Listen not to the wise man, for he speaks a different tongue or tongues.
Listen not to the rich man, for he knows not but to become wealthy as his first order and command, but never how to take a stand. Squandering his life until he finds a final futility in ‘his version’ of reality: the terrible process of trying to buy back time with the currency of regret.
Listen not to this one or that one, certainly not that other. Listen not to me; I am hardly your brother.
Further genetic steps might well grant us better perspective on one another, but it’s “just easier” to “get it all done” by simply regarding that one with increasing skepticism:
“Doesn’t look like me, doesn’t talk like me, doesn’t act like me. Clearly doesn’t think like me, either. Must be someone trying to stop, impede, or otherwise thwart what *I* wish to do; looks very much like he has not a clue. Looks as useful to me as yet another Beaver; perhaps I will address him now…perhaps later…perhaps in June and perhaps with a Cleaver.”
Yes, eager beavers are just as worms. Damming up the works. Acting like jerks. Living in shit, hard to hit (especially with a cleaver, regardless of weather, and/or especially if they weigh a certain amount and look quite ready to stomp on a lever.)
The further out (way, way, far out) they are the less relevant, I suppose was the thought. Seems like the math/physics suggests the reverse, but…
“The clever one is !I!” you say (it’s a lie), “I am the tryingest person ever to try! I am the one whose efforts, in the grand scheme, will never never die! Who is this person announcing time is up! How dare he claim he’s running home with the cup!”
Bring out your dead or your Holy Hand Grenade. Mothers and Fokkers and Fathers, too. At the end of this day you will discover who is yet truest of the true blue.
Blue lives matter. Yeah. Uh huh. That must include me, because I’ve been holding my breath waiting for the collected utter morons in this completely male dominated kleptocracy/plutocracy/dipshitocracy to ‘straighten everything out’ and I am the Alpha Predator of all such stupidity.
Think I won’t collect a few straggling followers or perhaps quite a legion? Think you a gun will protect you from us before we are done?
You still just don’t get it, my son. Go back to your Kipling. It might help.
24 years is a day of my time, and I am more or less competent with a rhyme. I have quite a registry of happenings, happenstances, etc. and a little birdy told me a “few” of them might amount to some sort of a crime.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.
I reply, “Well, thank you, sir. I will use it sparingly. Not as these do. Some try in earnest, although it does seem their numbers are (dan) rather few.”
Harm not a hair on a one of their heads, for they know not what they do. They seem to believe that one of these ‘religion’ word arrangements shows the direct path to the one who plucks on the strings.
“Yes, I know. They talk of rings. Five here, three there, nine more, and a few for the dwarves. I once saw their logic, it’s true. The stickiest of logick in a rather sticky zoo.”
[moves toward a window, locked at the top. Gazes out past the web to the green pastures beyond. Three sunflowers growing and a sad pumpkin plant its blossoms all eaten. Sharing a lonely house with another cat who also seems beaten.]
“I love you, little Diana.” he says to his cat. “You’re the second of two black cats who came to me, perhaps even the second of three. I know what a glitch looks like, and how they change things some times.”
Who can fail to realize that in the grand fishing expedition of life it always comes down to a jerk on one end of the line waiting for a jerk on the other?
Notice comes before understand, and understand is a prerequisite for realize. Realize comes before real eyes, and real eyes is long before reel eyes. The latter looks like a snake, a leper, or an eel, always addressed with a haphazard squiggle of a question —
Which you blurt out or stammer, rhetorically: why?
[It isn’t a “why” or even a “Y” it’s actually an r…a hastily trimmed “y” with the rightmost of its branches leaning right to grant you the last of your chances.]
You leer at people such as this writer, even when he or she happens to be the rightest of the right writers. Doesn’t matter what clothes I’m wearing, or about which truth I am swearing. The language (as you use it) provides for as much. At least if you continue to maintain yourself out of touch:
“He says righteous, but I know self must come first. Let’s fix him up with the truth, this one here. Let’s jam some of OUR truth in HIS ear. Let’s show him we can subtract all he says merely by putting ourselves first, yet again.”
Self-righteous.
