Tag Archives: freedom

Instincts Serving As Software For Snotty Experiments With Dirty Minds

chaos
Order Out Of Chaos
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Date: Fri Jul 19, 1996 5:00:12 PM

"...Cos suddenly there was a flood of instant messages, and I discovered that I was almost the only woman left." —Jennifer

Quite the norm, Jennifer. Men are such worms. Dirt is our life, say I. Eight hours a day, five days a week, years of clawing, spent in the dirt, clay, and mud rubs off on ya, and its cough gets sucked into the bloodstream where it pollutes the whole body, including the eyes, the nostrils, the mind. In the ever controversial Book of Genesis, it is written somewhere that God cursed the ground. Having spent more than a gentleman's share wallowing, hiking, muscling through the dirt and the mud, pounding nails, hubs, stakes, whacking brush, thorns, poisonous vines, yellow jacket hives, wading stiff rivers, armpit-high flood zones flooded, half-frozen creek beds, and the shitty bowels of sewage trunk systems, I came to believe it, too. Blue collar men who have remained holy are my heroes. The same for their women.

"So today I did some reading and went to a park, waded in a creek, and hiked to Taughnannock Falls. I felt restored enough to leap back online. Read your missives (by the way may I also say that i'm also amused by your notes and often sit here chuckling and grinning...LOL—I'm learning the lingo)"

Cool with an asterisk. Re-read preceding paragraph of mine. But still wish I were there sharing the exhileration. Chicklet in wading boots, vroom. And perhaps I shall soon, if you really want me to be, there, with you, me, old ugly bulging me. Psychological exploitation is such a two-way street. Jen, you make such a big deal about bodily architecture sometimes it's like you are nailing a mouthful of piranha spikes into my brain.

About the comment I made in nyc about cybersex and communications....What did I say?....You know me, mind like a sieve...help me plug the holes and refresh my faulty memory."—

That was it. It was a oneliner tossback. You bubbled forth with that typical edge in your voice indicating that, well, your exact words were: "Hey, you and I could go into the cybersex business together" after I was telling you what some folk were doing already with the newest Internet tools. Your software. My hardware. That—sweetbones was a double entendre. Your body and sexual instincts serving as the software, i.e. the program matter. Tools and expertise to operate the technology of course would be mine (and Sue's, together with her bookkeeping talents no piss in the wind either). I didn't really respond beyond a hopeful facial expression because I hear so much throwaway promises out of the mouths of friends and would-be friends that I have grown cold to the hearing. Enter the Steve Taylor arguments. I am still a PowerMac away from exploring the teleconferencing protocols, but Sue promises one any month now, and then I will be eager to test that warm, metallic dream of George & Judy Jetson emerging. How justified am I in considering your words worth the air they rode in on...

These last few thoughts may help you, although I know you already do understand my insistence in finally shaking off that "go with the flow" attitude, and finally doing things MY way, THY way...and why Jack last February, and now Steve Taylor have been early inheritors of my refusal to suffer leisure idiots their pleasure as they invade what many have perceived as my good nature and fair household...
"Sorry that I can't make it down this summer...poss. in the fall (depending on school) or at least at winter break when I shall again be financially sound thanks to the great American pastime of accumulating debts which can't be repaid."

