Cheer Up
A Memo Designed to Cheer Up the Human Race
by Rosemary Woodruff
Rosemary Woodruff was the wisest, funniest, most beautiful woman of her time.
These days—as we would expect from a Judeo-Christian-Marxist era—it is fashionable for intellectuals to complain about humanity's destructive and pessimistic trend.
While, in all charity we can understand the hive meaning of this pessimism, it is the task of Evolutionary Agents to counter it by repeating: the Genetic Plan is working out perfectly. The human cards are in no position to interfere with the DNA deal.
We are compelled to offer total sympathy and support for the human races when we remember that for the last 5000 years (a mere micro-flick in genetic time) the species have been in a continual frenzy of Mutation and Migration.
The problem is this: a species or an individual without genetic consciousness, caught in the midst of all-out-high-velocity changes, buffeted, overwhelmed by no-let-up metamorphosis, pushed into rapid migration, is understandably confused and, a bit fatigued.
It's a dizzying, Einsteinian exercise in relativity—totally bewildering to a species that had been assured by Newton that every action had an equal and opposite reaction. Nope, no more. The new rule: every action leads to a multiple interaction, intersection—and it's all waves to surf, moving faster and higher.
posted by Indigobusiness @ Tuesday, September 08, 2009
7 Comments
7 Comments:
The very first intellectual book that I read was, "Psychedelic Baby reaches Puberty." I was 17 that summer in 1977, spuriously picking cherries in the Rhone valley while shagging, getting stoned and being spoon-fed bootleg eau de vie. I was coming to the work of Alan Watts and would hunt down William Burroughs' "Cities of the Red Night," just a few months later. I remember being appalled by the subversive and dangerous antics of the Merry Pranksters. I socialised in die Nahe von 2 or 3 Hell's Angels whom I was convinced were blatantly taking the piss.
Being a delicate sort of guy I was deeply disturbed by talk of eating dog shit, gang rape and chewing heads off of rats or bats or chickens. Perhaps "intrigued" is more accurate.
Since my literary diet was rich in correlations that associated zen and mysticism, enhanced and stimulated by benign drug-taking, the sacrament junkies was where I was at.
The amazing astral world began to take more of my attention, jeopardizing my degree success. There were chakras and atman and kundalini, the Great Vehicle and Pure Land. The Byrds paid tribute to TL also a classic, "Eight Miles High."
Much later I fell out of love with LSD. Instead I take to bumming quotes off the old git, such as "A preacher with more than one coat is a hustler."
How old is that good old baby now?
Z.
Interesting resume'. By then I'd reconfigured the puzzle of my shattered psyche, tightened my grip on the throat of my idealism, and prepared to launch myself into the thin air of an art degree.
Quotes like that are worth the struggle, and I think the struggle is still worthwhile. The baby never really ages.
*****
TL and others would have hoped that we humans at some point, start chatting to each other to find a solution to too fast pace of change. Instead of accepting coversationally taboo bewilderment (and it is getting more bewildering)at our occasional stuckness, or leave "speed of change" to those who dare moan about it and so by lose credibility. (Some poor sod who can't hack it.) Why are we allowing ourselves to be disempowered? Is someone studying the phenomenon or is that not 'cool'?
All that I am able to surmise, is that, when all the young dudes finally feel comfortable both here and now, that that will 'do the trick' to 'take the urge out of surge.' Not that hedonism is at fault per se, but it's a bit like rushing to the doors of a burning nightclub when there is already a bush fire surrounding the buildng.
It's all about the song: "Teach your children well." Every single one of their paths is only as good as they know themselves. I trust my children, nothing will change the necessity of trusting the young as their paths stretch ahead beyond those who came before.
Forever chasing the dragon, it seems like the fastest ride in town, but kid, it's not speed as known by the ancestors, it ain't optimum velocity, no way is moving the fastest gonna catch it. You work it out.
You will.
Z.
Nicely posed puzzle, I'm still unfolding it and trying not to get lost in the creases.
I suppose the answer is in the question, where it belongs, and all the rushing madness is simply another form of enough rope with which the problem child shall ultimately hang itself.
So, patience all you big-hearted empire healers. Think before rushing headlong into unnecessary battles. Let the dragon roar itself to a cinder. Concentrate on the path, 'cause no matter where you go...there you are.
Sounds like Frank Sinatra, or perhaps Lee Perry?
Z.
Bad Sinatra to a reggae beat.
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