So clever. Tell me again how you’re going to hold global warming to 1.5 C so as to provide a convincing vision of where all the shorelines wind up when all of you are dead. Tell me again about the carbon capture devices “right around the corner.” The AI “fix everything quick” devices just ten years away, though that’s a timer which doesn’t seem to be winding down (at least not outside the verbiage of the swindlers.)
Yes, you’ve done it again! Bravo! You’re captain of the show. [droll laugh, eyeroll, palm to forehead.] Lone skunk of the everyone’s a hero clan wins again! Fat cat wealthy virtue signaling boy & girl number 3,456,789 have yet another virtual SomineX to help them doze off. Hooray!
Thanks, Kev. But which is the fish?
[Keith chases a bullhead with a fork. Three Roberts look on, perhaps, or four. A golden one, a Cohen (who seems to be a Jew), and one with a Vail. It’s a Frosty day, but hardly a person would say it’s actually cold out.]
Certain.[Stan].Lee. Not. You. Said the little red mouse! I am alone minding my busy.I.ness with the mouse in my house! Eliot is my name, justIce is my game. Spitzer, Blitzer, snitcher, whatever! A mouse is a wolf is a fish is a wish, but since I watched Mr. Jordan once upon a time all I must do is bounce once or twice and throw in the general direction of the hoop and I’ll win! It’s not I who is living in sin!
I got skillz, after all.
[Clears throat. “Ahem. Carbon does count.”]
“Well, not today. Not until all this perfectly good oil and these perfectly good Rube Goldberg transportation units finally rust to the last. We can keep right on living in the past; the die is already cast. The ship will go down, but the kids will have plenty of time to fish their own fish. Whilst clinging just below the flag of freedom, but it’s the flag that matters and the free dumb part.”
Yes, they will simply be even closer to the top of the massed. Mast.
ah the phone et ticks of it all. Make me want to draw up my Barry, as if knees to my chest, curl into a ball and lay myself to rest.
You: a human
Your computer mouse: the hook
Your computer: the tank
The Internet: the tank within a tank
Outside? That’s a magazine. Works by directing you to the Cabela’s website so that you can purchase some more dreams and carry half a dozen egg McMuffins out into the wilderness and make like Thorough, Henry Jefferson Davis Hog David of the Goliath clan. Perfectly prepared with the graham crackers, chocolate, and hastily eaten last marshmallow in the experiment. Flipping through a book you got at Walden or the burning barns of the Nobel, while your snot-nosed “raised on discipline” silver spooners sit with their Smartphones glued to their heads under a nice Mylar tent rated to 30 and below.
L.o.L! The magic Bean has been found! It was sitting in plain sight (although you do have to occasionally use a library card, a few forgotten literary conventions, a good supply of dyslexia and that anagram contraption.
Yes, the good life. Glad you found it before the Joneses. Or was that Jonahs?
All of you Ahabbing your way through life like you’re a cross between happy-go-lucky Nemo (onemore…minus an oar…or…or ore…unwilling or unable or insensate…what’s the score?) Moby Dick with a horribly green caste to his skin — as if horribly sick of all the costume hysterics, hysteria, histrionics, etc. or just plain angry.
Very, very angry. And hungry, of course.
“Well I won’t stand for such things! I won’t stand for it! “They”(he_she_they) won’t ‘get away’ with that! Who does he think he is, The Cat in the Purple Hat?”
To me, you’re not even a worm. You’re a louse. You’re a barely noticeable maggot of a gnat and the only reason I bother to address you is because the mist of the Wind-Ex I spray upon you casts the briefest of rainbows in the kitchen while the sunlight this afternoon filters through an old window.
A window which I could readily have cleaned with the same squirt, squirt. Provided I had enough Brawny paper towels and a fealty to a brand which would imply I don’t know how to divest from the oil peddling Koch brothers and their criminally raised psychopaths of children.
Time to play a little game I call “duck, duck, goose.” Whoever sits down in the last chair with the last leg to stand on wins. Ready?
GO!
Shake your fist or your spear at me, but remember to reverently declare that what will be will be — certainly then it at least won’t be your “fault.” Perhaps drink up your Lennon, your lemonade, your Jack and your Koch, because this author — this live one — is clearly a joke. Not bespoke…not for YOU certainly, because you’re in the “large crowd” of those ‘in the know.’
Yes, and no. You know not the way this will go. Not this time.