I will count on it. But then the years roll by, and still no Jennifer. You know Sue and I both love you with everything we have. Now baby don't take this the wrong way (is there a right way?), but we, okay, moi more than she, have long fantasized that you would eventually end up cohabiting with us, here, there, anywhere, the three of us, a sustainable family unit, the final solution to each of our unique problems, doing something, doing everything. Both general and specific prophecies encourage it, but nothing can or will happen until the situation, or any situation for that matter is ripe. This is the curse of my way of life. I am always seeking signs, knowing nothing myself except that which is given to my understanding through an intricate matrix of synchronicities and undismissable, unmistakeable directives. Meanwhile we all individually, and collectively go about our lives, sorting out ourselves from our enemies, our lusts from our loves, and our intelligences from our stupidities. I am probably overstepping the laws of fate by mentioning this to you even at this juncture, but you came through with such flying colors on that last note I can't help myself. Frankly I don't feel I have much more than a decade left. Whether this is a psychotic form of dementia or hypochondria on my part is uncertain. What is certain I am inner directed with an urgency I have never had before except in late childhood and teens. The mobius strip of life continues to echo with incidents I recall charging up those hills of time, and the dimming flush I feel in my ever-aching head inclines me to believe my assessments are correct. Now I am not relating all this to you out of some sort of feeble attempt for sympathy, for I know the opposite effect of sheer repugnancy would more likely be the case. I am simply saying things to you I have said to Sue, and I tremble as I presume God (whatever) has placed these thoughts into my being. These last few thoughts may help you, although I know you already do understand my insistence in finally shaking off that go with the flow attitude, and finally doing things MY way, THY way...and why Jack last February, and now Steve Taylor have been early victims of my refusal to suffer leisure idiots their pleasure as they invade what many have perceived as my good nature and fair household...

BECAUSE I SEE MYSELF IN UNIVERSAL TERMS. But I am here. Polaris is there. Neither slave nor executioner (Camus). American society forces most of us male and female into both roles in a wishy washy fashion without benefit of accreditation, and so most of us muddle through unaware of the implications as we dogpaddle through this soul-fracturing sea of emblematic garbage government, and frankly, its frisky twin sister, popular culture, have invested in us.
"As to a trip northward on your part and the needed promise on my part...let me come over all coy and noncommittal, voicing my uncertainties, my fears as to what such a promise would entail. Love. Jennifer."

The creation process is all I know, anymore. So much has been put behind me. I am incapable of well-rehearsed thrusts into the unknowable future. Could never memorize a poem or rock lyric or bible scripture as a matter of principle, but I do know I am fair and sensitive, good to the last drop even should the confusion of others brings pain and despair either to me or them, or both. I expect nothing from others, but I put much aspiration out there in the ether to be considered. By seeking to bring order out of chaos and sustain order on the social plane (and in this set I include home & hearth) does not necessarily infer that I endorse rigid thought processes when artistic inspiration is given to free us from the stasis of dry patterns and unbearable party lines. I seek to understand and harness cause and effect, purpose and freedom in all things for all concerned. All else is slavery of the mind, body, and spirit. Games have rules. I like games. I like rules. Rules are to be broken, only when those rules no longer enforce the better or best case scenario. I am not an asslicker of unbridled chaos or random rulebreaking for its own sake. I seek peace. Peace is different things to different people. Understanding the equivalence of eternity and its demands among the personality orders and disorders is the function of the artist who seeks to destroy the slavery in which both society and the individual mind conspire to shackle us. To become a willing slave in a fate-endorsed situation of inequality (name the game) is to loosen its bonds, elevating the slave to a level perhaps even superior to that of the taskmaster. Jesus the Hammer taught this. To be a belligerent slave runs the risk of failing on all counts that the slave has been inspired to corrupt in following his false hopes of freedom, and his condition is worsened by rebellion, not eased. Geez, where is all this going? I suppose I am attempting an analysis of why the S&M, B&D culture has adherents on both sides of the equation, and why I feel capable of playing both roles. BECAUSE I SEE MYSELF IN UNIVERSAL TERMS. But I am here. Polaris is there. Neither slave nor executioner (Camus). American society forces most of us male and female into both roles in a wishy washy fashion without benefit of accreditation, and so most of us muddle through unaware of the implications as we dogpaddle through this soul-fracturing sea of emblematic garbage government, and frankly, its frisky twin sister, popular culture, have invested in us.

Lastly, I do not apologize for going on too long. I dig writing to you, and still can't get over the fact how prolific and witty you have proven to be. Thanks for coming to my rescue now that Steve has lost his account through negligence. He could have saved his old AOL accounts if he would have tried. A source of great pleasure to him, and archival purpose, he simply junked it by not showing up to his post-resignation interview with his boss. That interview is an AOL concoction lending them the sense that they really care why people quit the company. However, if AOL boots you, it is certain you should leave them to their own devices, and seek instead a regular Internet account, although yes, AOL is quite nice for beginners such as yourself. Internet chat is slow & tedious. The AOL versions are still amazing with speed and easy accessibility. AOL have contracted to upgrade to better third-party Web browsers. But first you need a 28.8 modem. Maybe I can help accelerate that day for you...

