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41414Re: metonymy? ibidem

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  • Trinidad Cruz
    May 29, 2007
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      --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "Chris Lofting" <chrislofting@...>

      "You need to read more dude - outside of your limited box. To aid your
      development:" C J Lofting

      Aw geez CSW. I'm gonna pop.

      You know C J, of late my Doctor, who is a very nice man, a genuinely
      compassionate man; has advised me against reading things that insult
      my intelligence as I become too agitated. Unfortunately I don't
      consider him, though reasonably scientific, to be much more to me than
      a nuisance. I opted for self-diagnosis years ago, and personally think
      I am an exception to the rule, and will continue to live that way as
      my behavior and its consequences are my responsibility. One could say
      I was dying, but it would be an utterly irrelevant statement since I
      began that process along with living the day I was born. At least thus
      far he has been sharp enough not to advise me against sexual activity,
      though that may have something to do with me dating his daughter,
      though I suffer constant warning about smoking at her hands which I
      generally ignore. At least she's sharp enough not to admonish me about
      drinking. I remember the story of Jack going out to the beach on Fire
      Island, and approaching a young bikini clad woman with "Hi I'm Jack
      Kerouac." She looked at the pestering old bum and squealed "No way you
      weirdo. You're not Jack Kerouac." or some such proclamation. Society
      in general pretty much tells us we are not who we think we are, and
      those of us who are lazy or stupid or diffident tend to turn to
      expertise for some definition. I admit myself to having drifted toward
      that comfort a few times along the way. Unfortunately my experiences
      with such "expertise" have resulted in substantial relationship losses
      along the way, generally about the time the teeth gnashing started.
      Why is it these days so many "academics" never actually become
      academic? In the answer to that question is my accusation. These times
      in academia are generally insipid and faddist I admit, but a general
      assumption that a human textual appraisal of the universe can contain
      the workings of the human mind is hilarious. Right about the time you
      think you are constructing yourself you're going to find out that
      nobody else notices, in fact often don't even want to notice, and
      furthermore that you have simply invented only another closed and
      useless discourse on a par with nursery rhymes. Therein is the texture
      you are drawn in and to - comfort and a good night's sleep. I want
      comfort and a good night's sleep myself, I just don't ever want to
      believe that they matter to anything about me other than my living or
      dying which are already clearly not good enough for me or anyone who
      actually cares about me.

      I've seen the butterfly effect, on the windshield of a Mack. It's the
      same thing that makes it so hard to get up off the couch at the end of
      the day - gravity. John Cage used to do a piece called "Moths" I think
      he called it. I saw him do it back in the 60's once when it surprised
      even him. He tossed a platter full of moths in the air expecting the
      sound of fluttering wings, and not a single moth flew, but rather fell
      to the stage in series of sickly plops. He smiled though. It was dark
      in the auditorium. I was feeling up my girlfriend and only noticed
      because I felt her giggle. I was not thinking about living or dying,
      or the effect of anything, neither the plops nor the flutters. Cage
      was right. It was music, but he wasn't performing it, I was. I write
      my own song C J, `cause the one the universe writes is just not
      beautiful enough for me, and what you haven't understood is that I can
      actually hear that universal song, and obviously more clearly than
      you, because my intent will always be to re-write it in my terms - not
      a God's, not a scientist's, not a mathematician's, not a preacher's,
      not an artist's, not a poet's, not a musician's, not even a
      philosopher's - nope, just whatever the hell my human terms are for me.

      Oh crap. Honey help me. Too late.

      To me you're on par with a "Moonie". You think the I Ching is genetic
      code? I was kinda wondering what kind of instrumentation they had in
      2000BC? Was there some long lost X-ray crystallography machine or gene
      sequencer in the FRICKIN' STONE AGE? Are you saying they got the info
      from space aliens? Are you a secret Sitchenette? You think the
      corporate world is gonna naturally evolve a conscience? Jesus are you
      brain dead? I wanna argue with your Marquette math professor but I can
      only take the stress drunk. I live in Lake Geneva. I can come up there
      some night. I know some people in Milwaukee. I'll bring `em. I want no
      fee, just a couple of cases of beer on the stage for me and a couple
      of my buddies. When the beer's gone I'll leave. Bring Ashton Kutcher,
      we'll kick back. If he brings Demi I can probably get some actual
      mathematicians to come. I'll try to talk Knotthead into coming too. I
      think he's in Chicago. You'll probably have to pay him though. He
      understands comedy so commands a much higher price. Picture it. What a
      butterfly effect. Lake Michigan could turn into beer. Why didn't I
      think of this a long time ago? That would be cool dude. I'm with ya
      buddie. I see the good sense in your approach. Let's make `er happen.
      Wil, goddamnit I think he's got `er dialed in. It's just an
      experiment. Let's try it. You know it just occurred to me that if I go
      into analysis with one of these guys Lake Michigan could turn into
      beer. I'm always game for a good cause. I dunno. Maybe there were
      aliens. Maybe that's who tried to kill me in Denver. Damn. I'm
      beginning to see the light. I always thought it was the NSA. What the
      hell did I do with that box of sticks? Where's my gun?

      Oh shit.

      Settle down now Trini. Don't get those little white sparkly things
      going again. I hate that goddamned ping that shoots down my neck.
      Gimme a cigarette honey. Please. I'm gonna pop. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The
      complaining's harder on me than the cigarette. For chrissake you and
      your old man are gonna kill me tryin' to make me live. OK. I'm sorry.
      Get me a beer. That's better. Don't worry. I'm just excited about Lake
      Michigan. Honey, where's that protest against sea-going ships in the
      Great Lakes going to be?

      Love and kisses, 'r uh,
      peace out baby
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