"Iris" ... The Artist [... and my Granddaughter]

 

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝! [𝐔𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠]

GATEKEEPER ... It's Coming

The Beauty is That It's ... Up Yours!

There is a piece I saw today about the prediction that by year 2017 everyone in the US of A will have a microchip implant. Certainly sounds like it would solve the illegal immigrant concerns. 

With the demonstrated willingness of large swaths of the electorate to fall into lockstep behind some pretty huge demagoguery, can the Brave New World be that far off? Imagine all the other wonderful — and terrible — possibilities

Depending on where you stand you will either see this as a boon for mankind, or fraught with dangerous possibilities. Some of both, we can be sure of that. We humans, even with the best of intentions, have a predictable way of screwing things up. Do I need to give examples? I was born and raised in the City of Detroit. Enough said. Okay. How about all the plastic in the oceans?

Sony recently has filed for a patent for a camera device embedded in a contact lens. A brain chip shouldn't be all that hard to engineer. Heck, it would allow us to scan the WWW and do all the things we do on our "devices" with the screen projected out right in front of your actual field of view. And, in HD quality. It's not that someone somewhere isn't trying to jigger that sort of thing, it's more about public acceptance. Like in the auto industry. The technology is always way ahead of the public's ability/willingness to accept and adopt. But, you can be sure, it's not all that big a step from a Smartphone in front of your face or some wearable on your ear or wrist to awakening to the convenience of having something that'll do all that and more shoved up yourself somewhere.

Here's a brand name suggestion ... Apple/Up Yours!

So, it's a matter of time.

Enter ... Gatekeeper. First offered as an app. Like on the Apple Watch. But, Up Yours! Which, by the way, you could have something like Gatekeeper right now on your wrist or Smartphone. But, instead, Gatekeeper of the Brave New World will be linked to an implant placed somewhere up your ... whatever. 

Here's how it would work. The most obvious will be in personal location identification. That little bugger would offer GPS. For you, and anyone else who felt it necessary to keep track of you. No child ever lost again. Who wouldn't go for that?

Or, say you don't want your kids to go into night clubs when they're under age. (Underage. What a quaint concept. When the official state religion becomes full-on Relativistic Non-Judgementalism who should say what those little idiots of yours should or should not do. Hey. "You know you got it [you know it's right] if it makes you feel good." Pearl said it!)

A coordinated device at the door of said den of iniquity would sound an alarm when anyone with a device programmed "do not enter" approached. 

The head spins at all the wonderful possibilities. No more drunk drivers. Your car — any car — would not work past a specified blood alcohol level. What about some drunk walking out into the roadway, a danger to himself and others. No prob. Shoes that would squeeze your feet into submission. What if they take off their shoes? The belt around the waist could cinch up to incapacitate. Enough with the permutations! That's for some bright kid just out of graduate school who's too green to have enough of a world view to know what the implications of what he or she is doing to figure out. We're all tools when we enter the work force. Only get wise — if we do — later when it's too late and we're strapped in with kids, a mortgage, car payments, and that little something we keep on the side in town for when we're "working late". 

Gatekeeper would certainly settle those public restroom concerns. Now just to find the Wonder Kind algorithm genius to figure out who should in fact go where. Like the other day, a friend of mine was deeply and truly feeling in touch with his inner feminine. He went into the Ladies room at the bar to, as they say, "drain the main vein". He has no idea what all the ensuing fuss was about. He did assure everyone that since his penis was attracted to women it was lesbian. That should've handled it. No pun intended. But, I think he went a little astray when he whipped the thing out to prove it. 

There should probably be a book or movie. But, the reality will be here soon enough.

Mr. Elon Musk has announced "Neurolink". This is gittin' real, folks ... [But, hey, it's not gonna be mandatory. Yet.]

The Way We Are is How We See the World ...

Entering the Solar Plexus

 

Duality in a Nutshell ...

 

Breaking Free of the Yoke of Media Manipulation

 

Here's a Pill for That . . .

 

"I have a surefire way for you to wrest yourself away from the beast that feeds on your very own habit for consumption."

I used to be an "Ad Biggie". That's what my peers and I sarcastically called ourselves in our inner circle of advertising account executives. What you currently now refer to as "Mad Men".

The thing is that I first worked in advertising on Lexington Avenue at J. Walter Thompson. Not Mad Ave. JWT was then the largest and oldest advertising agency in the world. It was headquartered in the Graybar Building in New York City, on Lexington Avenue, just north of 42nd Street. In the lobby you brushed shoulders with snooty Vogue Magazine girls, fashionably and indifferently marching off and out of your life toward the opposite elevator bank. The Graybar is right next to and joined with Grand Central Terminal. And, from there, the PanAm building. And, right across the street from that greatest of all skyscrapers, the Chrysler Building. Also across the street, the trusty Chock Full O'Nuts coffee shop. And, after a tough day in the trenches, an Irish bar for some beer and peanuts. Schraft's on the corner at 42nd Street and Lexington Avenue.

