Showing posts with label entertaining rhetoric. Show all posts
Showing posts with label entertaining rhetoric. Show all posts

The Blessings and Curses of Tim "Meanie" O'tae

|  Open a new tab  |
|  U-Tube Simple Math by Manchester Orchestra  |
|  Come back to this tab  |
|  Read this creative non-fiction essay  |
|  As the words of this allegorical allegory flow  |
|  The sounds selected by the algo-rhythmical algorithm form  |
|  A combination of uniquely new experiential mental information  |
|  Which algorithmically aggregates into your each unfolding moment  |
|  Accept  |
 
 
        Meanie's mother divorced his dad before he could form any memories (of him).  Depending on who you asked, it was:
  • Occasionally referred-to as "both a blessin'-an'-a-curse".
  • Would never even be contemplateable to ever think of those circumstances in that manner.
  • The foundation upon which Meanie learned how to become who he would and would-not become as an adult.
        Meanie's mother's performance of June Cleaver (at Marble Meadow's Centerfield Playhouse) was how she convinced Meanie's future stepdad (who played Ward Cleaver) to marry her.  Depending on what year you happened to talk to any of them, it was either:  The role she was born-an'-raised to play; A convenient lifeboat (of sorts); Much better than her earlier role as the clumsy, baby-trapping, waitress (at The Inn's Mainhouse on the Hill); Or, it was "just another port in the storm (for all involved)".
 
        After taking their renditions of June and Ward Cleaver on-the-road—and dragging Meanie along—Meanie's mother's new husband's character encouraged/caused/magnified Meanie's mother to develop/create/accelerate her increasingly authoritarian retinue in order to (punish Meanie for being an O'Tae) find a reason to keep Meanie in a constant state of uncertainty.  Consequently, some oddly vague things were referred-to as sins and Meanie was beaten-down for some random (other) oddly specific things.
 
        Even though those vague-specifics changed as Meanie grew, their absolute-forbidden nature was something of which Meanie's mother was always 100% certain.  Her highlight-reel included various levels of physical and mental punishments for:  riding bicycles; playing with dolls or action figures; not talking and just staring when being scolded; always asking 'why' (called talking-back); crying for any reason; accusing any grownup of deception or of being wrong; playing with 'unapproved-of' neighbors or schoolmates (within her vicinity) or (on the rare occasion Meanie was permitted to leave the yard) playing with any 'unapproved-of' toys belonging to others.  ["Hey Timmy, wanna come over an' shoot at GI-Joe's with my BB-gun?" . . . "Can't. I'm not allowed."]

         'He raped me' was the foreign-sounding sentence his mother readily unsheathed after Meanie was old enough to wonder, naive enough to expect a logical explanation, and bold enough to ask why she had left his dad before he could remember his face.  Meanie had nobody to request another explanation from.  Step-dad was too comfortably-afraid of losing his ready-made facade-family and Sunday school teacher's, pastor's, and adult neighbor's (murmuring *ask yer parents*) would always report Meanie's queries (resulting in an excuse for more or additional punishments).  And since he was still too young for elementary school, Meanie had no older kids to ask what rape was.
 
        Meanie never actually knew that was his nickname.  He thought what he did with other boys was "teasing" and that it was funny, entertaining (and felt a little exciting).  He had no idea that his behavior was called bullying (or that he was doing it to the other boys).  He did, eventually, realizeonce he was privileged-enough to earn his own personal bully (who's knuckle-rap-punches to Meanie's head were never hard enough to bruise and never witnessed by an adult).
 
        In order for middle-schooler little Timmy O'Tae to avoid his mother's worst emotional-torture, he never informed any adult about the daily assaults and constant fear-of-the-next one . . . *when's he gonna catch me again?*
 
        By the time he reached puberty, Tim Cleaver (never mistakenly called O'tae because the Cleaver's were always moving to a new state, new classmates, new neighbors) was an expert at camoflaged-hiding (in a living room or a classroom) and reading the vibrations in every environment with the goal to fine-tune his 'early warning signal'.  Tim was always refining it—that was automatic-mandatory.  Primary mission (think: Captain Kirk's voice) to better-identify the hidden intent of the sharks in the water before they get within striking range.  And most of the sharks have camouflaged themselves to the point that you forget that everything is one form of shark or another.  Hammerhead to Nurse; Whale to White.     