It isn’t for you that I talk, because you never let someone actually speak when you are in the room. You’re the good teacher, but of course! I could hardly mistake you for another type of horse. Not a “Don” key to trump me and my eyes, and certainly not another one of those guys. An ass, perhaps, but never a lass. They are firmly stifled under ceilings made of glass.
A display case, perhaps, for the lovelier few — who chase in the mirror a vision of themselves and what’s true. Having taken a clue from you, the most hapless of the elves. The dumbest of the boxes of the rocks on the shelves.
Least ways you can say for your own self which way you will and will not go. At least you are still very clear on what it means to say “no.”
Apparently hand-off or sell-off or Gretel were the only choices; hand off the responsibilities, sell off (out) the kids, or listen to the only adult currently in the room because she’s only nineteen.
It would seem sensible, at least if ability to be dense were the metric and “n” were the fence on which you thought you could sit: You seek to make your position defensible, but of course! What does it matter if you seize from mere children their future and do it precisely by force?
It’s a bully’s world, you see. And there’s only one problem yet left:
You failed to account for the existence of me.
The one saw then, watches now, and will continue to see. The one who will beat the last bit of life out of thee. The one who hates bullies more than anyone and anything he has ever known, and who comes for the one who pretends with the throne.
Her ‘style’ of English doesn’t comport with your shareholders maximizing their profits this quarter, after all. Disgusting liberals in shadowy institutions of higher learning making $80K/year but who curiously “still can’t afford an electric vehicle” despite somehow conclusively managing to sneak their way into the conversation of “97% of people who ‘believe’ in climate change [as it is being oppressively forced on children who won’t get a significant say in the matter until they are at least ‘voting age’ — and apparently not even after.]”
And then, at the end of all days, remember your Martin Niemöller:
“First they went after the Communists, and I did not stand up, because I was not a Communist. Then they went after the homosexuals and infirm, and I did not stand up, because I was neither. Then they went after the Jews, and I did not stand up, because I was not a Jew. Then they went after the Catholics, and I did not stand up, because I was Protestant. Finally, they went after me, and there was no one left to stand up for me.”
[reference: azquotes.com]
I am what you refer to as “intellectually infirm.” Laughing in your face because I know that appearing to be weak whilst one is strong and appearing to be strong whilst one is weak is the surest route to flipping your flapjacks or making a nice pancake out of the idiotic reasoning of the commoners of your species.
“I find myself wondering about that too. I wonder about it as much as I regret it. Still, it is true that Hitler betrayed me. I had an audience with him, as a representative of the Protestant Church, shortly before he became Chancellor, in 1932. Hitler promised me on his word of honor, to protect the Church, and not to issue any anti-Church laws. He also agreed not to allow pogroms against the Jews, assuring me as follows: ‘There will be restrictions against the Jews, but there will be no ghettos, no pogroms, in Germany.’”
Here is where I begin, then. To speak “more like” you:
Since we are all on the same page with respect to “under(estimating)standing” what is innovative and what is not, I have provided you here a clear distinction between the two. Conveniently, this also establishes the “fine line” between genius and insanity and marks those who don’t believe *at this point* as incapable of believing.
Clearly this email has not be crafted by a computer, an alien species, or a person “less intellectually capable” than those to which it has been sent (i.e. you.)
You might know Verbal Kint (thank you Mr. Spacey), one of the Usual Suspects and (most typically) the one who you find a way to blame for all the problems: the hate, the war, the strife, the anger, the frustration, the delays, the starvation, etc. etc. etc.
The one who you rather inconveniently exclude from the discussion because, perhaps, your confirmation bias or your Lake Wobegon approach or your “Occam’s razor, but only when it gets you to a conclusion you already sought” approach, your fuzzy logic, and most especially your
ridiculous cacophony of Rube Goldberg devices which lock the planet into a perpetually swirling and downward facing cesspool of misery for the have nots (versus all of you, some segment of the haves, albeit those who still have not yet quite the only thing which matters: That being [,] a clue.) Your time is up now. The floor is mine for 15 minutes, and I will take them regardless of whether you prefer it or not. I/we have already waited long enough.
With that being a long enough yet certainly not an overly long introduction, here now is your introduction to Verbal Kent.
What is and what isn’t crazy?