Then it was on to Ted Bates & Company, on Broadway, no less; a stone's throw from 42nd Street. That was during the Massage Parlor / Rap Parlor days, when seedy fellows pressed cards into the hands of passersby importuning, "Check it out!" And, finally, the last stop on my career path in that industry. Yes, I indeed eventually worked on Madison Avenue itself, at Doyle Dane Bernbach. The polished smooth, silver haired Bill Bernbach could often be seen on the floor, and Ned Doyle and Maxwell Dane kept offices in the building. Once we all gathered at a window to wave as Pope John Paul II motorcaded by on his way to visit St. Patrick's. He waved back!

I digress. When you work in an industry you fall under the spell of its self-created images, myths, and shibboleths. Put simply, when you're drinking the Kool-Aid it makes perfect sense. Until it doesn't.

It happened to me after too many years and at a significant turning point when I realized that I simply didn't want any more to be in the business of selling stuff and negotiating to keep the agency's creative vision from being eroded by clients' demands. ("I want that package FRONT LIT. No shadows.") Especially, I didn't want to promote the sale of stuff I didn't make, and probably wouldn't even if I could. You see, a professional marketer doesn't question the existential validity of the products and services he or she promotes. Well, that's what they say anyway. The simple fact that someone wants to spend some cash to move something off a shelf is the irreducible bottom line value. That's what is called "professional". In fairness, DDB at the time did not take cigarette brands as clients. Ethical stance? Maybe. Also, a likely gambit at goody-goody self promotion. I wasn't in on that meeting.

Without having much of a rational at the time, I just didn't want to do that any more. Out of that simple realization, six months later, and I was out of there. 

Fast forward to the current time frame and I continue to be a student of the the advertising craft. But, who isn't, huh? Not that I'm an expert, but I was paid to be one once. It seems to me now with some distance and perspective a lot of what's going on is selling stuff that nobody needs, creating solutions to problems that nobody has, urging consumption to have more, better, or different; better, all three. Imagine where our so called consumer economy would be if we stopped making and selling all the frou-frou? It all goes on at such a pace and penetrates into just about every corner of our lives, such that we take it for granted. For example, is there any question that you need a smartphone, or that the next version of one with the ability to get and share stuff faster and easier is what you really want? Or, certainly should have? By the shear weight of the advertising on the tube you would think that prescription drugs are a normal and expected part of living.

I know this is a wramble, but that's what I do; and what you get if you are reading this far. You won't be disappointed, though. Like I said, I have a surefire way for you to wrest yourself away from the beast that feeds on your very own habit for consumption.

Here's what you do: Next time you are watching television and a commercial comes on, or you see an advertisement in a magazine, imagine that message is preceded and followed by the following . . .

"Hey, Asshole! Look at this! Pay attention!"

 

Place Ad Here

 

"OK, Asshole? Now, Asshole, go out and get some of that."

I am particularly charmed by the advertising for pharmaceuticals. And how they disclaim the potential side effects. The commercials are visually always very sunny and reassuring. With a voiceover of a male or a female that conveys warmth, sincerity, integrity, and authority. Music to keep it ight. Those potential side effects take up a lot of time in the advertisement and what is sometimes some rather shocking information. If you paused to consider, it would be a complete turn off. But, you are an good asshole, and you let it go on by as just some mandatory legal fluff, predictably and dutifully focusing on the wonderful benefits and imagery, just as you are trained to do. Even a damaging side effect like a 4 hour erection comes off as a benefit. [Well, that's an arguable point.]

So next time you are watching a commercial or looking at a print ad, mentally insert the prescribed prefix and suffix lines. In short order you'll come to your own senses and realize you don't want to do that — that is, be a media slave — anymore. OK? Asshole?

"Hey, Asshole! Listen at this! Pay attention!"

Everything's "Copacetik".

Lovely. Happy. The way you want it to be. The way it should be. "Copacetic." Ask your doctor.

BTW ... Taking this drug may induce projectile vomiting and hemorrhaging from any and all orifices of the body. Mind splitting, massive migraine headaches have been known to occur. Your testicles could fall off. Breasts have shrivelled to resemble fried eggs for a small portion of females tested. "Dessicatus vaginitis" has been reported. Basic functional memory loss is not uncommon. Stroke and paralysis are sometimes possible. Going bat-shit crazy and running amok has occurred, but rarely. Agonizing deaths have also been known to occur. Unsightly worts are likely. Your nose could grow. There are other even more severe side effects, but the incidence is too low to legally require us to list them. 

So . . . Enjoy the "Copacetik" life.

Ask your doctor if "Copacetik" is right for you.
 
"OK, Asshole? Now, Asshole, go out and get some of that."
 

What to Say?

"I would like to be an expert writer with unblocked mind profoundly expressing all the words I want to say clearly and deeply. But I’m afraid that when one has paper, there is no ink, and when there is ink, there is no paper. When one has both paper and ink, there are no words. We are constantly putting books in and taking them out of shelves, endlessly trying to pick up good words as a chicken pecks at live worms. Finally, we find the right words but cannot construct metaphors that flow. After choosing the proper metaphors, we find the syntax is wrong. When the editor, with prideful paranoia, corrects the syntax and completely changes the meaning, we cannot find a publisher. If we find a publisher, the text is open to misunderstanding due to the numerous preconceptions of numerous neurotic minds. Instead of benefit, this creates problems, attachment and rejection, high blood pressure, hysteria, confusion, and suffering. So maybe I’d better try to stay in ordinary mind without a typewriter."

