Why I hate philosophy (but always come crawling back like a scared little girl)

It seems that debates over the logical conclusions resulting from logical conclusions have been centering around "postmodernism"-- whatever that means. As far as I see it, western rationalism interprets reality in an order somewhat resembling:

1. Biological recognition through sensation: hear, touch, feel, get burned!
2. Immediate "emotional" categorization-- assign the perception to one of two places: pay attention and remember or ignore.
3. OH i'm bored and lazy already. Lets skip a few steps.
4. Rationalism identifies the true nature of reality: nothing has objective value. Objective value is an illusion placed on an object/idea/behavior/etc. by the valuer. Value does exist, however it is determined by the limits of a system which are invented by a particular frame of consciousness. The limits of a frame of consciousness result from: survival necessity (nature), intrinsic artistic beauty (some bastard child of the survival necessity), and *eh em* nurture (for god sakes, I love E.T. no matter how sentimental I know it is. I love Reeses Pieces too). Sometimes value is shared by groups of people, sometimes not. (as a side note, I'm convinced that most "agreements" are a result of miscommunication. If spoken/written language was nearly as precise as our pure thoughts are, we would find that the subtleties of difference are humongous. But who knows, really?)
5. In other words, pure rationalism = nihilism.
5(a). Nihilism sucks.
6. Postmodernism says there is no objective value because we all place our own value on things. But even this observation has no objective value. The value of looking at things objectively is also an illusion. In a strange turn of events, postmodernism says to the observer/academic/gaunt cynic from the underground: Hello!! are you going to be part of the human race or are you just going to translate experience into an incredibly inefficient language of "if this, then that."
7. Rationalism, when not taken to its ultimate logical conclusion, is a mystical wonder that brings us buggies without horses and self-cooling houses and theories and berries* and cherries* (*all spoken with mid-western accent)
8. Rationalism, when taken to its logical conclusion, is a bitch that ignores the cries of her only child because, well... why not?


I hate philosophy because it teases a human out of their humanity. But once the human has entered that cold, naked place, oh how greatful they are for their fickle desires and senseless appreciations of beauty which require no philosophy to experience, but a shit load to explain.

But when there's not enough manual labor in one's life, they tend towards "higher things" and in our limitless boredom, we indulge in intellectualism like me on sour skittles... and eventually the tastebuds are burnt out and everything tastes like hurting.

Of course, I'm completely wrong about all of this. I'm generalizing, and incredibly lazy in my approach. I'm even indulging. Not to mention hypocritical.

Blah.

Animal Collective is totally awesome

While filling my daily quota of procrastination via web surfing, I decided to look into a band recommended to me a while back. Animal Collective is a quartet from... I'm just gonna copy and paste the description from R5 productions:

The Brooklyn-based modern folk group comprised of DEKAN, GEOLGIST, AVEY TARE and PANDA BEAR under their ANIMAL COLLECTIVE moniker. Built around the AVEY TARE and PANDA BEARS gorgeous harmonic vocals and twin acoustic guitar strumming, the group moves from chiming acoustic guitar songs to gentler, more dispersed picked ballads to sprawling, guitar-swell psychedelics, bubbling, acid-warped vocal effects, and tribal, almost shamanic trance-outs based around looping vocals and hypnotic kick-pulses. Influences range from the Holy Modal Rounders to Simon & Garfunkel, Syd Barrett, the Beach Boys, the Incredible String Band, Brazilian tropicalia, Gilberto Gil, Milton Nasciemento, Black Dice, and beyond. Sweet melodies, big catchy hooks, and a ton of focus and personality.

After listening to a few of their tracks (which are posted on the R5 site) I totally had one of those they beat me to it moments. Now I'm going to wallow in my own creative hollows while soaking in those AC melodies, flickering back and forth between real time and... .. .

To know us is to know our music

I'm not sure why, but lately I've been experiencing some circular thinking regarding the communicative powers of music. When I expose a friend to Messiaen or Bach for the first time, my hands burst into the air and I say, "he was trying to communicate his thoughts on God-- his deepest spiritual philosophies... isn't it interesting that a man so religious... who could have chosen to preach or write essays... chose music as the method?"

I've also stopped composing for the most part. Or... well, I'm composing, but lets not get into that project. Instead, I'm playing free-improvised music as a way to explore and connect. And I've been completely amazed and grateful to have found a connection to some kind of earthly root, where my reptile brain is given opportunity to say something, and holy shit! It's beautiful!

