chalet commanded. as i looked out and down into the valley, i could see the pine and other deciduous trees giving a ‘green cathedral’ sacredness of nature to my view of the valley towards the body of water below. 

On the water, i saw a military cargo ships docking and disembarking troops. the troops were not of our nation’s military. the emblems i saw were foreign. 

i turned and re-entered the room, frantically relaying what i had seen. Because i had been by reputation a notorious, hard-driving-to-obnoxious, maniac of unconventional thoughts and opinions, what i was trying to warn was ignored and discounted. I saw what i saw, and i had done my due diligence to those for whom i had, at the least, an ethical, if not moral duty.

(Besides that, i had separated myself from that room and people because of their shallow-to-mindless banter of posturing, profiling, and signifying for each other with very little of proof-committed substance to their blatherings).

I took off from them to save myself from what was sure to be a capture and slaughter by the ‘enemy’ troops disembarking down by the water.

i entered the woods running as far as i could get from the chalet. i could feel my chest heaving and gasping for breath and my legs laboring in their out of shape status to take me away. the adrenalin of fear gave me the stamina and strength to keep going. shortly into my run i could hear the sounds of heavy vehicles and light, motorcycle-type vehicles coming closer and stopping.

 I heard shouting, shots being fired, screams, then silence. the chalet had been stormed and ‘subdued’. in a bit of paradoxical, laughing regret and cynicism; i thought SARCASTICALLY to myself, ‘there goes ‘the BEST AND THE BRIGHTEST!’. 

i continued to run, hoping i could go further than the troops would be searching. my hopes were in vain. i heard the ignitions of the trucks and light vehicles starting up and some were headed my way. i ran with more urgency, feeling my heart pounding with fear. soon, i heard voices and the barking of dogs. they had picked up my scent. if i could get to a place to get them off my track. no luck. they came upon me and encircled me with vehicles, men, and dogs. i was a goner but was not going to surrender.

I let them approach close enough to be within arms’ length to grab me, but i grabbed one of them and with unknown and unpracticed skill i fended or killed off the troops and dogs in a way bruce lee would smile in envious admiration.   

with this batch dispatched, i returned to my run away from any possible capture.

The trail wound and curved to the edge of a big lake. i was moving along the shoreline looking for a means to cross the lake. 

   

 i heard a rustling of a person approaching along the path to my front. it was a biblical looking person with a look of gravitas on his face. 

     he told me to wait for someone to take me across. i intuitively trusted his words and leaned against a tree and slid down to rest on the ground to take in the lake view.

[end of dream]

the dream as ‘lived’ in my viewing was even more dramatic than my attempts of narration here. i considered it significant and ambiguously symbolic of a projection of my relationships with the mind-sets of the people of new haven connecticut, circa dec. ‘71 to feb. ‘72.  I was incredulous about this exhortation and began what would be my 'kicking and screaming'  

​ of excuses for not committing to it.   

After the Army and seeing such self-absorbed, material disinterest to any of the credo I would be advocating or demonstrating with the people I had encountered, I went along to get along until I had two dreams around 29 years. The first had 'God'

on his throne           on top of the hill at the junction of Harvard Pl & Westmoreland Ave . Even worse, he was peering into my eyes, knowing what jack-off thoughts of dirt-old-man depravity I was thinking! That broke up my sleep.

Soon there after I had the dream of me walking home from work, and I was on my street, Cambridge, and was hearing the news of a Tsunami that had originated of the coast of Japan and was heading to crash into the California coast, making Nevada our west coast  , plus knocking out the electrical grid for the entire country with the subsequent aftershocks.

By the time I reached the house the news was over so I went downtown to the corner of Jefferson and Salina to get a paper from the news stand there.

 I picked up a NY Daily News    and they had made their front page a large font editorial that replaced the normal pic there. The editorial lamented that none of the promotional TV ministers of re-known could do anything to stop the catastrophe just when SOMEONE was needed to intercede with 'God'.

Weeeellllll... Yours and my Hero,' the Man with a Million Moves and not ONE fucking one right', JUST HAPPENED to be the guy, from my past encounters with serendipity and synchronicity. BUT I had been the fuck-off for the past four years since I it seemed there was no interest or urgency by anyone or for me to do more than show up and be alive and materialistically striving everyday. I took that dream as a warning alarm, and I began my path back to where I had been in my studies at Yale   and the related post undergrad experiences.