You mentioned mum & aunt this weekend. I thought the NYC fiasco and subsequent family feud had splintered that auntie thing, or is this a different aunt? Anywaze, have you learned to flashsession yet? This way you can check mail without being led astray by manually signing on. Nevertheless, I won't get worried if I don't hear from you in a few days, but if I am coming up during Sue's hiatus, it's next week, OR NOT...

GT

Fingers Of Low Resistance, Least Resistance, And No Resistance

Resistance
Resistance
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Date: Wed Jul 11, 1996 3:04:06 PM

Not to beat a dead horse into dog food, Landry, but I am nevertheless still interested in digging deeper into this resistance topic, in exploring what you as a female writer deem appropriate sexual language and conduct, specifically at the social or public level. As a (willing/unwilling) member of the freelance pseudo-liberated Generation X think tank, how can we expect to defy this irrational political correctness now dominating the landscape, without bloodying the field, without ignoring the differences whereby how men and women perceive the sexual arena, and their respective roles within that arena, even as it appears that the gender roles continue to evolve? For despite my own mental gymnastics, I am somewhat of a prude in this matter, myself, and actually seek liberty from the constraints of my own background.

First a few definitions: pseudo-liberated. You touched on this concept by admitting your awareness of blatant contradictions in what your own spirit in liberty tells you versus what your reality-checking brain dutifully informs you is necessary to remain in control of what can soon degenerate into a chaotic and unrewarding sensual killing field if unchecked because of the very nature of individuality. The plain fact is that every person of every generation is genetically (both physically & psychologically) predisposed to a certain level of what passes in the popular mind as freedom and the lessening buffers to loose-lipped vulgarity.

This freedom is then tested in the sexual marketplace. Gains and losses accumulate. Winners, losers, predators, victims, survivors, casualties. That's the real dirt in the sex game. The sexual elite? Without too much rehashing of old literature we both know that one person's freedom is often another person's enslavement. Each camp seeks its own reflection in the mirror of its ideological yearnings. We each, male & female, across the entire corpus of human identities use different tools to plow the field, sow the seed, and harvest the fruit of our lusts and loves, fetishes and fixes. Individual tastes are formed by a complex matrix of genetics and environmental influences working within us at every turn.

The point is, they are strong sexual warriors with no pity for the serfs and only seek upward mobility, just as men do, and women always have, albeit in different mutations of the basic idea throughout generations and cultures.
Often over the course of a life we change to meet the ever-mutating challenges of sensuality and desire. Common sense and societal mores of the day often intrude upon what others might find more to their own liking, as common sense can often be as wrong as the public powers. Thus few of us can in truth boast that we are truly liberated simply because we do not know what it means to be liberated.

Classes who arguably at that point of sexual liberty live to pursue this sexual freedom to their own accumulative advantage while the many are still left to fend for themselves in the heat of the old torturous battles between moral agency and libertinism. Freedom or liberty in this case can only mean freedom of opportunity to succeed or fail at getting what we desire...

Great thinkers of antiquity, realizing this imbalance and opening for societal failure suggested suppression of the urges rather than chasing a false rainbow corrupting the loins with the tricks of envy and abuse, forced by success and especially, persistent failure. Failure is disease, disease is failure. I observe women with their hypertextual sense of liberal guilt for the masses rarely take pity on hordes of men delegated by natural order to mere pawns of the sexual princes and princesses ruling the sexual arena. But consistent with their incumbent sexual and business tools, battle plans, and gains to be made, they are often cold taskmasters, subtle manipulators, starving their opponents and thwarting their competition by any means necessary in order to control the field. The point is, they are strong sexual warriors with no pity for the serfs and only seek upward mobility, just as men do, and women always have, albeit in different mutations of the basic idea throughout generations and cultures.

