This post is Your Fault
Some of you email me questions based on some of what I have posted. I am guessing since you have taken the time and made the effort to email me I should answer your questions. I’ve been sharing some episodes from my own life, and talking seriously about my morning transformation into a hawking Rhinoceros. It feels weird as I am supposed to be the type of fictitious character that after some ego stroking on your part, let’s off just those right pearls of wisdom that will make reality palatable but hopefully not acridly palatable as I am stocked up on fruit juice thanks to Costco (maybe bite into a lemon first like we’re doing tequila?). I wrote this post during a meeting I skillfully skipped out on, I am probably out on the couch drinking for Jesus. So I am virtually here but not really here or on this planet, it’s a syllogistic conundrum.
Question1: What’s Up with All the Innuendo?
It’s the ramification of a motley assortment of factors. I find it to be a subversive attack on the institution of higher learning which produces highly skilled specialist who according to Jose Ortega y Gasset’s The Barbarism Of “Specialisation”
is not learned , for he is formally ignorant of all that does not enter into his speciality; but neither is he ignorant, because he is “a scientist,” and “knows” very well his own tiny portion of the universe. We shall have to say that he is a learned ignoramus, which is a very serious matter, as it implies that he is a person who is ignorant, not in the fashion of the ignorant man, but with an the petulance of one who is learned in his own special line.
Crass talk is supposedly antithetical to the smooth refined language spoken by those who have benefited from a prep school education, college, graduate school and years of supposed contact with higher culture. So in the spirit of a sorta Hegelian synthesis I use refined language and polished diction (giggle) to talk about crass things in order to obscure my intent.
Also I work too many hours, and until Sept am staying with relatives so the female attention has been at a low. Don’t feel bad there is a sign up sheet going round for those pretty ladies amongst my readership who would like to take one (repeatedly) for the team. It’s part of my latest Eradicate Vaginal Dryness Campaign: Implored, Gored & Floored (I just came up with that right on the spot, note the Rhino imagery.)
Seriously though I work 3 very cerebral jobs, and I need to laugh that’s pretty much it.
Question 2: Why don’t You talk much about yourself ?
Well because I’m not a self-absorb prick, except when enticed, but that is a different type of self-absorption involving erectile tissue contained within the corpora cavernosa. Plus I am willing to bet how you view me is much more fun to play around with than how I really am (and less messy). Why ruin the dream when there are clean hand towels nearby? Dream with impunity !!!
Plus if someone genuinely wants to get to know me as a person, not just as a foul-mouthed meat-piece ( sounds like symptoms of a venereal disease) I make an email available.
Question 3: Are You an Atheist ?
There isn’t a word for what I am. Religion is a social institution and of course they are all subject to my scrutiny. Here are some ambiguous words.
All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.