Perspective appreciated Jeff, but I gotta press that weight perpendicularly away from my manly CS Lewis chest & the collected accumulation of experiences, insights & syntheses it holds.
Professions of fealty (to the usual suspects & their aspects) are the faulty me once, twice, ad infinitum - because learning isn’t optional, & not learning is even more not optional.
The Word/s, & the performance “art” of it/hose, intoxicate-propel rooked pawns into Bishop’s Rat Pack position set to an all knight Queen soundtrack to/for/by The King (&, of course, all that messaging is approved by the Colonel Tom Parker behind the throne) forever & ever, amen.
(Daniel Amen has the brain scans. Just ask him. He’ll assert.)
But when pathological susceptibility to an intoxicant is so broadly common in a population, it is “democratically” cogdis alchemized into gold; it is rendered natural - which it actually is, was, will forever be - & “therefore” healthy - which it manifestly & prima facie isn’t, & will never be.
Chess … & men without chests … is a sanitized game of murder-suicide.
The stuff of suspension of disbelief dreams, the dream-stuffing, the dream-stuffed, is the raw material that dream-weavers fashion into emperor’s robes straitjackets & papoose-slings.
A fraternity of Weaver-assassins, can you believe it?
I remember Johnny Lang being PR lauded as “The New Stevie Ray Vaughan.” Shameless.
But JL’s overwrought performance of “Lie To Me” is a perfect confession of the obsession to deny & disallow secession: the union preceded the states & Borg-Matrices billionaires/trillionaires techno-fascist sociopaths concede nothing to mere “individuals” en masse who have “Lie To Me” booming on perma-loop off the cranial cathedral-vaults that encase their overwrought pre-recorded brains.
(Wannabe Big Kahunas is where Big Bangs originate…those hope the reverb will reap residual revenue forever & ever, amen. Ya’ll will own nuthin’ but subscriptions & remain happily fully subscribed forever & ever is the new & final amen/dment to the con•stitution - & resistance is futile you damned Whisky Rebels! Saith my name is Alex Ozymandias Hamilton, king of kings, look on my works & despair ye mighty!)
Suspension of disbelief is the featured weevil in the flour, not a bug that needs any encouragement.
And that’s the purpose, the reason for, the motivation behind, tech: manipulation of the meat.
Tech 1.0 was that old time religion. Captured imagination is indistinguishable from magic in the captured imagination.
Subsequent tech iterations served to magic-enchant ~ & murder ~ ever more efficiently.
And so of course the artificial intelligence that conceived murder-suicide into a game of/by/for the big-brained got around to AI chessboards 🎶When the men on the chessboard Get up and tell you where to go🎶
Many thanks, as always, for your typically insightful (and entertaining) comment, Andy.
Agreed that the weevil in the flour needs no encouragement once he's in the flour. But new dreams are harder and harder to come by in the age of ultra 8K HD by the boatload, and everyone claims to be on a low-gluten diet these days anyway.
That said, the suspension of disbelief and the suspension of critical thought are not the same thing, and it would seem at first blush that critical thought and the suspension of disbelief cannot coexist. But they do. Indeed, the suspension of disbelief is critical to the exercise of critical thought. The weevil in the flour is the prophet in our dreams...
Thanks Jeff. You’re a good sport. And, as you might agree, the darpanet seems to have grown bumper crops of bad sports …or, more likely, revealed that humongous fungus among us … that I say has, in fact, always been among us.
Couple things.
Long before I heard about GRAS (generally recognized as safe) or FDA’s bug parts (among other things) permissions-to-leaven-sir-yes-sir! the food I noticed that weevils came in the flour straight from the factory - like crunchy little baked goods airbags you didn’t order, same as the ones you didn’t order in your car - that you paid for just the same.
(You will own nothing! But you will be billed!)