These experiences have motivated me to explore my "world music" collection which includes mostly gamelan, east and west african music, and some indian ragas. In tribal conditions, music served a very spiritual purpose. And as I explore my own improvising inclinations more and more, and I am noticing similarities to tribal music. How interesting. And now, although I'm certainly guilty of imposing my will to some extent, even Bach, Messiaen, Scriabin, and Alkan are relating to this tribal music. There is a sense of obsession to texture, timbre, and repetition. There is a sense of surrendering.

THEN... I somehow had the urge to look up the Voyager golden record. You remember, the one that was shot off to space so that aliens light years away can learn about our beautiful planet and diversity of life, behavior, and ultimately culture and art. The record included audio excerpts of animal sounds as well as sound of the earth like rain and wind. Also included were examples of music from cultures around the world. Bach prelude in C major was the only piece I knew for sure was included since I remember it being referenced in Thirty-Two Short Films about Glenn Gould. But what else was included? What did the panel decide? What mix-tape was fit for intergalactic travel?

* Bach, Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F. First Movement, Munich Bach Orchestra, Karl Richter, conductor. 4:40
* Java, court gamelan, "Kinds of Flowers", recorded by Robert E. Brown. 4:43
* Senegal, percussion, recorded by Charles Duvelle. 2:08
* Zaire, Pygmy girls' initiation song, recorded by Colin Turnbull. 0:56
* Australia, Aborigine songs, "Morning Star" and "Devil Bird", recorded by Sandra LeBrun Holmes. 1:26
* Mexico, "El Cascabel", performed by Lorenzo Barcelata and the Mariachi México. 3:14
* "Johnny B. Goode", written and performed by Chuck Berry. 2:38
* New Guinea, men's house song, recorded by Robert MacLennan. 1:20
* Japan, shakuhachi, "Tsuru No Sugomori" ("Crane's Nest") performed by Goro Yamaguchi. 4:51
* Bach, "Gavotte en rondeaux" from the Partita No. 3 in E major for Violin, performed by Arthur Grumiaux. 2:55
* Mozart, Die Zauberflöte, Queen of the Night aria, no. 14. Edda Moser, soprano. Bavarian State Opera, Munich, Wolfgang Sawallisch, conductor. 2:55
* Georgian S.S.R., chorus, "Tchakrulo", collected by Radio Moscow. 2:18
* Peru, panpipes and drum, collected by Casa de la Cultura, Lima. 0:52
* "Melancholy Blues", performed by Louis Armstrong and his Hot Seven. 3:05
* Azerbaijan S.S.R., bagpipes, recorded by Radio Moscow. 2:30
* Stravinsky, Rite of Spring, Sacrificial Dance, Columbia Symphony Orchestra, Igor Stravinsky, conductor. 4:35
* Bach, The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1, Prelude and Fugue in C, No.1. Glenn Gould, piano. 4:48
* Beethoven, Fifth Symphony, First Movement, the Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, conductor. 7:20
* Bulgaria, "Izlel je Delyo Hagdutin", sung by Valya Balkanska. 4:59
* Navajo Indians, Night Chant, recorded by Willard Rhodes. 0:57
* Holborne, Paueans, Galliards, Almains and Other Short Aeirs, "The Fairie Round", performed by David Munrow and the Early Music Consort of London. 1:17
* Solomon Islands, panpipes, collected by the Solomon Islands Broadcasting Service. 1:12
* Peru, wedding song, recorded by John Cohen. 0:38
* China, ch'in, "Flowing Streams", performed by Kuan P'ing-hu. 7:37
* India, raga Bhairavi, "Jaat Kahan Ho", sung by Surshri Kesar Bai Kerkar. 3:30
* "Dark Was the Night", written and performed by Blind Willie Johnson. 3:15
* Beethoven, String Quartet No. 13 in B flat, Opus 130, Cavatina, performed by Budapest String Quartet. 6:37

Phew. Boy is that controversial. Was there really room for multiple examples from a single mind? Beethoven shows up twice, Bach thrice!

This begs the obvious, glorious question. What music would you send to space? Personally, I am one to first consider the purpose. This aspect of the record was created to inform alien intelligent life of our humanity through music. Surely Beethoven and Bach deserve a spot, but I hardly find it reasonable to give them more than a track. If Western European music deserves more time, what about the great melodies? Certainly melody was under-represented. Hmmm... and which melodies are worthy of intergalactic travel? Puccini? Gershwin? Tchaikovsky?

While the webpage loads...

In keeping with my theme of short and incredibly useful posts, I present this: How to exercise while sitting at your computer.

The Ecstatic Gospel According to the Internal Truth

I may be (unofficially) the resident Chroma Polaris performer in the city of Philadelphia. Come check us out. I'm tellin ya, it's freakin hot.