Because we have willingly accepted this bartered state as a necessary compromise to what we collectively can manage to squeeze from life, having failed at any number of dry nuances over the years, a truce has settled upon us.
I realize many of the above statements can and will infuriate many a feminine perspective. None of my postulates are meant to pacify female anger for the brutality men have set upon them throughout history. I am grievously sick with self-loathing turned against the gender sporting cock, balls, upper body strength, and this so-called social power everyone in the PC generation is always raving about. Pure madness.

But finally after 32 or 33 years of apotheosizing the feminine component of humanity, and weaned from this generalized self-loathing by the redemptive notions of writer Camille Paglia, I am equally stricken with a loathing that spreads out beyond that primitive misogyny men are often accused of, often rightfully so, to encompass my own effeminate strains the radical feminists carp so much about when lacking a fair shade of the same themselves. We all need to face a few facts. Few of us are ever given a fair shake. Male or female. Games are played with romantically inclined lies in the name of spectacular truth. Only once this false game of shadows and overwrought sentimentality has been diminished and replaced with a more intrinsic set of values will equality even find its true voice in the war between the sexes.

It was only a few weeks ago I last threatened another Tolstoy—to leave the manor in hopes of reasserting myself as I used to be, as I want to be, but I am not the same flesh and bones I once was, and the chances my new independence would prove futile and an idiot's folly are astronomically high.
I am not advocating the overthrow of anything. I simply know that what passes for love in this country is little more than mercantile power wearing a mask of fair weather friendship, lust, or loosely formed business arrangements. Those vows most mouth are garbage lines not worth the paper they are written on or the God they are supposedly supplicating. And lust if not outright ridiculed is still spoken of insincerely in most pseudo-liberated circles propped up by double standards and power negotiations. So let's not be coy, sweet idealists. It's time to throw off the blinders, and realize that true equality between the sexes is a war of give and take...

Most will finally settle for a truce and whatever accommodations their current market value will warrant. I am fortunate my own loved one still finds a measure of grace in my own strengths, raw intelligence and wit. And I in her, her own steady delivery of basic goods and compassion for my weaknesses in return for the strengths I bring which have nothing to do with sexual etiquette. Ours has nearly ceased as a sexual bond, but we freely and frequently commit to hugging often, an act Ann Landers would have us believe is the best love has to offer, and we suffer in each other's absence, so attached are we to each other. Because we have willingly accepted this bartered state as a necessary compromise to what we collectively can manage to squeeze from life, having failed at any number of dry nuances over the years, a truce has settled upon us. The presence and care of children should, but sadly do not often enough, deepen those mutually accommodating bonds of any union.

Too many people possessing usually fine minds find this sort of language an insult to their self-images, despite even more failure these self-images often play out to be.

But you seem to recognize yourself at this juncture of life quite clearly, as I did ten years ago. A lot of superstition and subsequent poor choices can change a person in a decade. It was only a few weeks ago I last threatened another Tolstoy—to leave the manor in hopes of reasserting myself as I used to be, as I want to be, but I am not the same flesh and bones I once was, and the chances my new independence would prove futile and an idiot's folly are astronomically high. My marriage while generally sexless (a decade of frustration leads to great changes in the heart, the mind, and the body) is certainly not loveless, and in our case, love and social stability won out over sex. Those who neither possess but over or under emphasize love, social stability, OR SEX, are given to great tragedy, and dangerous lives, although nothing I have written on this topic can resolve a damned thing in the world beyond my own need to articulate my innermost thoughts on the topic.

I don't think this letter is very well written but breaking into the breeze, my friends, go the three fickle fingers of low resistance, least resistance and no resistance at all.

GT

Perpetual Weekend Drunks, While Not Unique, Can Fuck Off

What Did You Expect To See?
What Did You Expect To See?
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Date: Thu, 23 May 1996 12:03:23

Mr. Hobbes, to further the discussion on the application of work to the needs of the general population I would state that both the act and the rewards of work is essential to the specific psychology of homo sapiens, more so in the current version than ever before. I look around and see a world of play gone awry, a world where kingpins feed troubled populations more and more distractions as each rely less and less on the redeeming causes and effects of a decent work ethic: kids in high risk neighborhoods being coddled by agencies and druglords with portable basketball goals which immediately are set up city alleys, blocking thru traffic because the kids ignore approaching cars in protecting their own rights to be there. Spiffy dark-tinted cars are soon pulled inside the alleys and parked next to these makeshift courts thereby protecting the playing terrain from general alley usage.