(If it’s got electrolocation, a beaver’s tail, a duck’s bill, lays eggs, is venomous, & a mammal, then “what you got ain’t nuthin’ new” ~ No Country For Old Men ~ its a duck-billed platypus & it, like roaches & their parts in your supper, was too well-adaptable to go extinct way back when.)
Or the factory artists’ studio.
“We all” have noticed that the “food” trojan horse artifice has gotten so humongous it hides more “warfighters” in its hollowness than live “behind the walls” of Troy.
My “solve” for squirming flour is Ted William’s head’s solve for mortality: I keep it in the freezer. Cryotherapy plus hot oven, A Song of Fire & Ice here in Game of Thrones world, where Winter’s Always Coming.
Matthew Stewart’s Nature’s God: The Heretical Origins of the American Republic was such a chewy read I know I should get & read the rest of his stuff, too.
Stewart doesn’t say it, not in so many words, or he might say I am a ventriloquist projecting words into & back out of his authorial mouth, but he goes dense-deep on the Deists - including the Sephardic one who I say should have a huge “S” on his chest, & a cape … Spinoza - particularly the more important, or more integral ones, that don’t garner all the usual trumpeting, & the verdict is clear:
For the rectitudinal rectors the “D” stands for deism. But for the ones that get all the hagiography the “D” stands for Duck (You Suckers)-Billed Platypussies.
“The Deists” used “The Christians” to supplant the Brit king.
Zionism doesn’t come up in its own term, but that zinger, spoken or not, continues to be the barbed hook in the mouths of too many of “the faithful.”
The net-net of all these scooped up net-fulls - all of them - is deep red ink negative.
It doesn’t take ventriloquism to see that, say that.
The weevils can’t be got out of the flour. And the devil’s workshop is a bakery.
And then I saw her face, now I’m a believer, not a trace of doubt in my mind: I’m in love, I’m a believer, I couldn’t leave her if I tried 🎶 ~ The (see/hear/speak no evil) Monkees
Believers are bullets in the belief-monger gun. And bullets in guns are as hands in gloves.
And belief-bullets don’t “leave her” until the belief-mongers pull triggers.
This is a danse macabre.
What it flashes like, this constantly exploding & reverberating discharge of an offensive self/other “I want to believe” (Fox Mulder, X-Files) weapon, is the apparently disconcerting disconnection of having it “too good” by people who don’t think - having instead substituted mere belief - they deserve it.
I don’t believe this is my own, singular, life, so round (me up) chamber me & drop that firing pin hammer!
Two classic examples of this are:
The war veteran who survives to (you can never) come home again (despite Little Giddings goadings), but all his buddies died “over there.” & here come the why-me guilts - “why did I survive & not them?”
(One of the players in Double Trouble asked the camera shouldn’t he have been on that helo with SRV, too?)
The regular-ized, normal, person that plays the lottery for years, hits, can’t get rid of the “winnings” fast enough & destroy themselves, too - often with more than a little help from their “friends/family.”
(When you started off with nothing
And you're proud that you're a self-made man
And your friends they all come crawling
Slap you on the back and say
Please
Please ~ Stuck In The Middle With You - Stealers Wheel)
Pop psych will pull self-esteem weeds all day, forever, to label this authoritatively & fuel their therapy-gig thereby.
But it is just human condition, nature of the beast, flour-feature-not-bug. Which means could say that the flour is just a covering disguise.
Also too many choices-cooks in the kitchen stuff is “ironically” the dream/weaver stuff that, instead of from-scratch, merely short-cuts to twisting packaged cookie halves apart & incisor-scraping the “sweet” stuff off & swallowing it down.
What we got here is a failure to communicate-nutrition.
Perspective appreciated Jeff, but I gotta press that weight perpendicularly away from my manly CS Lewis chest & the collected accumulation of experiences, insights & syntheses it holds.
Professions of fealty (to the usual suspects & their aspects) are the faulty me once, twice, ad infinitum - because learning isn’t optional, & not learning is even more not optional.
