…and so it came to it; I heard the calling of the people.
I’d have called it ‘the calling of my people’ — to place in italics, and in speech to enunciate the more clearly on the portion of the distinction which makes the second distinct; it is not anywhere disallowed that a semicolon be used in the midst of a parenthetical — if that’s what that is, I really do forget the name of it, even whilst within the parenthetical to a parenthetical — and so, because neither a semicolon, nor perhaps a colon (which is clearly a prerequisite on at least a couple if not a few different levels) for just this reason:
There is no place you can’t get to if you can get to it in your mind, and since that’s true I believe I’ve just, within just a very few sentences, and actually just the one because as I observe things, despite periods over here and periods over there, despite all the commentary and the questions and the concerns and the ‘how will we do its ?’ [Author’s note: and there I point to a thing I consider among the rarer of the questions, and one I can’t say I’m quite sure who I might ask about it, the rarest of the rare (or it actually might even be beyond that in the rareness, because once you have but one of a kind the only step reasonable to take from that point is to realize there aren’t any points at all; that it’s all just a continuous stream of my consciousness and yours, and the way we interact with one another is no less and no more complex than the swirling of the dust particles and the mixture of gases in which it swirls. You can’t, of course, say to me that air itself swirls, because if you did that then I would certainly respond — again in a more Plato’s dialoguesian way than likely the most you’d ever seen, and since of that I think I am quite certain, I shall offer it further in a proof beyond words beyond belief and certainly beyond anything which could even remotely be called conventionality.
After all, if I had you all thinking that I would even attempt to complete this entire piece of litter-at-yer and then throw it as litter at your head as if I were trying to give you a headache from the inanity of it, you might have that excuse you were *ALL* looking for that Brian Kent is not actually GOD he just thinks he is.
No, actually, I never said that and I certainly never did so quite as precisely as that, but then I DID even though I didn’t because if you quoted me out of context like this is, was, were, could be, might have been, or could in one way or variously be speculated by a person who had his or her wits about him or herself and…
I’m awfully damned tired of this whole idea of trying to distinguish oneself by ‘escaping’ one’s skin.
I mean, I’ll still go with it, and you know that if *YOU* demand it I must, because you all seem to be the deciders despite that you always seem to decide things in a way which leaves me holding the Santa sack. You ask me for treats, I’m sure you do because I’ve heard you do it.
And I think, at least if we’re going to be fair about things, that if you actually *DID* say those words which I repeated back to you to seek nothing more, perhaps, than polite clarification…
…it seems reasonable enough to assume that when I tell you I heard you say them that I’m not lying. At least not precisely.
Which I can’t for the life of me figure out: Is there a ‘precise’ truth or isn’t there?
I don’t think there really is. I think precision is intended for people who just don’t prefer to ‘slop’ their way through things. I think I grew weary of precision as a concept, though I have to say that it did take even me a number of years to cough up that hairball. I cough it up now, as I know I surely must, because I doubt if many have seen it just like that analogy I’m crafting as my five — sometimes six, if you count the thumb — fingers on my hand or hands flicks lightly against this keyboard in front of me.
I know this made me an artist, because there is nothing else I want to be anymore.
I didn’t so much lick my wounds from the various interactions I’ve had with people in the world. What I tried to do was more like a cat preening itself; trying to present itself the better all the time with its raspy tongue.
And I will give the better part of my right eye to the person who can find a person who has ever ‘met me for longer than a day or two’ and cannot observe for you that my tongue has been among the raspier of tongues and done so frequently in the past 50 years of my time here.
And you know what?
I’ve got an excuse for that one as well. I think it’s probably got something to do with all the wild raspberries which used to grow (still do grow) in the mostly-ashwoods-and-clover fields out behind my childhood home.
Which cannot stop me short of telling of the walnuts, and it can’t stop me from being finally honest to you and straight up telling you that the thoughts which trailed off after that ‘ended’ with these, of which I might make ONE (1) and only ONE (1) selection, since you all rush me about in the fashion of people who had the foggiest idea where we are all going.
- reflections on erecting walls between one another and the nutty people who do that
- reflections on the Berlin Wall which isn’t there anymore, and was that a good thing to take down after everyone had gotten used to it, at least just a little, and didn’t want to forget it as part of the human (very human) history
- Reflections (bouncing this off the last) of how we always always always always always always know everything until we know something more, and there are a very scant few (i.e. they are not only people who are few in number but that scantness of that few is a very kind of scant, which is the same (as by definition) as the convention I suggested recently for others to use that we might ‘zero in’ on the target of what we’re saying to one another the more carefully, not the more quickly. scant³
And then it gets tiresome, so I return to the point I promised all of you I would give: the “zilla’s notes about how to conquer social media.”
In the “Cliff’s Notes” version (that is, the deliberately shorter and hence necessarily the less statistically provable to be precise method — geez, is that even…yes, let me check it…
When a thing is deliberately shorter does it make it less precise?
Well I think yes it does. In fact, I follow that up with one of my typical “emPhaDicks” and I multitasked it a bit to both throw some iced-cold water onto both the PhD’s AND the concept of ‘multitasking’, and if that pair of both this and that didn’t suffice to you as the tease I was forcing you to get up off the floor that I just put you on and go over to the nurse’s station because it’s time for YOUR meds, not for me to go on some.
A captain is hardly one to ever take the dramamine, however the sea might toss and toil about:
“This is as-it-should-be,” cried Ahab, upon finding himself walking pointedly about on a tumultuous deck of fairy tales which seemed by the moment to be sinking deeper into this mine, this mine, this mine, this mine, oh man my brother I can tell you! Either one of you, perhaps, both our genetics we each somewhat shared with one another, and it’s true that Jeff’s skin is not quite so freakcally as mine once was.
Ah! There I’ve misspelt the word ‘freckle’ as it becomes an adverb, and I know I did it again to not be cute. Well, not just cute, because everything I do and everything I say could be construed as both cute and also as alarming — especially when the unflappability that was granted me by the process of all of you flapping your jaws at me until they could be flapped no longer by default, in a curious but undeniably speculatively obvious fashion:
When one hath endured every different person’s every different version of the flapping of their jaws — that is, the ‘talking when they’ve ‘no idea’ what they’re talking about — when they’ve finally seen all the flapping that a bunch of birds who, until quite recently as I think of things were not even capable of what they call ‘flying.’
Isn’t it obvious, by all of this, Mr. Elon Musk, that if you really understood aerodynamics and if it really were true that ‘brevity is the soul of wit’ that
It would certainly be possible to fly without bothering with that stupid thing you use to ‘foil’ the air of *MY* breath with.
Of course you wouldn’t have to talk so very much in relation to the volume and frequency and variability and ‘notable degree’ that *I* myself do, because isn’t it pretty clear by now that the secret to social media mobility is to
Create an image that no one has ever seen before, and have it at least make some sense?
Which is why for your first lesson of “Basics of Social Media Informational Deploy” — the third semester, week two, Friday afternoon “lesson” plan and extra credit project I am asking you, the students who I’ve sent here from my class at Carnegie Mellon University, where I go by the name of ‘Stuart’ —
Can you figure out which ‘new’ AI development team came up with this reasonable facsimile of what an actual human being might say?
If not, then watch this video:
Episode 1: Brian Kent, The Man Who Was — YouTube
And then stay tuned for the remainder of the series.
God-Zzzzz out.
