WORKING TOWARD COLLAPSE

Originally posted on October 3, 1996

As I think so I do. What is THAT all about?

But on a more gripping note, why is it that THE VERY things we think only take us so far, torment us til our dying breath, while the rest is up to the fist or the finger, the tongue or the trigger?

Should an idea take root in infertile soil, is this a miracle or hard work with emphasis on the idea? Is any soil truly infertile, but only to its inverse proportion that it is soil and not something closer to another idea? Dirt unlike men evolve optimum relationships to nature. Maybeeeee I am wrong about men. Define irony.

If when tired I am still inspired, is this a good, bad, or ugly thing?

If uninspired when completely comfortable, what is THIS all about? There are some things a poet puts in his own back pocket. There are others he puts in hers. What is wrong with this picture?

Understanding that one plus one equals two, why does one more make three? One times itself is nothing more than itself, but adding one to itself, we come closer to the relationship of the bumble and the bee. We won't mention birds in this context. I lied, so dub me an epicurean.

Like the good admiral (is this redundant on the face of all things clarified?) I want to know only simple things like who am I and why am I here?

First things being first if I multiply myself do I remain the same? But add myself to myself, do I become two minds?

Is it Wittgensteinian to question the mark at the end of this sentence, which for obvious reasons must remain motionless...

From the Guy Kawasaki file. True or false, he taunts: Managers would rather delegate problems that cannot be solved than empower subordinates to implement solutions that cannot be understood.

He continues: "Pity the poor echidna. Captain Willian Bligh documented this animal's existence on a voyage to Australia in 1793. (This was a trip Bligh and a small number of loyal crewmen had taken after having been "right-sized" from the BOUNTY.) The echidna is an egg-laying anteater that combines reptilian and mammalian characteristics likes its relative the duck-billed platypus.

"Because it exibited reptilian characteristics such as laying eggs, biologists in the early 1880s typecast the echida as primitive—not quite up to the standards of us mammals. These bilogits ignored one minor detail: the echidna has a very large brain for its body size.

"We can surmise that these bilogists cherished their precious theory: reptilian equals primitiveness. This theory was so powerful that it prevented them from seeing an obvious and myth-shattering fact: the echidna's big head. Retrofitting a popular riddle, we might ask, 'Which came first—the brain or the egg?' The answer for biologists in the 1800s was clearly the egg.

Like these biologists, business folk can become prisoners of conventional wisdom, traditional methods, and the holisest of mismangement litanies: 'This is the way things have always been done." My message: Resist the known and defend the unknown. Switching from biology to..."

Mother, if Mom suffices, why do you bother with the other?

There are times I think on purpose and there are times I cannot stop. These two times are congruent. Do the math, screamed the antichrist drunk on uppersmanship. Always a hops man, myself.

Why haven't the feminasties abandoned the word: w-o-m-a-n?

If one figgers a wigger is not a nigger on the trigger why opt for a bigger chigger in the woodpile? Rather rig her routing each rocker along the first stone to sinners as blood is to beer.

Facts are like fantasies. It takes one to know one.

I can't believe I am writing this, but my disbelief is as illogical as yours. The sun sets. The set sums. No wonder the subsets are rioting in the streets.

Like Bob Dylan knows, there are things to behold. But I know the only way to drive the point along a circle is to divide it. It doesn't take much insight to realize this elephant is more than a sum of its parts.

Trumpets. Gold. Now does gold trumpet its appearance like so many fameseekers man has produced, or does it just exist, limplike soft but confined after man grabs it, sprawled across the bed, inert? Gold is like a boring lay.

Laid within a manger, the ultimate manager of fools, Jesus changed his name from Emmanuel, and the world forgot.

Forgetting that time is just another number, age becomes the deciding decoding factor in the youth culture which promises itself the same promises at least a dozen generations before them promised in spades. Has someone sued for enfringement, yet?

Savior of sinners? I think saviors have sinned enough. Sinners haven't saved enough, however.

Language as redemption. I only WISH I could talk like a kitten.

Money buys its own safety, but safety buys nothing money can own. I feel like Ben Franklin, but gawd what a fat twisted turkey he was...

Somebody needs to confront Felicia Rashad on her comments about the computer industry. She made these revolutionary statements on the Derek McGinnety radio chat show on WAMU a couple of weeks ago. I was in the audience. My longstanding pleasure rejecting federal grant monies was rocked by her arguments about art subsidies. It's a discipline thing that keeps on giving, she says, as I parse. Damn, I was indeed moved by her logic. Yet her gall still floors me as she added, and of course the quote marks are bogus as I again paraphrase but only somewhat, "Cutting art funding is racist. The arguments about not enough money are bogus. There is always money for this or that. Computers? What is THAT about?"

Girlfriend, GET a clue. Computers are about the end of time as we know it. What exactly causes a series of word links to race across the finish line of a completed thought? Armageddon brings us closer to both God and the devil.

I love Jack and Jack loves me, but I think this tautology frightens us both to the point of a designated conversational nix. Well, a one-sided event multiplied by itself is still one-sided. Added to itself it becomes a clue doubled over, a mere echo of eggs still in the basket.

Easter is a lovely depravity. Who am I, the egg, or the sperm? Of course I am both. I am a dual nature. Gabriel coagulated on Christmas Day, 1954, was squeezed out on September 26, 1955, nine months and a day later, a sign of the ushering in of the age of rock and roll. Not everybody can say this with a straight face, and mean the same thing, but it follows that Jesus was a Libra, the question of balance, not a Capricorn. Yom Kippur. Life of Atonement. Flocks in the field. The ninety-nine versus the one. Et al.

God what a shit I can be. Jesus was a perfect messiah because he was born for it, that’s all. I am the imperfect. Yes, I was born for it, also.

What can common numbers have in common with uncommon numbers? Do the language dude. And keep a careful eye on the punctuation, dude, or you might miss an opportunity on your way to hilarity.

Fear of flying? Does this mean I am predestined to NOT make the cut on rapture day. And are we sure it won't happen over the six o'clock news, with a LIVE FEED? So maybe it will be rapture night, or as is frequent with biblical a day is equal to a year or an age...

Oh, I guess it's time to stop this Gabriel stuff. Let me know your silence is not indicative of your personal stake in the questions. Or let us gather around the party banner, and forget we ever had this conversation. Remember sofa is couch, purse is pocketbook and Gabriel Thy in a white heat is R......S.......N.......

A star.

GT