        Jobs after school and during school-breaks (for under-minimum-wage cash) became Tim Cleaver's only way to spend every possible waking hour away-from the Cleaver home and out-of his mother's vicinity.  She punish-enforced half of Tim's paychecks into a college savings account; the blessing and curse of which (depending on perspective and when you asked whomever) was that:  He never had enough money for socializing or for himself - and - 17-year-old-Tim had compiled the ability to graduate high-school and immediately escape to the cheapest in-state college available at that time.  Thanks Mom, he never said; thanks-to-me, she always said.
 
        Late-teenager-Tim Cleaver's mask began to fit less uncomfortably once he transferred to an out-of-state university.  He could go daze or sometimes almost unmemorable weaks before forgetting to remember that he still had it on.
 
        Because the Art of Presenting a Low Profile was all Tim's every memorable experience in his entire crib-to-college existence had ingrained/trained/practiced, joining a huge faceless organization and becoming just another small knuckle-joint in the machine (disappearing) was The Best-Only Available Option, behaviorally.
Imagine yourself seeing this from Tim's perspective:  He was thinking of a mind other than his own mind.  And this other mind has the ability to run a diagnostics report of it's internal function system and a diagnosis can be made—by Tim about Tim—in a way that Tim *thinks* he is behaving/believing in an objective (switching to subjective) manner of the "good shark".  Everyone is a good shark inside of themselves.  On their own stage.  Of course, for every one of us, some form of internal regulator must be built up from a chosen "baseline" value-system (full disclosure: default-mode is the one instilled/reinforced by adult-guardians).  As awareness of the rational combines with the sometimes-arbitrary emotional—in a chaotic shark-soup of cause-and-effect—the intended-state to remain in a 'remind myself to never forget' frame-of-mind, clashes with the 'I'm now-and-forever anchored to a point of consistent evaluation of itself/myself,' which exists only in this moment.  Evaluate and compare those impressive wavelengths of qualia (in-of a *musical-scratch-sniff postcard*) to all prior un-informed states of previously-held ignorance/naivety . . . drifting . . . forgetting . . . you've lost its leash . . . is it now-feral and should it not-now be thought of as apart from chaos?  It's not simple to imagine Tim's shoes on your feet; or is it?
         All if-of who Tim has experienced to-date was aided/abetted as well as informed-formed by [list the ever-growing spectrum of consciousness disorders] . . . CPTSD/Asperger's/Autism/Personal Logic-Honor System/emotionally programmed by punishment(s) . . .etcetera . . . Tim was (still, unfortunately) perfecting the art of presenting a low profile (even though the reasons to do-so were less-necessary).
 
        Preliminarily accepting the uniform-role of follower; Encouraging people to never think about you when you were not in the room; Never blaming anyone besides yourself and your own failings:  These were a slice of Tim's behaviors (depending on who you want to believe).  And, at the same time, Tim's early warning antenna became even more finely tuned (any hint of unrest on any horizon was immediately met with fawning and acquiescent attention toward whomever caused that unrest).  This was still the case even-though he was associating with (or thinking about) his mother and step father less and less-often.  Then death.  Then estrange.
 