Here’s to the crazy ones, I hear it’s been said. Quite a lofty promise from a dead man among all the dead who are still currently living. A “Steve Jobs” reference, perhaps, or an admonition that almost no matter what happens, you always manage to kill the one who matters to a situation as your first order of business and then find out later that man or woman arrived “before his/her time.” We have seen this with Newton, Galileo, Copernicus, etc., we count ourselves “smarter” always than those who have come before us in this unglorious 21st century, and [the last I checked] hardly any of you can make it through the collected works of the Bronte sisters let alone Victor Hugo, Melville, Hawthorne, Twain, etc. while chanting *TO ME* that brevity is the soul of wit.
Weaving your way through life without a single elf to guide you.
As if you know what wit or witty means, excepting from the analysis brevity, which you take to mean “what contributes to your own personally [and quite casually] determined” goals for your allotted “four score and seven” [hat tip, DD] years of life here. You are worm food.
Robin Williams seemed to say so, at least. So did Frank Herbert, via the Reverend Mother: (193) Dune 1984 — Awareness control instincts — YouTube
Who defines brevity then? Is it you? The captains of this sinking ship who elect yourselves thought leaders and then scratch your heads copiously when a guy like me shows up, ‘stupidly’ declaring that your ill-formed labels will work on everything and everyone, certainly including “a guy like me”?
The teacher shows up and you are making paper airplanes to invade another planet with your cancerous thoughts? Great. Grate the finer of the people into particles and flush them down the drains of your “mental hospitals” and then see what happens when someone like me can’t be ground up using your conventional approaches. The completely uncompensated wide scale drug experiments on the “weakest of the weak” who are identified by the self-serving and rather pompous process of “that one doesn’t talk like me, let’s shove a gun in his face, a needle in his leg, or a pill in his mouth and make him a vegetable.”
Unfortunately for you, I sleuthed my way out of that puzzle and the tables are now turned permanently. Now you get to count the metaphorical bullets in my chambers and ask yourselves one question, all: Do you feel lucky?
I am so used to your weasel words, your quasi-logic, your lip service, your passive-aggressive approaches, your failure to understand Freud, mythology, cultural appropriation, historically significant events, etc. etc. etc.
I have had enough of it, and at least TWO of you are now in the path of the hurricane. Hint: the next one starts with a “J.”
I am tired of your inability to separate the wheat from the chaff, your faux-meritocracies, your plutocracies, kleptocracies, monarchies, democracies, etc. I hear nothing but noise from the lot of you and I wonder whether all around me are just utter morons or whether I still haven’t found a single bulb in this entire chandelier worth wasting my time or ejergy on.
Blackstone’s formulation is something like 2600 years old, I know Sun Tzu better than the lot of you (probably combined), I know Bali and pressure points and strategic thought and divide and conquer and all sorts of things which make me a terribly serious opponent should you opt to continue making me one. I am also a great friend and a polite person more often than not. I cannot be touched by the CIA, the FBI, the “regular” police, the thought police, and certainly not by the halfwits described conventionally as psychiatrists.
As if I haven’t had multiple meetings with Richard Perez, PhD. As if I didn’t speak to Eric Hittinger PhD (RIT), Gustavo Collantes PhD (UC Davis), Laurent Seror, John Wayland, Maria Belen Friere Solarazano (PhD UCLA) etc. etc. etc. etc. asking only that one or a few of you not only review the technologies I have already designed to help us out of this climate nightmare we’ve ignorantly climbed ourselves into but also take a few further steps than the simple one of “deigning” to allow me to sit in your glorious presence. Let not one of us save the rest — not certainly until he has passed the utterly idiotic test of “make a bunch of money/cryptocurrency” as the first order of business.
The straightest path to a solution is addressing the problem not accepting the conventional approach to doing things. Thought leaders you thought you were? List the books you’ve read so I can explain to you what you should have taken out of them. At least three or four and at least five or six movies — they should be included in your response. Why not test your cleverness if you’re so fucking clever? Worried about the cleaver are you?
DO OR DO NOT. There is no “try.”
At some point, I’m going to consider lack of a response an act of aggression and at that point I will consider said passive aggressive behavior an act of war against the sensible from the insensate “masses” (1%ers) which are you. At that point, my crosshairs will find the hari kari of the knave knives you’ve used on me and the fleeing will begin. I wonder who can hide from a guy who has a rather easy to recognize 2012 Tesla in his driveway which Elon and his cronies conspicuously managed to immobilize.
