it's about All of Me
"I write for myself and for strangers."
--- Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946)
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"I write for myself and for strangers."
--- Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946)
turned productive
by some legislators
who are fleeing
from themselves
by passionately passing laws
as if in an especially convoluted way
to be applied anyway
never against themselves
from themselves, from their very own experiences in life itself
they represent themselves as socially constructed,
socially approved automata, as mass-cultured rhetorical un- clowns
they deny what they actually do,
by painting socially approved 'pictures' of themselves
'false life' narrative pictures, really
nothing but affirmations of a being separated from reality
and deeply approving of socially approved fantasies
totally immersed in some symbolic order
they are always in need of a stage, a platform, a microphone
for nothing but their rhetorical acts, plays, shows
too numerous to give examples here
but wherever there's an office,
a gatherering of an audience
beginning with a socially approved gendered wife,
rhetoric trumps personal life realities
they always only can 'represent' a fiction
never themselves from within their ever 'false life'
in reality all their symbolic living is always opposed to all realism
I was when I was "made" an internal auditor:
my one and only job was to keep my ' independence' intact
the whole humanity in that publicly traded company
turned idiotic, hysterical and the real human being awoke in them:
between advertising their church goings, their family multiplications
and adoptions, their ethical stance proofed non-existent
which reminded me years later of the same caliber
in the professors I encountered: same corruption
filled ethical air-bubbles, also smart masters of fraud
now as an auditor I did not even have an office,
they wouldn't give me a telephone either
so, I did everything in writing with proof of pudding attached
and delivered everything I wrote in person
to the president, to the chairman, to the comptroller, to the police
I 'audited' by walking around
just like years later I 'audited' some university classes,
I encountered the same human elements
one professor wanted me to put the American students ' to shame'
I told him that this is impossible in the name of the pursuit of happiness-
and fear interferes with learning, love your students!
and if people in leadership roles speak of 'sincerity'
watch the ideology that works in them,
with what 'honesty' they paved their career path
right into that very office they're sitting right now...
Yes, independence!
ask ten people whose mind slaves they are
how they got into this leadership position
One in position yelled at me: "You made yourself auditor.'
They were all 'military bodies'
controlling their very own flow of trust
yes as Independent auditor
you hear theatre where ever words speak and hide
plus a few thin slices of ginger root
all in the pot gettting its water from the coffe-maker
I fill my cup 3/4 and add fresh apple juice to make a full cup
now a fresh lemon juice alters the flavour too much
but sometimes I feel like it
I made friday was pretty good too
mixed not too much extra lean hamburger
mixed in sliced tomatoes from the garden
mixed in one large onion
few capers
few thinly sliced pickels
one egg
a bit salt, some pepper, some spices whatever to tempt me
mixed the works while adding whole wheat flour to arrive at some consistency
put the works in three small aluminum plates
baked again at 400 for 30 minutes and another 15 on broil
tastes excellent
especially today with three fresh boiled potatoes
+ green lettuce, olives, fresh lemon juice
everyday at least one fresh lemon juice
in Saskatchewan
experimented
with one cup unbleached all purpose flour
added dry milk, a bit sugar and salt
1/4 to 1/2 spoon yeast
added warm water
mixed the works
let it stand covered with linen cloth
now I went in the garden and looked for good-looking apples
washed them
then cut them in thin sclices, skin and heart and seeds included
now I took above flour mixture and added more flour and an egg
and mixed some more and let stand again for few minutes
then 'poured' the works into a 10' spring baking form
that I had grease with olive oil
then added all the sliced apples on top
sprinkled some sugar, some flour some cinnamon,
put the thing in the toaster aoven at twice 15 minutes at 400
then another 15 minutes at Broil
to 'brown' the apples and the top somewhat
then after these 45 minutes
took the form out
and cut a BIG slice for me to eat
then went in the garden and ate my first Saskatchewan baked pie
It tasted very good is beyond compare
with the same idea I will proceed tomorrow or so
and bake an apple bread on rye flour basis
one can do anything with apples
and especially since I eat the whole apple
nothing gets lost in my system of unprejudiced eating
in favour of flavour and good taste
almost always separates from words
as if experience 'fights' language itself
or in the alternative
if experience isn't congruent with the symbolic realm
experience is made not to exist: it never was, it never happened
but experience will happen all by itself
against the universe (belief, ideology etc) of language
"to be a member of anything,
to join any official organization,
any association or small club...
is to lose one's honour, to debase oneself,
since everything is so low "
-- Gustave Flaubert, December 12, 1821 – May 8, 1880...
For the first sentence that comes to mind to establish itself
as the best sentence for the purpose of an essay:
introduce a barrier: that's very religious;
remove a barrier: that's secular and very liberal
Either way, the essay
is thus grounded in the symbolic world of the religious
and returned to some modicum of de-centered reality
or grounded in some always-already de-centered reality
and forced into something otherwordly, the symbolic.