We're working on names for the trio (Chroma Polaris, Accordian, and Percussion) before September's tour.

Bubble Raga

sleep on it

speaking of not enough time

The veins standing out in David's hands show Michelangelo's physiological accuracy of a person in pre-fight stance.

On Expression, Criticism, Humility, Humor, etc.

...Others for Language all their Care express,
And value Books, as Women Men, for Dress:
Their Praise is still — The Stile is excellent:
The Sense, they humbly take upon Content.
Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound,
Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
False Eloquence, like the Prismatic Glass,
Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev'ry place;
The Face of Nature was no more Survey,
All glares alike, without Distinction gay:
But true Expression, like th' unchanging Sun,
Clears, and improves whate'er it shines upon,
It gilds all Objects, but it alters none.
Expression is the Dress of Thought, and still
Appears more decent as more suitable;
A vile Conceit in pompous Words exprest,
Is like a Clown in regal Purple drest;
For diff'rent Styles with diff'rent Subjects sort,
As several Garbs with Country, Town, and Court.
Some by Old Words to Fame have made Pretence;
Ancients in Phrase, meer Moderns in their Sense!
Such labour'd Nothings, in so strange a Style,
Amaze th'unlearn'd, and make the Learned Smile...

...A smudging from Alexander Pope's An Essay on Criticism

Rosebud...

Orson Welles is one of the most inventive, influential, and tragic heros of the 20th century. His genius was unchallenged from his teens until his 20s, and by the time he was 24 RKO Pictures gave him the most progressive- trusting in the vision of the artist instead of the members of the board- contract Hollywood had yet to see. With this power and influence, and unchecked vision, Welles made Citizen Kane (did I say he was 24!?).

But the poor bastard was called a Communist and blacklisted from Hollywood. He grew fat and drunk, and eventually made a living doing voice-overs for scotch and frozen peas. Ah, the frozen peas. A legend in its time. Orson's famous voice-over for a british based advertising agency is one of the finest moments of comedy resulting from genius vs. underlings. Orson belittles the producers and writers and eventually becomes so frustrated with the writing and direction that he walks out of the recording session. As mean spirited as it... becomes... I can't help but sympathize. How lonely he must be in this land of refined perceptions. Some of my favorite moments:

That doesn't make any sense. Sorry. There's no known way of saying an English sentence in which you begin a sentence with "in" and emphasize it. Get me a jury and show me how you can say "In July" and I'll go down on you. That's just idiotic, if you'll forgive me by saying so. That's just stupid... "In July"; I'd love to know how you emphasize "In" in "In July". Impossible! Meaningless!

You don't know what I'm up against. Because it's full of, of, of things that are only correct because they're grammatical, but they're tough on the ear, you see. This is a very wearying one. It's unpleasant to read. Unrewarding. "Because Findus freeze the cod at sea, and then add a crumb-crisp" Ooh, "crumb-crisp coating." Ahh, that's tough, "crumb-crisp coating." I think, no, because of the way it's written, you need to break it up, because it's not, it's not as conversationally written.

I spend... twenty times more for you people than any other commercial I've ever made. You are such pests! Now what is it you want? In your... depths of your ignorance, what is it you want? Whatever it is you want, I can't deliver, 'cause I just don't see it.

It wasn't until I heard this clip that I realized Orson Welles was the inspiration for the voice of The Brain from Pinky and The Brain. Wow... that makes it even more entertaining... BTW, what crap are people watching now that Anamaniacs are off the air?

You can listen to the whole clip here.

You Have Been Chosen

So gmail provided an interesting link in the advertisement section next to the body of a recent e-mail. I typed a short message of concern for a friend, "I hope everything is alright. I know you're busy, but let me know how you're doing when you get the time."

Gmail uses an ingenious algorithym which scans the words of an e-mail for clues which generate the most appropriate advertising links. Apparently this system is one of the worlds most advanced methods of gathering and organizing information.

Next to the body of my concerned e-mail, I couldn't help but notice what Gmail concluded from my two sentences of concern. A single, lonely link was posted: Desperate?

The word, colored in blue hypertext font strangely reminded me of an Alice in Wonderland trip ---take the blue pill--- but you can never return.

Desperate?
Surrounded by troubles?
Overcome by problems?
If you want to see how to save a hopeless situation,
See below

I was only mildly surprised that there was no obvious place to click and send money. What are they selling? Drugs? Books? Videos?

But I went along reading, down a small ladder of logic that was designed to make the reader feel as though their pains are common to most humans.