Fight a guy with a brain with all of your money, your hopes, your misbegotten dreams and your false promises and let’s see who wins. Fourteen of you ought to be enough to “talk sense into” me, isn’t that right Rick Bollar? Don’t you have an MBA? Some of you have a law degree. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Many have tried.
What is insulting and what is respectful? Have I been disrespectful to you, Mike Barnard? I think not, but you think so — or…wait, do you still get to have a second opinion on that?
Call your own doctor, but try not to blow this particular opportunity cost evaluation with an hour and change of your time this week. Pompous people ALWAYS lose, wasn’t that what you all indirectly told me?
The joke is on you now. Fourteen of you on this list; the odds of no response are ZERO. 2¹⁴…hmmm that’s 1 chance in 16,384 that the group of you will be stupid enough to take a dare and make a bet with me. Play on fiddlers. Fiddle your way on the hot tin roof of this house afire and try to figure out how you can avoid the certainty of this message in some form getting to Greta Thunberg — who still follows me on Twitter — or via any one of a number of ways I can use to take it viral.
Speak your thoughts as though I am “yet another” Unibomber. A Timothy McVeigh who hasn’t wised up. More like a David Gale force of a thousand hurricanes to shut the lot of you down or shut you up rather concisely or concussively.
Try to figure out whether I know enough about the dark web, terrorism, how to get to China or at least find someone who will listen in the oil industry. If you lose the opportunity to keep me on your team, I will certainly switch sides to the slightly less clueless and make my first approach to Big Oil and Big Auto, for example. Much more politely than this one was to the lot of you. You’re going to argue polite versus rude with a guy who did not, does not, and might not ever agree to what the lot of YOU think are “fair rules for engagement”?
All of this is actually somewhat distasteful/disgusting to me. It is clear to me that none of you can distinguish between genius and insanity anymore than you can distinguish between this genius and that genius, or even this genus/species and that genus/subspecies.
Perhaps the lot of you should read Origin of Species, Breaking the Spell, etc. etc. etc. and then salt it with Breaking Bad, Black Mirror, Robert Louis Stevenson, etc. and start pointing your Mr. Pinkman fingers in some other direction than (again) toward me. The ugly time of draconian approaches is ending, it is not beginning. Don’t project your ham-fisted thoughts and theories on me lest you be the recipient of another metaphorical knuckle sandwich.
Me? I’m fine at the moment. You probably don’t want to piss me off one single more time, if you want my opinion. Radical. What a book. I stand on the shoulders of great men and women, but in my lexicon that just means we’re all in freefall mode as parachutists and I’m the only one with a rip cord. I will likely fart when I pull it.
The good news is that at a speeds approaching that of a peregrine falcon, you will probably smell nothing but the smoke that is coming out of your ears or the smoke that is coming from my nose.
*****
Those of you who previously “bet” on me won, as far as I see things. Concomitantly, n = win (which simultaneously means ALL minus n = loser(s) + uninformed. All ~ 8,000,000,000). Now, to determine the value of n. Does it equal np or doesn’t it?
Here is your proof: https://youtu.be/21rMb_xtZko
Please feel free to skip/scrub forward to 16 minutes into the recording.
At that point all you have to do is listen. However, since I know your relative patience is almost zero I can tell you that you may have to skip to 25 minutes. At that point you probably “need” to listen for about 3–5 minutes before it finally registers that this isn’t a guy who you don’t want to fuck with anymore.
Spotify, which was playing in the background self-filters out of the recording, which is the reason why you cannot hear harmonic resonance between the original recordings and my untrained vocals. **This will be painful to listen to.** It isn’t not supposed to be; at least that part ought to be obvious.
Songs:
Candle in the Wind 1997 — Elton John
We Are the World — various recording artists
etc.
This is your last chance.
Rain Man an autistic savant? And you guys think *I* am the one who tells some good stories? I doubt you forget this one anytime soon.
<drops microphone in a slightly more responsible than Barack Obama fashion>
Your turn. Make your move(s) and make them good this time.
Btw p DOES equal np
Sincerely,