Use a polititician, a leader or high-powered personage,
all try to please both realms or more realms and confusion a plenty,
because the categories of this world and the other world/worlds
get confused and reason gets punished with wishes, prayers and hopes:
language games a plenty
as unnatural an intrusion from the outside
as unnatural as eliciting sex from the outside
via products, powder and lipstick and consumer what-have-you's
both outsiders fail to relate to an 'echo' from within
a dead cow requires much much more
to raise your appetite to some bloody yet to be fried steak
when Rock no longer danced but unlearned dancing-
relationships improvised their movements beyond genderlessness
and every body conformed, became simulacrum
now cow traders want calves to feed to the warriors that fight for 'real' life
that's why pro-creators go back to basics and peddle disgust and death
as if not to arrange for war but in the name of love's fictions
so too, writing remains a fiction,
like weight-lifting's ups and downs
masturbations in search for musles
as if a nice behaviour must be imposed from outside
speech and accumulation of words
suffer from proper application of procedures
like sexless sex serving assorted purposes
especially since the tv speaks endlessly and more versatile
than the tv's audience itself
was the distance you took
from everything
towards what was not organised,
what was spontaneous,
which remained 'uncontrolled'' and uncontrollable
it's not the alcohol that you drink or the steak that you convert
but the pre-existing procedures that make a farce of your drinking,
the cow that converts you into an eater 'within reason'
eating does not involve language, only learned ritual, repetition of habit
all bereft of reason
got drunk in the office at Christmas...
I was reminded once more not long ago
of the public whores in Europe
that kept their respectable distance
towards us males
as if philosophy and literature
have not died out on the road...
as if sex doesn't matter
But sex matters in procreational territory
and someone was able to turn all males victim
as if hysterics make a natural home
within an old
very old norm
I never wore a wrist watch
If the train was late, well, a watch didn't accelerate speed nor lateness
I never 'socialised' with people
whose language repertoire was controlled by the clock
As a boy, my father took me to theater rehearsals,
I always sat in the middle of the first row:
life on the stage was always imperfect
there were no spectators to distract me
an anonymous spectator mass
ever since impress me as humanities well ordered falsity
I never got used to television addicts
I always wrapped my school-books in newspaper;
then my father gave me expensive wallpaper that
caught the attention of my conformist 'mates'
I never had a gym bag;
once someone gave me two gym bags to take my stuff to Europe;
that told me I had too much stuff; all that stuff I left behind in Europe
I have no television, no radio, and thank you very much:
no car
I like differences and they're hard to find in conformity land
mind you, when I was a scholl-boy, we still lived in post-hitler-land
while on the 'other side' the last and final liberation
of ' the most liberated people in the world' was hailed:
they needed a Wall to proof it, a gated country as
if liberated from all unfreedom
as if freedom is a multi-annual perennial:
every year one wonders IF there's yet another bloom to come...
there was always the place where we lived and then there was the garden
and later, there was the forest
one was involved in survival,
the garden and the forest were the distance from corrupt civilisation
once living space and garden were gone, not confiscated
but 'liberated' for the 'new' species of men,
foodless living reduced everone to proper dimensions;
no one talked of 'spirituality' - that's consumer society surplus talk
poverty was not idealism nor mismanagement,
but pure plots and politics of a to be re-mastered humanity;
as if humans without rights are collective humanity
lots of contrasts to be added, but additions never benefit
an already perfected people:
that's why they only need children by the dozen,
each one leaning -as if natural - pro-creatively
like war-machines that fight life
I always skated on every pond that froze;
there was always a 'friend' that desparately unfroze
my mother always liked my friends
my father disliked it very much when I compared myself to OTHERS
one friend came with his motor-bike to fix it up in our garden:
my mother was furious that he uses me
what his high valuta parents forbid him to do
on their repected property
father said, people have a way to USE other people
all the way up to the party apparatus and their aligned churches
my teacher talked of the state that destroys individualism-
the state needs heroic sacrificers instead
you can never compare
only contrast some of my teachers who survived dictatorship
with the GI Bill professors who 'lived in the land of the free'
everything is past tense
since I was Cassius who 'always knew too much,'
my 'mates' always urged me to sell my voice to the radio
scary thought...