I often wondered why I respond to a situation the way I respond. Interestingly, I have responded to the same event in different ways at different times, to the extent that one response can be opposite to the previous response. Why?

I have searched for answers. Nothing seems to be final, but I think it is something to do with my beliefs. If my belief about the situation changes, my response changes, even if the situation is the same.

Very systematic...

Why do I choose to believe the way I believe? Most times it is based on experience of the same type of situation in the past and whether it was beneficial to me.

To believe one way or to believe another way is merely a decision based on my belief at that point in time.

Why do I believe what I believe? Because I decide to do so. Making a choice is a decision. I can choose to decide I no longer believe in what I used to believe in. I can choose to believe in something else, even the opposite.

Can I believe in anything? Yes, I merely decide to believe in it.
Am I free to decide to believe in anything? I believe I am free to do so.
I believe that any belief is only one decision away.

Of course this gets to the nature of the question: what is belief?

Belief is created through reasoning and perception whether consciously or unconsciously. The idea that one can choose what to believe is surely a curious position. It stands that if one chooses what to believe, then human reason must have the ability to compartmentalize. For instance, one could reason that all reality is simply temporary beliefs, or an acceptance that patterns will continue uninterrupted until proven otherwise, at which time the belief changes to include the new patterns. But one could also reason that basing one's idea of reality on ever changing beliefs creates an unstable environment which may make one uncomfortable. Since a human may strive for comfort, it is reasonable that one may choose to believe in a steady, unchanging reality in order to maximize comfort and therefore productivity, health, etc.

This is a case in which reason provides two very opposite conclusions once compartimentalized to include the benefits to the one doing the reasoning.

Notice the brilliant encoding of the writer's position in the last few lines highlighted. "Can I believe in anything? Yes, I merely decide to believe in it. Am I free to decide to believe in anything? I believe I am free to do so. I believe that any belief is only one decision away.

The suggestion is that one could take advantage of the maleable nature of belief. The structure of the essay has so far been:

1. Are you depressed? It is likely due to your outlook.
2. Your outlook is based on a system of beliefs.
3. Although beliefs are created through reason, it is compartimentalized reason.
4. The choices you make will adjust the outcome of your reason.

This begs the obvious question. What is one choosing from?

1. Feel good.
2. Feel bad.

Suppose I tell you a fantastic story. It is fantastic because even by stretching my imagination, it sounds too good to be true. But why not hear me out. It may prove to be interesting.

The writer then goes on to explain, quite concisely, the Old Testament's story of creation followed by the history of man leading up to the Messiah.

A few parts are real gems:

There is a catch to this story. Who the creator chooses to hear and to believe this story is entirely up to the creator. Selection is entirely by grace or favor. Nothing I do or don’t do can influence the creator to select me. Interestingly, the selection has already taken place at the foundation of the universe.

Once I believe this story, I stop fearing death. I am enabled by an agent of the creator called holy spirit to focus on the creator’s son, Yeshua. Holy spirit enables me to cast all my cares to Yeshua. When I meet up with a problem, my attitude is as follows. “Hey! I didn’t ask to be created, so it is not my responsibility to solve this problem. Therefore, Yeshua, please take over.”

The extent that this attitude is employed is the extent of peace of mind I enjoy. The problem may not change immediately but the burden of responsibility is instantly lifted off my shoulders. Many a time, circumstances change and the problem shifts from appearing as a curse to appearing as a blessing.

Should I believe this story?
What if it is fiction?
So what?
What do I have to lose?

What I find particularly interesting is the existence of choice. But the nature of this choice may be very different from one person to the next. Those who acknowledge that their beliefs are based on a reasonable conclusion, whether conscious or not, that every belief originated from some evidence (how much or little depending on the individual's degree of skepticism)and some reasonable sorting of information from there on out, may find this choice to be... well...

humane.

To make rational decisions which are chosen to best serve the characteristics of the human require special study of the human. Yet how does one best understand the nature of a human, as a human? Some say that the study of archetypes reveal universal patterns of desire and fear, therefore revealing deep rooted human characteristics. Some say that intuition is our truest knowledge, and a quieting of the rational mind is in order.

Then some say: everything in moderation.

*gulp*

On Heroic Myth

Moyers: But aren't many visionaries and even leaders and heroes close to the edge of neuroticism?

Campbell: Yes, they are.

Moyers: How do you explain that?