The Word/s, & the performance “art” of it/hose, intoxicate-propel rooked pawns into Bishop’s Rat Pack position set to an all knight Queen soundtrack to/for/by The King (&, of course, all that messaging is approved by the Colonel Tom Parker behind the throne) forever & ever, amen.
(Daniel Amen has the brain scans. Just ask him. He’ll assert.)
But when pathological susceptibility to an intoxicant is so broadly common in a population, it is “democratically” cogdis alchemized into gold; it is rendered natural - which it actually is, was, will forever be - & “therefore” healthy - which it manifestly & prima facie isn’t, & will never be.
Chess … & men without chests … is a sanitized game of murder-suicide.
The stuff of suspension of disbelief dreams, the dream-stuffing, the dream-stuffed, is the raw material that dream-weavers fashion into emperor’s robes straitjackets & papoose-slings.
A fraternity of Weaver-assassins, can you believe it?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edpEspHOeVU
I remember Johnny Lang being PR lauded as “The New Stevie Ray Vaughan.” Shameless.
But JL’s overwrought performance of “Lie To Me” is a perfect confession of the obsession to deny & disallow secession: the union preceded the states & Borg-Matrices billionaires/trillionaires techno-fascist sociopaths concede nothing to mere “individuals” en masse who have “Lie To Me” booming on perma-loop off the cranial cathedral-vaults that encase their overwrought pre-recorded brains.
(Wannabe Big Kahunas is where Big Bangs originate…those hope the reverb will reap residual revenue forever & ever, amen. Ya’ll will own nuthin’ but subscriptions & remain happily fully subscribed forever & ever is the new & final amen/dment to the con•stitution - & resistance is futile you damned Whisky Rebels! Saith my name is Alex Ozymandias Hamilton, king of kings, look on my works & despair ye mighty!)
Suspension of disbelief is the featured weevil in the flour, not a bug that needs any encouragement.
And that’s the purpose, the reason for, the motivation behind, tech: manipulation of the meat.
Tech 1.0 was that old time religion. Captured imagination is indistinguishable from magic in the captured imagination.
Subsequent tech iterations served to magic-enchant ~ & murder ~ ever more efficiently.
And so of course the artificial intelligence that conceived murder-suicide into a game of/by/for the big-brained got around to AI chessboards 🎶When the men on the chessboard Get up and tell you where to go🎶
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziP4yd0K89w
Punitiverse punters only want their big bang to be bigger than all the other punitiverse punters big bangs are.
Meet the new self/other-loathing meat, same as the old other/self-loathing meat.
***
Cool piece, & not just to the touch, that metal print.
Many thanks, as always, for your typically insightful (and entertaining) comment, Andy.
Agreed that the weevil in the flour needs no encouragement once he's in the flour. But new dreams are harder and harder to come by in the age of ultra 8K HD by the boatload, and everyone claims to be on a low-gluten diet these days anyway.
That said, the suspension of disbelief and the suspension of critical thought are not the same thing, and it would seem at first blush that critical thought and the suspension of disbelief cannot coexist. But they do. Indeed, the suspension of disbelief is critical to the exercise of critical thought. The weevil in the flour is the prophet in our dreams...
Thanks Jeff. You’re a good sport. And, as you might agree, the darpanet seems to have grown bumper crops of bad sports …or, more likely, revealed that humongous fungus among us … that I say has, in fact, always been among us.
Couple things.
Long before I heard about GRAS (generally recognized as safe) or FDA’s bug parts (among other things) permissions-to-leaven-sir-yes-sir! the food I noticed that weevils came in the flour straight from the factory - like crunchy little baked goods airbags you didn’t order, same as the ones you didn’t order in your car - that you paid for just the same.
(You will own nothing! But you will be billed!)