my uncle 'worked for the radio" and Hitler gave him the death penalty
which was never executed because Hitler shot himself first
while the Russians conquered what there was to conquer
one aunt knew China first hand
another aunt never stopped dreaming of her two sons, 18 +
coming back from Stalingrad
my father always reminded everybody
how everybody went nuts
when Hitler was handed power
another aunt was run over by a truck
that yesterday's 'present tense'
repeats itself tomorrow
as 'present tense' once more
as if language passes through the night unencumbered
or
does language's passage
transition back and forth
from human to animal from animal to human
like wars
never ending
repetitions
that language can't remember
its procedures flip flopping
always unaccountable
...always meticulously perfected
...always improved upon
previous successes
no matter when and where, to whom
now command the way forward
never local but always universal
felt individually yet all praise universally
...always contingent upon terror, faith thus enhanced enforced,
...always connivance: church, state, all in unison with their 'newest' laws
history's voice thus babbles as if asleep
providence plays once again
as if
you're sitting
IN a 'room'
WITHOUT four walls
a 'room' thus turned
INTO a (non-self-contained) lie
of groups
is supposed to do...
language always already an accomplice
happy to classify
language rules thus
as a formidable producer
from below as if from above
long enough
from country to country
you'll see
that the evolving rituals
of obeying rules of games
outlast
the proverbial rule of law
so, where you have fun as if uncalculated
the mind gets sucked into a true bind
how writers and teachers
reduced their writing and teachings
to a dandelion and a lone bird
sittin' silently on some twig on a leaveless tree
war stripped everything down
even teachers were stripped off their dogma
food was gone, churches in rubble
and soup was delivered to school-boys in large drums
school every second day during winter
free soup included
some boys were idiots like warring fathers
some girls still danced hitleresque
propaganda this way and that way
you didn't know which way
the class would turn
can be studied like gender and sex
from history books
but to have experienced several regime changes
the sufferings and the words that people spoke
the irrelevancy of all language of love within the language
the beast reduced to a weapon for regime change....
baked yesterday,
enough dough
a bit larger than a Kaiser roll,
enough for yesterday and today
first let the dough rise
until you feel like continuing
or until I get 'dramatically' hungry for some corn-bread...
after thatt
I added a cup yellow corn-meal
and enough olive oil
and kneaded the works
baked at 425F / 220C for 30 minutes
taste: excellent:
like a tortilla and where ever my memories took me to...
then I had some extra lean hamburger
mixed with
capers,
cut up large onion
tomatoes from my garden
salt
pepper
spices
one egg
mixed the works
added some whole wheat flour
and some on top
baked in two 4" aluminum 325F for 30 min
excellent taste:
the fresh garden tomatoes won the price
little meat really, every ten days or so
to keep me in style
at certain times is no longer art
but complicity
like words that praise
art endorses
from animal to cultural man
can best be studied by reading history
from the 'beginning'
that is
whenever opportunistic gaps, hidden endings
where advantages accumulate to the 'continuum'
when an ideology conquered people of different ideology,
i.e North American Natives, heathens, biblically igonorant,
therefore sodomites, clan believers, therefore to be unlinked
and coupled into gendered 'order'
what they call today bio-politics
told that mother told
to touch girls instead
some boys obeyed
and masturbated away
out of sight
yet some boys
started praising their balls instead
and boys now tickled boys' balls
as if mother told it exactly right
PS
why mothers ?
most boys had no father left due to war 'sacrifice' (Kriegsopfer)
those long texts
teach you uses for calendars
and dictionaries' never ending catalogue of words
and nothing repeating: as if
everything happened only once,
as if all is final, stuck in words
what's the use of dictionaries
what secrets
still hidden in calendars?
don't even outlast their "natural givens"
topography made to change
how do you expect them to ever outlast
their very own constituted 'moral' precepts?
words themselves always align with the most forceful other,
in the small office, in the big office, in scripted texts
like dough that makes the elements rise
like a boys choir
voices rise to a maximum
an ordered song masterly prearranged
made fit for boys as if fit for war
followed by failure
beyond silence:
'the man' falls to a minimum
then much less
"What is the use of being a boy if one is going to grow up to be a man?"
as Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946) said.
is like having lived in several countries
each claiming to be the "best country in the world"
like having loved in several countries
and experienced "the best sex"
each country is allowed to give
by closing your mouth to all food
processed, enriched and otherwise
you become entirely naked,
free from prejudices against your own body-
a commercial free body
an unpolitical body unenhanced
unencumbered by food processor lobbyism
before you get to know your own body, however,
ask not for permission to get to know those
who control your body on behalf of others
uncomplicate life
go strictly by taste, by appetite
now I can make an apple pie or bake apple bread
add some butter rich strudel
but hey, putting the apples in a blender, add milk, add 35% whipping cream
break up a slice of home baked bread, put in bowl,
pour from blender above 100% home grown whole apples + +
keep all chemicals at lowest levels:
milk has additives,
whipping cream has stabilizers
whatever they do to the flour...