        Then.  Eventually, or some later when, Old Timothy O'tae changed who he was.  By legally returning to his preferred name and starting to fulfill the life he was determined to desire.  As Timothy fully embraced the truthful manner of living without hypocrisy, he recognized (for the first time in his relatively long life) that he was:
 
No longer able to fully bully himself
Shamefully shameful
Shy-fully selfish
Willingly holding-to-held himself up
To the standards required of him by himself
Dealing-to-dealt with each of the selvwe's
 And all our my me's
I know that only I kin ken
But only because I allow myself
Certain get-away-with's or -without's
Which side-step all forms
 Of need for self-recriminating behaviors
So, no longer vexing myself with shame
Or allowing any self-blame to ricochet around
And never permitting vitriolic self-effacement
Allows the bliss-happy-neutral to root
And it - then - becomes the dominant
Mood-tone personality theme-song aura
Which Emanates from the baseline level grasp
Of the areas in front of and adjacent the occipital lobe
As longer experiences rest between 8.5 and 10.5
Tempered-to (not-to) all the way to eleven
Forming unobserved-waves which enlighten while
Lengthening love's amplitude  |  Rinse-repeat
As the selves dance in every best-imagined
And the crest of a wave continues floating
Always crossing here
At some point
h e r e

      




It Matters Not The Terrain
Chosen By You Or For You
As Long As The Destination
Reached, Then-Them Valued
 
Step Up, Step Down, Crouch,
As Long As The Next Moment
Falls Within Your Future Grasp
And You Can Understand Why

Control Needs Beyond Reach
Accept Your Own Assistance
Experiment Strengthen-ing
Yourself As Long As You



If I have a superpower, we'll know in the next...

 
        Thirteen years.
         
        Umm, eh, what's that?
         
        I've learned about a superpower that I might have; it takes about thirteen years for results, so I'm currently testing to determine if I can strengthen its severity and reduce its lag-time.

        Oh, wow, Ok.  Explain, please.  And. ahh, just hit the highlights.  I don't have room for tangents or deep explanations in my head anymore today.

        Twitter became the "first big thing" to reduce communication quality.  Thirteen years ago, I created this artwork, titled:  Kill Twitter, Kill It Dead  after recognizing it was harming more than just the previously addled.  Those who once possessed humor and contemplative insights were slowly (but not imperceptibly) communicating as if they were all self-lobotomized stoners.
 
        Impaired awareness had caused as well as cauterized their brain damage.  Consequently, they continued to blindly self-harm.  For hours.  Everyday.
 
        As one of only a few audience-members who recalls admiring their expertise—as skilled aerialists and trapeze artists, net-lessly soaring thru the highest circus tent peaks—I felt dismayed to recognize them intentionally stumbling around the center ring, as they cheerfully climbed into and out of tiny clown cars with a growing crowd of others.
  
        After thirteen years, Twitter was beheaded and arrow-shot thru the spine.  While it does still exist as a "formerly known as" entity, its existence possesses a musky MySpace flavor.

        Right, soo, yea, your superpower was to predict or to cause this with a cartoonish sketch?

        And now, to determine my efficacy:  

Kill the GOP, Kill it Dead


        If you are reading this after 2035, and the GOP is still a viable US political party, then my superpower failed (or did not exist).
 
 
similar:
 
 

INSTANT INFANT 🚼 The Perfect Baby


✓ All the fun, practically none of the poop
✓ Virtually unlimited attention span!
✓ Cute as a frigging button
✓ Matches most decors!
✓ Quickly measure your partner's wavelength

          Like the idea of determining your long-term compatibility with that special someone, but don't want to spoil the prom by bringing up topics which might result in too much honesty too soon?  Then take them to an antique store (there's a left turn you didn't see coming)!
 
          Although it doesn't have to be an antique store; it can be anything you enjoy, which you can do together, with them, at the same time.  I suggest antiquing because I've always liked the feelings I experience while perusing a well-curated antique mall's smells (musk of library-garage-attic), sounds (mid-century album rock) and the 'new' memories that creep back front-and-center.  This is step one.

          You've invited them to accompany you to do something you enjoy and they've agreed (if they also like doing this with you, maybe this could become a you-guy's thing).  This might also let you know if they're on your wavelength; because if they don't like doing this simple thing that requires no additional skills (which is why you didn't invite them to poker night or scrapbook-club or horseback riding) maybe they are not that specific flavor of unusual you are searching for.  This is step two.

