Thursday, November 25, 2004

The Cell-Phone's Ringing but You Been Done and Gone.

There’s a bumper sticker that says, “Do you think you’d drive any better with that cell-phone jammed up your ass?” I suppose that’s a legitimate question. It is certainly a fine image for those of us who are occasionally intimidated by some cosmetic queen at the wheel of a Lexus SUV late for her appointment to sell the shit out of a bungalow in Beverly.

For those of us who find a great deal of what we observe to be the product of wrong observations, poor observation, skewered goals, dreadful ambitions and the moment to moment unhorsing of the true god within and the supplanting of the false self in place of; this link should prove refreshing.

There’s an argument for crisis workers to have cell-phone capacity. I wager most cell-phone conversations go on between teenage girls with the IQ of a retarded potato. Most of the discussions involve an equally unintelligent vegetable you will be able to name without my having to do so. If we could find a way to harness the energy released by pointless cell-phone calls, the friction produced by the rubbing of obese people’s thighs and the collective conversations in bars and restaurants we could light and heat every home in North America. And remember, these are all growth industries.

Alright, I’ve done the amusing thing so let’s move on. I don’t think there’s anyone, no matter how dumbed down they may have become, who is unaware of the implications of a hamster on a treadmill. I can’t help over-estimating perceptual abilities being an optimist and having very strong personal justifications for being so- though not compelled to further explain at this time. So, let me ask you these questions- “Are you where you thought you would be when you thought about where you might be at this time?” “Do you know where you’re headed?” “Do you know why?” “When you say, ‘I’ who are you talking about?” “Do you watch yourself inside your head?” “Do you believe the thoughts in your head originate there?” “How much command do you have over yourself?” “Who are you?”

There is something going here and you don’t know what it is, whether you’re Mr. Jones or Mrs. Smith or any number of the warm bodies passing you on their way to buy something, eat something, do something, fuck or be fucked by something. Here in the world of appetites, routine is the mean. Greased rails extend from the cradle to grave. Nothing satisfies and the only thing the rich possess that the poor do not is the illusion that they are better off. Of course the do get a different class of disease and more access to the skin stretchers.

Considering how long this has been going on I shouldn’t be telling you anything you don’t know. When you look back at history do you ever make the connection to the future? Have you read Spengler? Do you wonder how it is that every time the tables are turned the same people are still sitting there?

Okay, seen realistically, the world is a 24/7 graveyard of hungry ghosts marching through the land of eternal appetite. You know this. You know that the same thing seems to keep repeating itself. There’s this idea of progress but... Well creature comforts are certainly being addressed. Whatever the body wants the body gets until the tape ends.

Well now, if, as it seems, life and the objectives of most people living are insane what do you do? What do you do if you’re not satisfied with chasing your tail or burning down the house you live in?

My mother-in-law watches television all the time. I think I could say she lives there. I’ve been around long enough to know that a good portion of everyone winds up there. The lights are on but no one’s home. The TV’s on. The radio’s on. The refrigerator is singing. The flesh is spreading. The dreams died early and went to act out in the lives of actors playing at the firm limits of what is allowed; the common brutality and indifference of the casual hungers, interests and plots of the replicating echo. Everyone should objectively (if possible- it’s harder than you think) watch TV for a week and then analyze what features of life, the mind and heart are missing; see if you can figure what’s going on.

Meanwhile you move, day by day, minute by minute toward the wide gaping jaws of the unknown. Think about it. Increment by increment, moment by moment you are going where? “Why are you here?” Really, “What are you doing here?” You see all the flashing lights of the Las Vegas stage set in miniature multiplied all about. The store fronts yawn like vampire hookers on a bad acid trip. The sidewalks are imbedded with the soup fixing’s of some nightmare Thanksgiving. Those are NOT real palm trees. You’d like to make yourself pretty but you are getting old and that is now unofficially a crime. Even worse, you have not become interesting. You live in a world of millions of people nodding with little interest as they await their turn to speak. And even worse, no one has anything to say.

Is it any wonder that a cosmic spanking awaits down the road? It is for your own good. Whenever you get lost in the department store on your way to Elysian Fields it’s necessary to destroy the store; sorry about that. The inconvenience of a temporary death is preferable if it means you’re back on the right road again. It would be nice if it could be avoided though and that is a personal choice.

One of the biggest mysteries, surprises and disappointments is what people settle for in themselves, considering what they are capable of. You’re God you know. Or rather let us say, you’re the house built for the guest who got shoved out the back when you let those other people in.

The only requirement is to try hard and stay fixed to the goal, knowing that you cannot fail if you do so. Here is what The Upanishads says about what you are when you achieve to your real destiny; the reason why you are here, the reason why this whole confusing flaming stage set was created.

“A perfect fool in one place, all royal splendor in another; at times in fond delusion, at times in entire peace and quiet; often in the slothful indifference of the boa; the subject of the highest encomiums in one place, in another all contempt, in a third entirely unknown- thus goes about the wise knower, ever happy in the highest bliss.”

You have a lot to be thankful for. It’s a real shame you don’t take advantage of any of it. “Oops, there goes my cell. Would you hang on? I’ve got to take this.”

Better not ask for whom the cell-phone rings.


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The 3rd Elf