– Thinley Norbu Rinpoche

Wise Father Speaks

This is written by Chief Dan George ...

In the course of my lifetime I have lived in two distinct cultures. I was born into a culture that lived in communal houses. My grandfather’s house was eighty feet long. It was called a smoke house, and it stood down by the beach along the inlet. All my grandfather’s sons and their families lived in this dwelling. Their sleeping apartments were separated by blankets made of bull rush weeds, but one open fire in the middle served the cooking needs of all. In houses like these, throughout the tribe, people learned to live with one another; learned to respect the rights of one another. And children shared the thoughts of the adult world and found themselves surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins who loved them and did not threaten them. My father was born in such a house and learned from infancy how to love people and be at home with them.

And beyond this acceptance of one another there was a deep respect for everything in nature that surrounded them. My father loved the earth and all its creatures. The earth was his second mother. The earth and everything it contained was a gift from See-see-am…and the way to thank this great spirit was to use his gifts with respect.

I remember, as a little boy, fishing with him up Indian River and I can still see him as the sun rose above the mountain top in the early morning…I can see him standing by the water’s edge with his arms raised above his head while he softly moaned…”Thank you, thank you.” It left a deep impression on my young mind.

And I shall never forget his disappointment when once he caught me gaffing for fish “just for the fun of it.” “My son” he said, “The Great Spirit gave you those fish to be your brothers, to feed you when you are hungry. You must respect them. You must not kill them just for the fun of it.”

This then was the culture I was born into and for some years the only one I really knew or tasted. This is why I find it hard to accept many of the things I see around me.

I see people living in smoke houses hundreds of times bigger than the one I knew. But the people in one apartment do not even know the people in the next and care less about them.

It is also difficult for me to understand the deep hate that exists among people. It is hard to understand a culture that justifies the killing of millions in past wars, and it at this very moment preparing bombs to kill even greater numbers. It is hard for me to understand a culture that spends more on wars and weapons to kill, than it does on education and welfare to help and develop.

It is hard for me to understand a culture that not only hates and fights his brothers but even attacks nature and abuses her.

I see my white brothers going about blotting out nature from his cities. I see him strip the hills bare, leaving ugly wounds on the face of mountains. I see him tearing things from the bosom of mother earth as though she were a monster, who refused to share her treasures with him. I see him throw poison in the waters, indifferent to the life he kills there; and he chokes the air with deadly fumes.

My white brother does many things well for he is more clever than my people but I wonder if he has ever really learned to love at all. Perhaps he only loves the things that are outside and beyond him. And this is, of course, not love at all, for man must love all creation or he will love none of it. Man must love fully or he will become the lowest of the animals. It is the power to love that makes him the greatest of them all…for he alone of all animals is capable of love.

Love is something you and I must have. We must have it because our spirit feeds upon it. We must have it because without it we become weak and faint. Without love our self esteem weakens. Without it our courage fails. Without love we can no longer look out confidently at the world. Instead we turn inwardly and begin to feed upon our own personalities and little by little we destroy ourselves.

You and I need the strength and joy that comes from knowing that we are loved. With it we are creative. With it we march tirelessly. With it, and with it alone, we are able to sacrifice for others.

There have been times when we all wanted so desperately to feel a reassuring hand upon us…there have been lonely times when we so wanted a strong arm around us…I cannot tell you how deeply I miss my wife’s presence when I return from a trip. Her love was my greatest joy, my strength, my greatest blessing.
I am afraid my culture has little to offer yours. But my culture did prize friendship and companionship. It did not look on privacy as a thing to be clung to, for privacy builds walls and walls promote distrust. My culture lived in a big family community, and from infancy people learned to live with others.
My culture did not prize the hoarding of private possessions, in fact, to hoard was a shameful thing to do among my people. The Indian looked on all things in nature as belonging to him and he expected to share them with others and to take only what he needed.
Everyone likes to give as well as receive. No one wishes only to receive all the time. We have taken something from your culture…I wish you had taken something from our culture…for there were some beautiful and good things in it.

Soon it will be too late to know my culture, for integration is upon us and soon we will have no values but yours. Already many of our young people have forgotten the old ways. And many have been shamed of their Indian ways by scorn and ridicule. My culture is like a wounded deer that has crawled away into the forest to bleed and die alone.

The only thing that can truly help us is genuine love. You must truly love, be patient with us and share with us. And we must love you—with a genuine love that forgives and forgets…a love that gives the terrible sufferings your culture brought ours when it swept over us like a wave crashing along a beach…with a love that forgets and lifts up its head and sees in your eyes an answering love of trust and acceptance.

This is brotherhood…anything less is not worthy of the name.

I have spoken.