Campbell: They've moved out of the society that would have protected them, and into the dark forest, into the world of fire, of original experience. Original experience has not been interpreted for you, and so you've got to work out your life for yourself. Either you can take it or you can't. You don't have to go far off the interpreted path to find yourself in very difficult situations. The courage to face the trials and to bring a whole new body of possibilities into the field of interpreted experience for other people to experience-- that is the hero's deed.


Furthermore...

... we have not even to risk the adventure alone, for the heroes of all time have gone before us. The labyrinth is thoroughly known. We have only to follow the thread of the hero path, and where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god. And where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves. Where we had thought to travel outward, we will come to the center of our own existence. And where we had thought to be alone, we will be with all the world.

The Golden Age of Advertising

What does my mother have to do with this? Why do those chimey pop songs make me want to be simple and cool and wear light blue and khaki and drive Volkswagons and listen to i-tunes? Why do I have an overwhelming desire to love a sneaker?

Screw it, where's my wallet?

These people are brilliant. This is where the talent has been going. Mixers, engineers, composers, visual artists, are on top of their game. The great artists of our day filtered through the most advanced consumer psychology have created a body of work that is nothing to sneeze at.

MLK

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

I get chills when I read these lines. And so ended the last speech of Martin Luther King, April 3, 1968.

Ugh

I've been slowly recovering from a diet rich in high fructose corn-syrup, foreign chocolates, and whitman's samplers. Christmas treats provide me with enough calories to cut out most other meals, and the means to melt dark, white, and milk chocolate in my mouth at the same time. What's really crazy is if you throw a tootsie roll in the middle of that mayhem. The combination of texture is just mind-blowing. Of course apples taste like cardboard for about a week.

With this disclaimer I justify ode to broccoli, both in lack of skill, quality, focus, as well as my desperate longing for nutrients.

Fun though... for a bit. It was a good ride. Until next year.

Ode

Crunchy, tender broccoli
with a hairy brain
naked, except for the hairy part
from one, come many

You remain
green for about a week
then you sometimes turn yellow
in the hair area

and after the yellow,
you wrinkle at the stem
and your leaves turn to black
and your hair turns to soup

though you still throb with A
C, B, and Z-
inc, I will not eat you
if you remind me of soup

but sometimes soup reminds me of you

and all hail
the king of vegetables
the queen of earthly delights
the vacuum of heavy minerals
the only with eggs breakfast food

do yourself a favor
don't fight
surrender to me
dissolve into my blood
bond to my cells
share my Dee eN ey

and keep my brain
from becoming pale

that way you will be rewarded
with sons and daughters for all time

long after the demise of collard greens

Laughing is funny

The art of observational comedy is endlessly fascinating to us all. So many observational comics are horrible, or annoying, but when it works, it's funny because it's true.

Thats why I present you today with the work of the late, great Mitch Hedberg. I'm just sorry we can't hear his delivery. If you never heard him, imagine an over-articulated, minnesota man, with the delivery speed somewhere between droopy and winnie the poo. He sounds especially funny when he does not use contractions. I do not know why. It is just that he does. Enjoy:

I was in a casino, minding my own business, and this guy came up to me and said, 'You're gonna have to move. You're blocking a fire exit.' As though if there was a fire, I wasn't gonna run. If you're flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit. Unless you're a table.

Alcoholism is a disease, but it's the only one you can get yelled at for having. 'Damn it, Otto, you're an alcoholic.' 'Damn it, Otto, you have lupus.' One of those two doesn't sound right.

I don't wanna have my face on the cover of a Wheaties box. I wanna have my face on the cover of a Rice Krispies box. Snap, Crackle, Mitch, and Pop. "Hey, how the fuck did he do that?" "Hey, in Hollywood its all who you know, and I know Crackle."

I want to climb a mountain -- not so I can get to the top -- cause I want to hang out at base camp. That seems fucking fun as shit. You sleep in a colorful tent, you grow a beard, you drink hot chocolate, you walk around... "Hey, you going to the top?" -- "Soon."

All McDonalds commercials end the same way: "prices and participation may vary." I want to open my own McDonalds and not participate in anything. I want to be a stubborn McDonalds owner. "Cheeseburgers? Nope. We got spaghetti!...And blankets. But we are not affiliated with that clown, he attracts too many children."

I went to a restaurant and I ordered a chicken sandwich, but I don't think the waitress heard me 'cause she asked how I'd like my eggs. So I tried answering her anyways. "INCUBATED! Then hatched, then raised, then beheaded, then plucked, then cut up, then put onto a grill, then put onto a bun. ...., it's gonna take a while. I don't have the time. Scrambled!"

When you go to a restaurant on the weekends and it's busy they start a waiting list. They start calling out names. They say, "Dufresne, party of two. Dufresne, party of two." And if no one answers they'll say their name again. "Dufresne, party of two. Dufresne, party of two." But then if no one answers they'll just go right on to the next name. "Bush, party of three." Yeah, but what happened to the Dufresnes? No one seems to give a shit. Who can eat at a time like this? People are missing. You fuckers are selfish. The Dufresnes are in someone's trunk right now with duct tape over their mouths. And they're hungry! That's a double whammy. We need help. "Bush, search party of three! You can eat when you find the Dufresnes."

A lollipop is a cross between hard candy and garbage.

I have a cheese-shredder, which is its positive name. They don't call it by its negative name, cause no one would buy it: sponge-ruiner. Because I wanted to clean it, and now I have little bits of sponge... that would melt easily over tortilla chips.

I like swiss cheese. It's the only cheese you can draw with a pencil and identify. You can draw American cheese, but someone will think it's cheddar. Swiss cheese is the only cheese you can bite and miss. "Hey Mitch - does that sandwich have cheese on it?" "Every now and then!" I got some swiss air on that bite.

I bought a doughnut and they gave me a receipt for the doughnut. I don't need a receipt for the doughnut. Man, I'll just give you money, then you give me the doughnut. End of transaction. We don't need to bring ink and paper into this. I just can't imagine a scenario where I would have to prove that I bought a doughnut. Some skeptical friend: "Don't even act like I didn't get that doughnut, I've got the documentation right here. Oh wait, it's at home, in the file... under D... for doughnut"

A waffle is like a pancake with syrup traps. It says to the syrup "You ain't goin' anywhere!"

I make instant oatmeal in the morning then I don't do shit for an hour. Makes me wonder why I need the instant oatmeal. I could make the regular oatmeal and feel productive.

I don't have a microwave but I do have a clock that occasionally cooks shit.

I took acid, and when I took acid, I finally understood that butter is way better than margarine. I saw through the bullshit.

I got some tartar-control toothpaste. I still got tartar, but that shit's under control. If the tartar gets outta line, I'm like, "Come on, man, you know the deal. Fall in! You crazy-ass tartar..." I got so much tartar, I don't have to dip my fish sticks in shit! ... That's actually kinda gross. After I tell that joke, I clarify that I'm just joking. I don't know how much tartar I actually have.

I booked myself at Las Vegas, in a casino, the Riviera Hotel, that has a comedy club. There were 4 comedians on the bill and we all had similar hair because we were all using the Riviera in-house shampoo. So we all have equal shine and bounce. It was a 2-in-1 shampoo and 2-in-1 is a bullshit term because 1 isn't big enough to hold 2. That's why 2 was created. If it was 2-in-1, it would be overflowing. The bottle would be all sticky and shit...

I was in my hotel's shower, and I started washing my hair, then I looked at the bottle, and it turned out I was using body wash. It was like a scene from one of those action movies where they get real close to the object. I was like, "Body wash... BODY WASH?!?" And then I realized my hair was part of my body and I didn't even care.

If you get lost in the woods, fuck it, build a house! I used to be lost, but now I live here! I have severely improved my predicament!

I get a cold sore. I hate to say it, Minnesota, but in a cold sore I put Carmex on it 'cause Carmex is supposed to alleviate cold sores. I dunno if it does help, but it will make them shiny and more noticeable. It's like cold sore highlighter! Maybe they could come up with an arrow that heals cold sores.

See, I'm a dreamer, man. And when I was a cook I'd always work with people who weren't dreamers. Like, I was cooking at this restaurant and I put a hot dog on the grill and my kitchen manager came over, and he said, "Mitch, put the hot dog up here, in the right hand corner of the grill, so in case you get a whole bunch of orders at once you have all this space available." See, that's how I knew he wasn't a dreamer, 'cause the day I give up my dreams is the day I have strategic grill locations. A dreamer has a philosophy: the entire grill is hot.

I bought myself a parrot. The parrot talked. But it did not say, "I'm hungry,"... so it died.

Baby Boomers Turn 60

And Paul McCartney officially sold out. We all knew it was going to happen. No, not the bit on Sir Paul. Rather, Baby Boomers were gonna get old sooner or later, and the resources of our collective marketing machine were going to be focused on more conservative, plan-to-party-before-you-die type things like retirement accounts and viagra. If you wanna get rich, invest 10 years ahead of a generation, and wait for the demand to catch up. I mean, I bet Depends diapers for adults is pretty cheap stock right now.