          You find a never-seen-by-you-before, life-sized, cardboard cut-out, of a crawling infant in a diaper, for sale.  You begin to read the marketing points and snort-giggle so forcefully that a significant quantity of snot leaves your nostril and lands on your shirt.  You wipe it off but it's still kinda noticeable.  This is step three.

          What are their reactions?  Do they share your sense of humor?  Are they cringing at the idea that you're willing to pay twenty dollars for this odd-harmless item (which is obviously going to be displayed in your home in the near future)?  Are they at all embarrassed by the booger stain?

          Step four is simple.  Find someone who already thinks the way you think, and already sees the world similarly to the way you do.  Not someone who seems willing to adapt or says they'll, "try to see things your way".  And definitely not someone who only prefers your company when you're doing things they like to do.

 
more:
 
 
 

          Fear = Survival Mechanism

          I am a god-fearing–fearing¹ person.  This multi-hyphenated word concisely captures my true feelings about the uncountable mass of tera–terra-idiots.  ‘Tera,’ as in: the uncountable quantity of every dead, living, and yet-to-be-conceived bag of H20 and minerals who once crabbed, is crabbing, or will someday crab about on this planet; and ‘terra-idiots’ are those who once claimed/now claim/or will claim to believe in an invisible omniscient-omnipresent-omnipotent entity who created, controls, or will destroy, this ball of H20 and minerals currently crawling through space at 134K mph² (relative to the space of our universe) 486K mph (relative to the Milky Way Galaxy) and 67K mph (relative to Sol).

           I believe that those who claim to believe in an invisible-magic-sky-entity have questionable rationality and live a self-deceit-packed life filled with hypocrisy and bigotry³.   I point out that, ‘they claim to believe’ because within the uncountable tera–terra-idiot mass, there are many uncountable giga–terra-fools who (once/are/will) claim to believe in a vengeful/loving-being-who-patiently-listens-to-their-every-murmur solely because of societal, familial, political, or cultural pressures....but they never actually believe (they just don’t want to be excommunicated, stoned, banished, disowned, disinherited, shunned, or ostracized).

          All belief-systems preach that their followers are clever, altruistic, kind, generous, honest, and noble people.  And they all preach to their followers that the other belief-systems are filled with foolish, self-centered, stingy, deceptive and corrupt people.  Every religion and church teaches hatred and distrust of others.  Even the most open minded and ‘liberal’ religions sell themselves to their parishioners by pointing out the less open minded qualities of other religions.

          Being afraid of people who claim to have faith in things that do not exist is merely a good defense mechanism—like being afraid of the insane.  The actions of god-fearing and insane people are equally unpredictable, unfettered by common sense, and not grounded in reality.

  ¹Thanks Davecat.
  ²I apologize for using mph; but miles are relative to my reality.  The kilometer-majority need to multiply by 1.61. 
  ³The god-fearing who actually read this, and take umbrage, need to treat themselves to a hot steaming cup of I don't give a fuck what you say.  Leave.  Big people are talking.

During many ages there were witches.  The Bible said so.  The Bible commanded that they should not be allowed to live.  Therefore the Church—after eight hundred years—gathered up its halters, thumb-screws, and firebrands, and set about its holy work in earnest.  She worked hard at it night and day during nine centuries and imprisoned, tortured, hanged, and burned whole hordes and armies of witches, and washed the Christian world clean with their foul blood.  Then it was discovered that there was no such thing as witches, and never had been.  One does not know whether to laugh or to cry.....There are no witches.  The witch text remains; only the practice has changed.  Hell fire is gone, but the text remains.  Infant damnation is gone, but the text remains.  More than two hundred death penalties are gone from the law books, but the texts that authorized them remain. — Mark Twain, "Bible Teaching and Religious Practice," Europe and Elsewhere (1923)

Original article written 2009 (re-posted during 2021's creative sabbatical)

more:

Issac Asimov

Gravity (GIF)

Texas as Iraq

 

Patience Fortitude and Resignation

          This is about multiple metaphors, containing metaphorical words, images, and a fictional story so rife with metaphor that it deserves a meta-metaphoric Consumer Warning: Meta-Fives Ahead.