Frankly, there is nothing inherently bad or wrong in any of the above, and I applaud any efforts to reintegrate troubled youths back into a society desperate for the peace of mind most of the original forefathers—driven by powerful urges to define freedom at its roots—sought to manifest upon this continent, as have as most of the other liberal thinkers in later ages who conspired to theorize man and the earth into a state of perpetual harmony.

Happiness is not the absence of work. Happiness is the attitude inherited after completing an act of devotion which in the classically approved sense of the word in the world of physics is work. I know this is a simplification of that particular philosophy, but work cannot be abolished. Universally forgiving all debt (a Situationist idea) may very well be a brilliant move to help balance things as we know them (and I support this move as radical in theory but inconceivable in a malevolent world).
But when these acts of kindness are blanketed upon a group of kids with little regard for the truancy they inspire, we gain little of value. These same kids and transient adults haul trash from god knows where, breaking bricks, smashing glass, scattering paper all over the alley, and are noticeably absent whenever there is a group or singular effort to clean up the place. This dichotomy tells me something about a culture concerned only with riotous play, with no regard to the general protocols of tidy behavior and reciprocation to the world they draw life and fun from.

Perpetual weekend drunks (myself and my wife included) harass the grappling irons of all that I hold psychotically dear. I work at home, and have personally generated very little money over the past five years. That is not the problem though. We live quite comfortably in inner city terms. A bulk of my talents and zen psychology reside in household chores, in fact better suited for a man in these turbulent times, while wife is safely nested at office bringing in the big bucks. I realize my situation, while not unique, is not the norm, and many, including my wife's parents find our arrangement a little disconcerting. However, my wife, most of the Gabriel Thy cogniscent world, and my own corrosive inner demons reverberate in accusing me of being a sponge to calling me a workaholic. The latter because I am always on projects, artistic or household, and don't have that 9-5. got my paycheck, I can fuck off and do nothing but watch TV, drink beer, and listen to crazed decibel tunes attitude most of those who call themselves my spouse or my friend love to indulge.

A few sibling tales, notes from the underground about retirees who go gaga without a job, wizened old wits spouting parables and the love of a job well done all filtered through a superior intelligence (ha ha!) all lead me to surmize that work is important to homo sapiens, and that those who espouse NO WORK, are simply caught up in words, and miss the point completely. Happiness is not the absence of work. Happiness is the attitude inherited after completing an act of devotion which in the classically approved sense of the word in the world of physics is work. I know this is a simplification of that particular philosophy, but work cannot be abolished. Universally forgiving all debt (a Situationist idea) may very well be a brilliant move to help balance things as we know them (and I support this move as radical in theory but inconceivable in a malevolent world). But it certainly will not solve extenuating problems the very nature of homo sapiens and the wobbling planet he thinks he owns but cannot control—work in tandem and in chaos to exploit.

So Mr. Hobbes, that is my response to the last question you asked me back in 1993 before our "strange E-mail relationship" dissolved for whatever reasons. I am glad you are back. I hope we can pick up where we left off. I don't know how much of the details you shared with me then are still valid but that's a good topic to explore next, don't you reckon?

And so be distressed at this recent rate of writing. While I write many letters of this sort and length almost every day, I am also a busy fellow despite my income numbers. In that sense I have always felt blessed among men. My wife is a gem, despite a few flaws I can reel off anytime, anywhere but in the spirit of good manners I will spare you any further details today. However as I was saying, I am quite busy, but am certainly glad to hear from an old friend from the early days, and have tried to share my enthusiasm with these few thoughts. And remember despite the weather changes and the price of RAM for the Macintosh, I am still...

Gabriel Thy