But seriously folks. If the Baby Boomers had one thing going for them, it was their awe-inspiring neo-spiritualist movement. There was an awakening, a collective search for humanitarian roots which rebelled against the poisons of ominous corporate rule. They were resourceful enough to use the tentacles of mass-media to spread the message. Folk/Pop/Anthem music was healthy, fresh, virile, and above all, readily available for consumption. Included in this army of honest souls were The Doors, The Birds, Bob Dylan, and of course, The Beatles. Now, I'm not going to say that the Beatles achieved the most honest, in your face, get up and see the world yourself you lazy, brainwashed, product of military-industrial complex mommies. But I would venture to say that next to the military, The Beatles were the most successful deliverers of a universal message. I didn't live during their time, yet even two generations later, I am greatly impressed with their influence. Once the Beatles hit it big, I'm sure most people felt a sense of relief, believing that we had the closest thing to leaders who could not be bought. I recently read that Sir Paul is worth a sum of $1.5 billion. So tell me, please, someone, why is Paul doing commercials for Fidelity investments? Does he really care about my IRA? Does he even have an IRA? Or are old age and money really the two things we can count on to shrivel the idealist streak in us all.

Please, Paul, tell me you're saving up for a giant air filter, designed to take us back to pre-1930 levels of air pollution. Or maybe this will all go to the McCartney prize, awarded to the developer of the best plan to keep the human population in check while still saving children from starvation and disease.

Oh Paul. When I'm 64, indeed.

A reminder

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

e.e. cummings

Nocturne

Dreaming has always been an important part of my everyday. When I was a child, I would have recurring nightmares which sent me running into my parent's room looking for some reassurance of reality. It didn't help that many of my dreams included my parents as part of a secret society of adults who sabotaged the lives of children. But one night my dad took the time to wake up and give me what turned out to be life-changing advice. He said, "When you're having a bad dream, pretend that you're watching the TV and only one click of the dial away from the greatest Popeye cartoon you've ever seen." Okay. So I went back to sleep and dreamt his advice, switching channels away from the grandmother wolf tearing the 6-year-old flesh from my legs to Popeye beating the hell out of him as a spinach induced berserker. This was my first introduction to lucid dreaming.

As a teenager I would always read before sleeping, hoping that I could enter the stories in my dreams. At the time I was suspicious of my half-assed religious upbringing, and suddenly concerned about the existence of heaven, which had previously seemed to make any sort of living inconvenience merely an inconvenience. So I found a bible and waded through the thick metaphor until something resonated with me, and I read and read those lines until I memorized them. I figured that if I could immerse myself deeply enough, I would eventually dream of heaven, and therefore experience some of its sensation without having to actually die. Unfortunately I never really succeeded with this experiment, or perhaps some angel erased my memory before I returned to the land of waking, so I eventually gave up.

But I haven't stopped experimenting. In the dreaming state, self-consciousness seems to give way to incredible possibility. One of the most interesting experiments has been trying to acquire new skills in my dreaming. For instance: flying, shape shifting, wrestling velociraptors, seducing supermodels, traveling at the speed of light... and even some less likely skills like improvising three voice fugues, singing a bel canto tenor role, and writing the perfect melody. I have had the great luck of waking in time to realize that my very own brain was capable of improvising the fugue I had just "heard" playing on the radio. But it has been pure discipline which every once in a while musters up the strength to drag my body from a saturated ecstatic sleep over to a piano to plunk out, in the freezing cold, the notes which sounded so silky and fat while floating on the top of the world...

I might as well mention that I was motivated to write after waking from a dream which had me composing a Nocturne on a glass piano floating on the arctic ocean. The world existed in only the brightest reflected white light and dark ocean blue, and I remember breathing in the coldest, most still air which should have frozen my lungs stiff.

Since I've woken, I couldn't stop listening to Nocturne by John Cage. It reminds me of somewhere I've been.

Hot Philosopher on Philosopher Man Love

Emerson has that gracious and clever cheerfulness which discourages all seriousness; he simply does not know how old he is already and how young he is still going to be; he could say of himself, quoting Lope de Vega: "I am my only heir." His spirit always finds reasons for being satisfied and even grateful; and at times he touches on the cheerful transcendence of the worthy gentleman who returned from an amorous rendezvous, "as if he had accomplished his mission."
"Though the power is lacking," he said gratefully, "the lust nevertheless is praiseworthy."

-Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols


If you asked (and it's really only a matter of time) I would say some of my favs were Emerson and Nietzsche. I've read Nietzsche go on and on about Schopenhauer and Wagner and Socrates and Homer, but this is the first time I've seen him reference Emerson. I guess I should have known. I sense a subtle lusting on Nietzsche's part, which is something he spoke against time and time again. Yet, how does one ever know if their lifestyle was any bit as noble as their writing? I can't help but fall for it everytime: the myth of the genius...
And it makes me feel a bit less guilty about my own subtle lusting...