Four or Five years later a kid called 'Gabe' (Gabriel??) said he had something I might want to read and gave me the paperback edition of the Bhagavad Gita. When I read it and got to the parts on karma yoga (existential duty)  

​ 

and 'individual imperative duty'   .

 

That gave me focus, though I wasn't still convinced. Though in the fall of 1985, my incidental writing during the short stint of my law school brought on the first articulation I would name as the ‘Cosmic Religion’. It was the rhetorical progenitor to this work, in that my orientation was no longer temporally-centered. I saw that I was a conduit for a willful energy source whose agency was manifest by me as a sign of its presence.

In 1996, I wandered down to Corpus Christi TX, merely because the name of the town was translated 'the Body of Christ'. While there I tried to rekindle relations with an old flame from New Haven that went back to that day of the walk towards Howard & Congress Avenues. Having given no thought that she 'had a life' she was living with not a thought for 'the fool believing-me'

I wrote the letter that received a merciless put-down. OFCOURSE, crestfallen to shame I manned-up, took the slap-down stoically to bed and sleep. During the sleep I dreamed I was in a wooded glen sitting on a log when u pops an angel with the face of Carol Camenga. The angel asks me 'How ya doin'?' I shrug my shoulders, nod and say, staring at her, 'I'm OK'. The angel give me an incredulous look and says, 'You men! Always trying to act brave.' She kisses me on the cheek and the dream ends. I marvel at the morale-boosting of that dream and how the mind comes to the aid of the conscious.

WELL.... Later that day I THOUGHT I was supposed to be at a wake. I show up there, but don't see anyone recognizable at this gathering of Mexican Hispanics at a seeming memorial for some tragic death. After searching the INSIDES of the brochure I had picked up and finding no familiar names, I closed the brochure and saw the front of it for the first time        , the image was showing the same juxtaposition that I had with  the angel in the dream the night before. THAT confirmed everything and I was no longer kicking and screaming as I had been doing for the past 26 years.

Other life events had unfolded: the draft, the army, civilian life-military life revolving cycles, end of active duty, end of marriages, black sheepdom-ostracism by family, solitude & renewal, new adventures, new life admonishment, depression attack-then cancer surgery, new renewals, resolution, and adventures, release from military commitment at the attainment of military retirement points, the rhetorical liberation to speak in criticism of the civilian and military leadership, the engaging with the counter-politics who were against the b.s. of the nation’s and the states’ capitals.

There were the continuing timely serendipities and synchronicities of interjections in events, such as dumb misfortunes I had brought on myself, inflicting what would be for others severe employment and income dislocations. For me the serendipitous occurrences provided surreally fortuitous relief from these personal calamities I had created the fulfilling pattern-of-events of ‘the dream’ and its propheticness.

From there I developed by experience and attitude to the 'dark angel' misanthrope   who thinks in terms of cynical Jeremiah lamentations about naivete and populist ignorance, since the Peeps are very much like I was before my reckoning with all myselves on that Saturday of 15 August. The difference between me and most of them, I have entertained the possibility of the improbable as possible and have been open-minded to serendipity and synchronicity to be more that what I had been giving lip-service to being 'Better lucky than morally good'..

I KNOW I'm no more moral than anyone, but I have been damn, fortuitously lucky as far a series of timely engagements with ideas and people showing up..

The idea of ‘this isn’t for me’ or, ‘ohhh, i’ll leave it to the next person or to some divine intercessor’  is not in the cards for me. i am on the hour glass to ‘do what i can do, in the most conscientious (and now efficient) manner possible. don’t excuse me for what i may do towards you but be forewarned if you cross my path, i will cut you no slack for inconsistencies i perceive in your actions to your declarations. like stink or flies on shit, or like white-on-rice: i’ll be at you like grant was to lee-holding the line of conflict until one of our arguments fail us into a submission.

This is prime time, for mature adults only! don’t get pissed. take care of the business of your declarations and assertions, and you’ll be fine with this person ‘on-the-hourglass’.

Joe Harpo, de Emperor  

‘the Being with a million moves and not one fucking one right,

by his own will!