         . . . “Simon says, ‘Mother may I’.

          What an odd statement to make, Pat.  I want to be bemused, but Im too concerned at your encroachment on carelessness.  Think your words before speaking them!  Spoken words can never be taken back.  Language is too important a tool to play with.

          It was clearly not a question.  Not sure why you feel the need to berate her, Tudy.  And cutting at me with your eyes does nothing but further encourage me to point out that you know she hates that nickname.  Call her Patience, or Patty, or even Tense.  When you use that androgynous term youre intending harm.  Calling her femininity into question.  Besides, she was only playing with you.  Yes, with language, too—but mostly just with you.

          The goddess of spring who was of three minds, of a single universal nature, everywhere at this moment in the northern hemisphere and in flux outside every window (as well as remembered to have cyclically existed before windows and even before human consciousness) was especially enjoying this—this conversation with herself.
 
          Γ”stara was potential.  She was chaos.  She was the entirety of the environment.  She loved the certainty.  The inevitability.  The birth.  The growth.  She loved every moment of her existence.  And even looked forward to her solstice-respite.  But she cherished her one supreme power the most—which the triple-goddess always tried to use very, very, sparingly:  the power to call anything into question.  Because when Γ”stara called something into question, the ripple effect was world-wide.  Monumental.
 
          Youre already in concession-mode, Rez.  Accepting that she wasn’t actually flippant (or careless) because it was just play-talk and not a real query.  Im not entertained.  By either of you.  She is too cavalier and you are too laissez-faire.

          Constantly the guard-dog, Fortitudenever a smile that makes it all the way to the eyes, forever the guile that takes shit everyday to the flies.
 
          Wow, you must have kept that chestnut in cold-storage for centuries!  I certainly didnt miss it.  But.  I also cant say I understand what you mean by it.  Never did.

          Patience understands it.  Completely.  I suspect.
 
          A corollary of negatives.  The guile that takes shit to the flies’ would be a desire to deceive strong enough to overpower the aversion to handle fecal matter.  A ‘smile that makes it to the eyes is a sign of sincerity.  Rezs-sayin youre just doin what ya always do.  Pretendin concern, practicin deception, makin yourself feel good by tearin us down.
 
          Ouch-ahh.  You will always be unable to fool yourself, Forty.  And you are me and we are all together.
 
          I am the eggman.
 
          I am the walrus.
 
          You both think yourselves sooo funny.  Weary and nearly senile to the left of me, naΓ―vely inexperienced to the right, here I am: stuck in the middle with you.
 
          TouchΓ©.
 
          mmpff
 
          It is the appropriate point in this era for another shake-up or even another mass die-off, I think.  Suggestions or criticisms are welcome.  Not questions.
 
          Last year we began a significant Homo Sapien culling and it is still blooming.  I would like to wait and see where that domino falls before we start another.  Unless we are open to re-visiting the nefarious...
 
           No.  We are not interested in re-visiting your pet peeve.  But a double whammy IS in order.  While humans, full of hubris, struggle to protect their weakest and most ignorant, I want to remind them of our power.
 
          Im good with whatever.  But.  Unless I get-ta frame th next question . . . I veto.  AND.  Before you get all indignant, understand this: Im prepared to 1816 us.  Fair warning!  Dont call me out on this.  Dont cajole.  Don't even passively criticize.  If you do, Ill cancel us and see you guys on the southern hemisphere's next equinox.  Statement.  Of.  Fact. 
 
          Two hundred and five years ago, in 1816, Γ”stara called her own existence into question.  Consequently, she never arrived in the northern hemisphere in March of that year and, subsequently, she was not present to abdicate her throne in June.  Summer never arrived.  Winter retained its presence for over a year.
        
in some way related: