Posted in Answers, Cool shit, Rants, Reality, Stupid-heads by waldopaper on April 27, 2015

A palindrome to get you home. 


Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf –. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille –
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.

–Rainer Maria Rilke

Only sometimes the pupil’s curtain slides open

And a picture falls in

Passes through their tight and silent being

Heard in the heart, goes out within.*

*…talk in my p-p-p-poor translation  

I cannot in good conscience ask you to write a 15 page paper during finals week.  This would reduce the art of writing to counting pages.  Rote compliant standardization reduces research and reflection to rough drafts and peer review-parroting dogma to measure and manage.  This practice is obsolete and harmful to efficient exchange of thought (in) today (’s society).  Filler memes are mundane!

You have more than met the requirements of your last college English course.  You have grappled with difficult and compelling concepts transforming your generation.  Each of the topics: Socialism, Peak Oil, Permaculture, Equality, Authoritarianism, Singularity, civil war, and mythos/magic are major memes defining our age.  Your expression of these memeplexes will serve you well as a writer.

Expository writing is exposing what you know.  Think about what you read.  Read about what you think.  Simple and easy?  Well, yes and no.  Embrace the paradox.  Seeing the connection between memes will make your thinking more prescient by making your language more efficient.  Try to express the memeplex.  Don’t let the memeplex express you.  All we are saying.  Give peas a chance.

Said Martin E. Meme in Gburg, “There is no time for that.  There is no time.”  Ideas have their own agency and they are coming this way.  Wikipedia and Wi-Fi.  There is thunder in a clear sky and an earthquake at the top of the world.  New birth of freedom and all that.  Paradigm shift meme capitalism or God?  Sacred text or pretext?  Because every text is sacred text.  Prescience machines intelligence.

Because stories don’t have be true to tell the truth. 

Out Takes:   

When you’re a writer, the question people always ask you is, “Where do you get your ideas?”  It’s like asking Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen, “Where do you get your leeches?  You don’t get ideas.  Ideas get you.

You see something or hear something or read something, and unlike the hundreds of other things you’ve seen and heard and read, this one triggers something—some connection nobody else sees—and you know you’ll never be able to explain it.  So you write a story about it.

“Idea” is even the wrong word.  It implies something rational, a concept, a thought, and there’s usually nothing rational about it.  It’s not a light bulb going on over your head.  It’s a tightening of the throat, a shiver down the middle of the back, a stab to the chest.  Or the sudden impulse to shout, “Get out!  Before it’s too late!  Run!”

–Connie Willis, Introduction to Schwarzchild Radius

“’Off with his head; so much for Buckingham!’  This sort of rant, interlined by another hand, brings down the house—those mistaken souls who dream of Shakespeare as a mere man of Richard the Third humps and Macbeth daggers,” wrote Melville.  “But it is those deep, far-away things in him; those short, quick probings at the very axis of reality,– these are the things that make Shakespeare, Shakespeare.

–Herman Melville, Hawthorne and His Mosses

From The Literary World, August 17 and 24, 1850   

Well, of course he wasn’t an ordinary person.  He was Shakespeare.  But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have come from Ordinary Circumstances.  Say, a log cabin in Illinois.  Or a small town in upstate England.

-Connie Willis, Introduction to Winter’s Tale

The most precise definition of the meme: 

Meme:  A memory item, or portion of an organism’s neurally-stored information, identified using the abstraction system of the observer, whose instantiation* depended critically on causation by prior installation of the same memory item in one or more other organism’s nervous systems.

(Robert Aunger citing Aaron Lynch in., darwinizing culture, the status of Memetics as a science,  Oxford University Press, Oxford, NYC.  2000)  .

* to provide an example to support or explain something

The harshest critique of the meme: 

Given that the meme concept is nothing more than hip bio-babble, what is interesting about this theory is why anyone would want to believe in such an intellectually dubious proposition in the first place.   (Barbrook 1996)

Our working definition: 

Meme:  Complex ideas that replicate by forming into a distinct memorable unit; webbing non-matter.

Intellectually dubious… Allah be praised.

We have invented the zero. 

All the way to the end.  


Let’s just come right out and say it: mixing communication with commercialism was a fundamental mistake… our ultimate undoing, psychologically, socially and ecologically.  The job we have ahead of us is to draw a clear line between commercial and human expression, to recreate our communications system—to restore the mental environment. 

–Adbusters Magazine  Jan/Feb 2004.. No. 51

How does one cloak in allegory the dowager’s hump?  Do we toot-wheedle a whimsy maudlin dump to tale and fey pennywhistle away it’s cackling mad?  Yep, its gibbering mad culture eyes aflame far beyond satire or sarcasm or shame in the heat waves of summer the volume knobs came… all the way to the end.

Speakers shuck 12-guage seven o’clock jet engines chambering brown wrappers, red meat and screams—skeletons blast out black granite casement pains in the dark night the stark white… reading room light throws a pool on a fuzzy mechanical bear—clock working Scarlet and jingle bell blues muffle next-door xylophone bones, beware.  Io- dancing and grinning out there, we contend.  We still hear, you fuckers. Go on back to marble town, all the way to the end.

When we are dead let us go instead to a quiet place inside the sun. Its outside all round soft-sound snowing-down feather white noise-kicking-rock Doors.  Outside pale nature girl-whispers cool kisses for thousands of miles. And millions of years– stinging cold, rolling water-cracking ice.  When the wind blows easy and the cabin is snug, sun peaking— the horizon will bend—when the band done unplugs and curls home up the chimney.  All the way to the end.

That’s where the silence and science is, connecting billions and trillions of sex and parsecs, starry night gastronomical units all the way to the end.  Deep space, man, where pompoms of spider web non-matter scatter and cheer on miniscule P-neutron shaking and waiting in fate and float gloat on a single note– out all the way to the end.  It’s thenote, man.   The keynote: “Man; the P-note man got a message– for to send.”

Look, you got eyes.  Let them see.  You have ears, let them here and there he is down there, singing along with springtime students.  Still shilling peanuts– free for a thousand years, man and they don’t seem to see him.  And hell you can hear him sometimes– for all the Cinco de Mayo Kollwitzstrasse traffic that never sleeps. But it does—with an open eye.

Found a peanut prayer down there: we got memes.  All the grunts and screams and hopes and dreams, they connect, and then we have memes.  It rhymes with creams and it’s not what it seems, the spiderweb non-matter, memes. Oh say can you see– the stars are brightly shining.  We all serve to make them append.  Precludes our drinks and moves our links.  All the way to the end.

Coming next, we shovel the Text in the ditch of what each one means, the hope and cheer this trope of year and a letter we got from a friend.  “In the soul of wit, its tall bull shit” (as if that sounded crude).

That is what He said.  I’m with you reader-dude.


One Response

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  1. robinonfoot said, on May 2, 2015 at 1:23 pm

    Your poetry flares and the glare is too bright, but if I shield my brain it takes in the shadow shape.   I like this, and it deserves to be reread, not just once out loud.  Questions, before I get goin’ and readin’ … Have you ever talked a bit with Sean Bishoff  (PhD – in the linquistic’s department, pal of Thompson)?   I mean, talk to him about memes and dreams and seams and such as you got all in your head…    Also, didja get the book.  I got my copy.   Spencer Holst… The Zebra Storyteller.  Read that.   Read that story.  And maybe the next.   Reason I got you the book.   Hope you like it some.   Meme thread spun out of thoughts, maybe makes me a sweater.  I sweat a lot.   I love you, wise ol’ brother. R

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