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38197medicated meta-goo

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  • Trinidad Cruz
    Apr 2, 2006
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      It should hardly be a surprise that most human beings prefer the
      story. Fact is difficult in every way. Within the story people can
      "safely" dream of better days and better things. Though the story is
      responsible for every human war since its "narrative" began, it is
      meta-syncretism; that is, though the bloodshed is fact, seduced by and
      forced into the story, the war within the story is without
      consequence, no one is conquered, nothing is won, the story is never
      changed. Freedom itself is outside the story. It is not something that
      can be won or lost within the story. The story is a taskmaster, know
      it or not. It makes difficult fact into repressed dreams, simulates
      war and enlightenment in a scenario without species-wide consequence.
      This makes the story itself the consequence - the consequence of
      making difficulty inconsequential, the choice of cowardice. Until we
      are courageous enough to act as a whole species to throw off the
      shackles of the story; we will war without meaning, kill and die just
      to connect in some way with difficult fact. Why? Because the story
      itself, in all its versions, is a syncretistic disconnection from
      fact, a shield against difficulty. Uninhibited human fascination
      inevitably discovers overwhelming terror, and derives in shock into
      fabrication, a mediation, a story with controllable imaginary
      outcomes. The meta-syncretism of the story works very much like a
      perpetual motion machine, its Mittyesque tapocketa tapocketa
      tapocketa, relentlessly munching up fact into an unassimilable
      hopelessly medicated meta-goo.

      Foxes have holes, birds have nests, but the son of man has no place to
      lay his head. Why are we the only species on the planet that prefers
      to cover our naked bodies when engaging in ordinary interaction with
      other members of our species? Are we entirely mammals? Our fur is
      largely vestigial, growing on our head and around our genitals. It is
      pragmatic to clothe ourselves against the weather, but is it pragmatic
      to negotiate the fate of the species, or to negotiate at all with one
      another while hiding our bodies? Most of us are not ashamed to be
      naked in front of other species, yet we are shamed in front of our
      own. Tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa, a woman cannot breast feed a child
      in public places in this country, tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa,
      Britney Spears the pro-life anatomically correct sheila-na-gig; the
      ultimate rock-n-roll lawn statue companion piece to the naked Kelt
      dying on his shield. Duh-arwin and Trivers would at least wonder: How
      did a species develop shame over its nakedness in front of members of
      its own species? Jung might speculate it began with keeping secrets
      out of a defense mechanism, or even competitive instinct. Squirrels
      hide nuts to be sure, still like most mammals they compete naked for
      mates and interact with everything completely naked. Food and sex are
      not the same thing, only in the story, certainly not in fact. There is
      more to bio-chemistry than specific chemical exchanges: i/e dynamic
      configurations, environmental factors, measurement problems,
      instrumentation problems, electricity and gravity, just to mention a
      few of too many to count. Pop science is spin, political masking, know
      it or not. The human body is a bio-chemical machine within a
      configuration of cosmic resonances too vast to yet account for, but
      the question remains: why are humans the only species on this planet
      that prefer to interact with one another hiding their nakedness from
      each other? There is no doubt, it is a product of the story, because
      it is unnatural for a species of this planet.

      The instinct of the higher animals on this planet, other than humans,
      is to fight for sex, but only as a display of prowess, and never
      purposely to the death, a kind of "coup" counting selection process.
      Only humans purposely kill one another over sex. Most of the higher
      animals will fight to the death to defend their young. A lot of humans
      will not, and in fact will even destroy their own young as a matter of
      convenience. Most of the higher animals will fight for food with one
      another, but rarely to the death within their own species, regardless
      of the fact they readily kill other species for food. A lot of humans
      will kill you in a heartbeat if survival is at stake. There is more
      than enough about the human race that is unnatural to the evolutionary
      processes of the planet, to argue for an anomaly, an unprecedented
      intervention in the normal evolutionary process of the species. A
      story is less difficult than science. Tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa,
      Eve slept with a lizard; tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa, son of God
      Jesus of the pure DNA had to lay down the terms – die and be born
      again, you know clean out that bad DNA; tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa,
      Mr. MojoRising is the lizard king; tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa,
      Dubyah needs to test "divine strike" in Nevada, probably a masked test
      of a battlefield tactical nuclear weapon, the kind banned by every
      nuclear non-proliferation treaty on record, the ultimate concealed
      weapon of the nuclear arsenal, a real nuclear palmgun. Pop conspiracy
      theory, religion, it simply does not matter; nations are built in the
      story by the story, and in our democracy all politicians are
      storytellers because they are human and because people, the
      constituency, prefer the story. The human species arrived through
      evolution, not via the story. There is nothing in the human species
      that is not terrestial, and no scientist would argue otherwise, but
      like all human beings they might tell you any kind of story. Gods.
      Aliens. Politics. Nations. It is all a way of pledging facts, killing
      and dying, into the story. Tapocketa tapocketa tapocketa, war. We're
      all just pissed off. Other IS conflict. And by the way, I also think
      Derrida has some redeeming ideas, but then so do Lyotard, Quine,
      Deleuze, Jim Morrison and Bruce Springsteen. It is still
      meta-syncretism; far, far, far too much so, to derive into pure
      existentialism without understanding what it is.

      "tell me a story,
      about how you adore me,
      here in the shadow,
      right here,
      in the shadow of lies."

      Trinidad Cruz