RUDIMENTS, pt. 909
(a Christmas message for all ages) pt. one
Interesting things abound, though
not much here. One really needs
to step forth, and step out, to try
and learn things first, in order for
that to be prevalent. What's been
happening here - and I'll state it
frankly and forthrightly - is that
the influx of the sort of people
being filtered into Avenel - placed
by agencies, government, and the
usual beastly section 8 morons, are
beginning to show up with oddball
messages on one of the local pages :
'I'm new here, don't know much about
anything, where can I get a xxxxx?'
whatever they're looking for. And
then you see their profile and
page, and suddenly realize what's
up. And then you see what they're
looking for in their questions, and
you can only say, 'Good God! Nails
and sub sandwiches? How about
a library, or a tutor even; or a
spelling and linguistics and
grammar coach. How dat be?'
-
I have nothing against anyone, nor
do I much care about anything -
never have - but you start dumping
people in the middle of a town because
you're building reams of subsidized
housing and getting deals to take
the resident-overflow of barricaded
slums like East Orange and Irvington
to live in your town - something's
way wrong Corky; way wrong...
-
My accurate planning has called for
this to be posted on the day before
Christmas - where people can see
it and realize I myself have not one
whit of Christmas feeling or spirit.
It's a lie, all of it, and just another
in a long list or tribal rot that's been
peddled. I was reading today about
another cave that's been located,
in Sulawesi, Indonesia - a new
cave painting that is 'upending
our understanding of prehistoric
humans.' As if we've ever had any
understanding of them at all. This
cave predates all the others, by
about 20,000 years, and has been
carbon-dated, since 2017, to
be, fairly accurately, 43,900
years old. Now, all you little
manger and cradle types, I don't
know what effect any of this,
or if any, would have on your
Biblical traditionalism, so certain
of telling to us what's been done
and in what way, to the Earth and
its people, but these facts stand.
The panel of art her is the 'oldest
pictorial record of storytelling
and the earliest figurative artwork
in the world.' For some hundreds
of years now we've had the
Gilgamesh epic, many finds in
Mesopotamia, stories, narratives,
etc. Each of these very ancient
tales, stories, etc., pre-tell pretty
much the same early stories that
the Bible stumbles over, but they
tell it better - because it's not
strapped into the strait-jacket of
ideology that the 'religions' have
re-written with so as to bolster
and support their own ridiculous
mythologies. That, my friends,
is putting the original and the
ancient world into the use and
the service of a 'God' structure
made for the use of other
purposes, 'sacred' and profane
at the same time. I daresay religion
has killed near as many people
as it's purported to have brought
to their 'Heaven.'
-
The world is a twisted up place, a
ruse . This entire hand-hold of
Christmas is the worst part of a
bad scene. A diorama of the wicked.
A fetishistic bread-basket of worldly
goons. You may have you three
wise men, the little baby, and the
two quite weirded out parents,
and make a psycho-meal from it
all. Go ahead. Eat up. The symbolism
of a tree? Indoors? In the starting
days of Winter, when Nature is
dead (it's not really, but only Humans
think there's nothing going on in
trees, branches, bushes and limbs
right, and all Winter, because 'they'
privileged, proverbial characters
that they are, can't 'see' it). I always
wondered what any of this was
about - Christmas trees, etc; even
the previous and old Germanic
tradition from which it was all
stolen - and put to commercial
purposes over the unwitting. In
New York City, in this dead spot
of December, there'd be rows of
trees along sidewalks, with the
temporary sheds and huts, and
trucks, of the Vermont or the
Connecticut tree-sellers who'd
come down for their sales season,
all three weeks of it; pay-off the
right people, get their spots, do
business all hours on the sidewalk,
sleep in their trucks, with heaters
or small fires, find a bathroom
facility somewhere that would
let them have use. Decorated
trees, tall trees (those pre-war
apartments have tall ceilings),
for $120 and more. For three
weeks they'd sell up a storm,
the vigil of warmth and the
pretend Gods of Nature and
Rebirth taking their places in
the local mythology, the parade
of services and rituals. Money
to be made - even with all
the hardships. Nine dollar
NYC bar beers seem a bargain
by the amounts these people
had to pay out to remain
unharrassed. To what end?
So the local primitives could
once again prove to themselves
that God and Nature and Mankind
are all to come together once
again when Spring bursts its
flouncy seams over the fabric
of the land. I never got how any
'symbolism' - and the stories
built around it, the actual,
dead-in-the-water Christmas
vignette, could be worth any
of that. People need a symbol,
to bring into their home, in this
most un-natural of settings -
city, town, suburbia, where people
are afraid of a knife, or a raccoon?
To plop in their living quarters no
matter how plush or how squalid?
A dead tree, no less. Festooned
with goofy lights, decorations,
ribbons. To hazard the domiciles
of many others were one to take
fire and blaze into primitive form.
I certainly don't need a symbol,
a tree, a dead tree, cut and shorn
from Nature, to show me that
Nature shall rise again - and to
then have that idea formed and
personified into a take of someone
who does rise again, to make the
point? I know I'll rise again, as I
know I've already died, and live
concurrently right now my death
and my life together, in overlapping
and multi-dimensional layers of
life, time, and cosmos. I can
never understand why people
can accept a million outlandish
and stupid things, but cannot
accept any ideas of their own
soul's immortality, the concurrence
of all times, running on at once,
the multidimensionality of each
of us living all things all at once,
and the true symbolism of all life.
But they'll accept a miracle. They'll
accept a few bread loaves and fishes
feeding a multitude. Rebirth, triumph
over death, water into wine. Nothing
scares me, and I accept all things.
-
Most people are blind. They are
servants now to electronics of
which they haven't a clue. Like
their own lives, and the universe
all around them. Blind and dead
as a dead horse can be. But they'll
throw up the symbol, yearly. I
don't need something like that to
tell me that Nature will be coming
back. Funniest part of this all is
that the mist heavy users, and
destroyers of Nature, and those
who get tyrannical over eco this
and eco that, will pace themselves
through all this, over and over,
even as they proclaim death
and destruction. So being blind
isn't enough. They have to be
blind fakers. Are things as bad
as you claim, or not? Shiftless
mobsters, all. Pack animals of
the Devil's dust.
-
So many of Life's rank visuals
are just wrong. In the story told
by this new cave-painting, eight
figures approach wild pigs and
boars and dwarf buffaloes native
to Sulawesi). For whoever painted
these figures (43,900 years ago!),
they represented much more than
ordinary human hunters. One
appears to have a large beak, while
another has an appendage resembling
a tail. In the language of archaeology
there are therianthropes, or characters
that embody a mix of human and
animal characteristics. These
extraordinary characters are shown
wielding thin objects that might
represent ropes or spears, and the
painting may be an artistic attempt
at representing early life. All things
are true. Myths are never just myths.
(Part Two follows).
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