Don't drink flouride, but look into the sun.

It began a few nights ago on my deck. I noticed a few stars blasting through the forcefield known as Philadelphia's light pollution. And I live next to a little league ballpark with huge flood lights on late into the night. I think how amazing it is that these stars are so bright that they penetrate through space, atmosphere, and competing light all the way to my own retina. I imagine somehow getting up closer to them and experiencing a brightness unknown to humans. Then I realize, "You fool. We have the sun. Oh yeah, I'm not aloud to look into it... it will burn out my eyeballs."

I remember only a few details from grade school science class: ROYGBIV, some mitosis steps, Au for gold, Ag for silver, the carbon cycle, krebs cycle, liquid nitrogen is really, really cold, and starfish are like the brooms from Fantasia. Wow... that was a nice trip down memory lane. Anyway, my point: I specifically remember learning that Galileo went blind from studying the sun. This freaked me out, since I had been secretly peering into the sun from time to time. It wasn't the first time I received a warning not to look into the sun. There were solar eclipses with shoe boxes, and looking into the sun was usually tacked onto a string of silly scoldings including, "Stop crossing your eyes! Don't puff out your belly! Stop picking at your scabs! Did I see you eating the toothpaste?" Okay, so then I hear about Galileo. At first I'm freaked because this is the first real evidence that someone went blind from the sun. But then I'm walking home from school and I get to thinking. Galileo probably looked at the sun more than anyone else in the history of mankind. I mean, he invented the telescopes to study the damn thing. He watched the movement of sunspots. That requires some serious focusing of the eyes. The teacher never said how old he was when he finally lost his sight, but it seemed pretty obvious that he was an old man. I decided to look it up tonight. He was 72.

Okay, so what's the deal? Can we look at the sun or what? I can't help but think to Gen. Ripper from Dr. Strangelove and his theories about flouride being placed in the water by communists:

Ripper: Have you ever seen a Commie drink a glass of water?
Mandrake: Well, I can't say I have.
Ripper: Vodka, that's what they drink, isn't it? Never water?
Mandrake: Well, I-I believe that's what they drink, Jack,yes.
Ripper: On no account will a Commie ever drink water, and not without good reason.
Mandrake: Oh, eh, yes. I, hmm, can't quite see what you're getting at.
Ripper: Water, that's what I'm getting at, water. Mandrake, water is the source of all life. Seven-tenths of this earth's surface is water. Why, do you realize that seventy percent of you is water?
Mandrake: Uh, uh, Good Lord!
Ripper: And as human beings, you and I need fresh, pure water to replenish our precious bodily fluids.
Mandrake: Yes. (He begins to chuckle nervously)
Ripper: Are you beginning to understand?
Mandrake: Yes. (More laughter)
Ripper: Mandrake. Mandrake, have you never wondered why I drink only distilled water, or rainwater, and only pure-grain alcohol?
Mandrake: Well, it did occur to me, Jack, yes.
Ripper: Have you ever heard of a thing called fluoridation. Fluoridation of water?
Mandrake: Uh? Yes, I-I have heard of that, Jack, yes. Yes.
Ripper: Well, do you know what it is?
Mandrake: No, no I don't know what it is, no.
Ripper: Do you realize that fluoridation is the most monstrously conceived and dangerous Communist plot we have ever had to face?
Ripper: Mandrake, do you realize that in addition to fluoridating water, why, there are studies underway to fluoridate salt, flour, fruit juices, soup, sugar, milk... ice cream. Ice cream, Mandrake, children's ice cream.
Mandrake: Lord, Jack.
Ripper: You know when fluoridation first began?
Mandrake: I-- no, no. I don't, Jack.
Ripper: Nineteen hundred and forty-six. Nineteen forty-six, Mandrake. How does that coincide with your post-war Commie conspiracy, huh? It's incredibly obvious, isn't it? A foreign substance is introduced into our precious bodily fluids without the knowledge of the individual. Certainly without any choice. That's the way your hard-core Commie works.


So who first warned against looking into the sun? It certainly wasn't the Communists, since I'm pretty sure they teach this nonsense too. I find the most likely explanation to be the simplest. The sun transmits energies which, if absorbed through the eyes, mutates our synapses, and may ultimately form super powers. These powers, when possessed by certain individuals...

I'll be looking for Galileo's lost journals.