(If it’s got electrolocation, a beaver’s tail, a duck’s bill, lays eggs, is venomous, & a mammal, then “what you got ain’t nuthin’ new” ~ No Country For Old Men ~ its a duck-billed platypus & it, like roaches & their parts in your supper, was too well-adaptable to go extinct way back when.)
Or the factory artists’ studio.
“We all” have noticed that the “food” trojan horse artifice has gotten so humongous it hides more “warfighters” in its hollowness than live “behind the walls” of Troy.
My “solve” for squirming flour is Ted William’s head’s solve for mortality: I keep it in the freezer. Cryotherapy plus hot oven, A Song of Fire & Ice here in Game of Thrones world, where Winter’s Always Coming.
Matthew Stewart’s Nature’s God: The Heretical Origins of the American Republic was such a chewy read I know I should get & read the rest of his stuff, too.
Stewart doesn’t say it, not in so many words, or he might say I am a ventriloquist projecting words into & back out of his authorial mouth, but he goes dense-deep on the Deists - including the Sephardic one who I say should have a huge “S” on his chest, & a cape … Spinoza - particularly the more important, or more integral ones, that don’t garner all the usual trumpeting, & the verdict is clear:
For the rectitudinal rectors the “D” stands for deism. But for the ones that get all the hagiography the “D” stands for Duck (You Suckers)-Billed Platypussies.
“The Deists” used “The Christians” to supplant the Brit king.
Zionism doesn’t come up in its own term, but that zinger, spoken or not, continues to be the barbed hook in the mouths of too many of “the faithful.”
The net-net of all these scooped up net-fulls - all of them - is deep red ink negative.
It doesn’t take ventriloquism to see that, say that.
The weevils can’t be got out of the flour. And the devil’s workshop is a bakery.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfAkrWQ-0NQ
And then I saw her face, now I’m a believer, not a trace of doubt in my mind: I’m in love, I’m a believer, I couldn’t leave her if I tried 🎶 ~ The (see/hear/speak no evil) Monkees
Believers are bullets in the belief-monger gun. And bullets in guns are as hands in gloves.
And belief-bullets don’t “leave her” until the belief-mongers pull triggers.
This is a danse macabre.
What it flashes like, this constantly exploding & reverberating discharge of an offensive self/other “I want to believe” (Fox Mulder, X-Files) weapon, is the apparently disconcerting disconnection of having it “too good” by people who don’t think - having instead substituted mere belief - they deserve it.
I don’t believe this is my own, singular, life, so round (me up) chamber me & drop that firing pin hammer!
Two classic examples of this are:
The war veteran who survives to (you can never) come home again (despite Little Giddings goadings), but all his buddies died “over there.” & here come the why-me guilts - “why did I survive & not them?”
(One of the players in Double Trouble asked the camera shouldn’t he have been on that helo with SRV, too?)
The regular-ized, normal, person that plays the lottery for years, hits, can’t get rid of the “winnings” fast enough & destroy themselves, too - often with more than a little help from their “friends/family.”
(When you started off with nothing
And you're proud that you're a self-made man
And your friends they all come crawling
Slap you on the back and say
Please
Please ~ Stuck In The Middle With You - Stealers Wheel)
Pop psych will pull self-esteem weeds all day, forever, to label this authoritatively & fuel their therapy-gig thereby.
But it is just human condition, nature of the beast, flour-feature-not-bug. Which means could say that the flour is just a covering disguise.
Also too many choices-cooks in the kitchen stuff is “ironically” the dream/weaver stuff that, instead of from-scratch, merely short-cuts to twisting packaged cookie halves apart & incisor-scraping the “sweet” stuff off & swallowing it down.
What we got here is a failure to communicate-nutrition.
Communitritional deficiencies?
It takes a lot more suspension of disbelief to buy the Big Bang than it does the existence of a universal consciousness that created the universe.
Thanks for your comment, Vonu. No argument from me: something had to create the Big Bang...
The universe didn't come from a mass the size of the head of a pin.