one is always stuck by oneself
to preserve youth and beauty
especially an independent mind
from the back of the head
down with the two hands, ten fingers
down to the ten toes
and up again on the front
to the face and head
and down again
on the back
and up again on the front of the body
until you feel the whole body
from head to toe
from toes to head
daily, nightly
whenever naked-time
is in control of time
it's easy to pull in the abdominal muscles
and keep them there without effort
easy to keep a 'straight posture' -
no weight to pull down a tired fat-body
apples in the garden make it whole into my blender...
except for the stem...
the seeds contain boron and trace elements
so nothing goes to waste
a dozen or so apples twice a day
into the blender mixed with milk
an egg or two
that fortifies the system
makes the body feel good:
thanks and congrats to all saggers
each bite, must be chewed;
unlike a bought bread, can be 'half' chewed, then swallowed.
now this latest can't be swalloed at all, but must be chewed
and all flavour extracted with the saliva doing its work
before it is possible to swallow
the taste is excellent, no chemicals to deal with,
no sugars, preservatives
but it must be chewed as if the proverbial 33 times
I used only rye flour;
probably got to let it sit longer with the yeast
in what sense
you're like others
or others are like you
same words
unlike feelings
common language
for whose common denominator?
when they are busy watching tv
go away to be busy with doing nothing
love your very own brain
glad I have no longer to go out for bread
and what I bake tastes much much better
and I can bake as much as I want to eat today-tomorrow
after one year of intensive eating on a fruit and juice diet
I now only eat (as before) what my appetite tells me...
and I'm losing more weight,
my skin changed to real soft and teenagery
my eyes perceive a younger body
that goes with the softer skin...
a lemon juiced every day works as a skin rejuvenator from within...
abdominal fat as if gone, but not finished, because the organs are still in fat
that's where the cancers nibble like rats, mice, wolves...
I reduced my fluid intake somehow not wanting so much anymore;
so I noticed a change:
by midnight I'm asleep
and my dreams behave like books
they keep me busy until about five in the morning
that makes it still around eighteen hours wide awake
thru-out of all this,
concentration and memory have increased,
and all joy is nothing but a sexual body
dreams are more robust, as if I'm in control...
I read probably a dozen books at the same time,
suddenly an idea in book b interlinks with an idea in book d
and thinking gets on on its own from there on
sort of home-made ideas drop in unexpectedly...
a sort of a tableau of all the books
not competing but talking to each other
yet language is just as miserable as abdominable fat
language advertises itself,
figure out what self-politizised language peddles
dogma and epistemological totalities
ideological strictures that inpede free thought
no tv here, no radio, internet only, books...
lots of room for soft emotions....
teaching classes at university
I was conscious of always avoiding the group in front of me;
by avoiding the group as such
I avoided the presence of an ideology
my motivation was simply some modicum of the pursuit of happiness in general
which never can be a group thing
but always a one-on one motivation eye to eye
whereas I had observed other professors
who were animated by aggression and leadership models
that propagandizes the group into believing
and shaming the group into some collective body
that is in need of continous preaching and verbal whippings from above
avoid any role whatsoever
never hide behind a perception of distance
if the group functions 'right'
the individual lives only to experience and to repeat an indoctrinated ideology
by force of law,
makes for forced intimacy
thus rhetorics of relation
speak of nothing but the law
always against nature
is the coerced labour of reproducing life
that's why women's loud voices
out-trump nature's thunder and their copulating partner
and men ruled by subversive normativity
indeed fit in:
"What is the use of being a boy if one is going to grow up to be a man?"
as Gertrude Stein (February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946) said.
2 cups of of unbleached all purpose flour
1/2 cup of dark rye flour
1/4 teaspoon yeast (enough?)
1 1/2 tspoon salt
probably 2/1/4 cups handwarm water
mixed the mass
and let it now sit in a bowl covered with a linen towel for 12 hours...
that means I either bake it for early breakfast before I fall asleep
or bake it for lunch when I wake up which would be about 18 hours of dough rise
but I think I will bake 1/2 first and let the rest sit to bake later...
if I make two loaves of it
would suit me probably better, add to the second some apples...
the less to learn
because history is as impotent
as language itself
of words
hidden in language
regularly collapses upon humanity
speechless animals already know this
a 'garden' never will be, the word doesn't fit,
because 'wilderness' takes its time to get established
the hard clay
was surprised to see all these weeds, grasses and wild flowers
turn into a dry mass of future mulch during the dry and hot july this year
that wild growth of course tells me:
there's potential for growing chemical factory free
vegetables and herbs
for any vegetables and herbs to make it through the dry season,
first an inch or so of humus needs to be grown from green manure,
several crops of buckwheat, rye grass, clover got to do their hard work
so 'garden' is the wrong word -
the process involved is way beyond words
I'm not sure at this time, if the August sun is hot enough to 'cook' the patch
and let the worms come up from below the dried out surface
and break up the hard clay and turn it into a modicum of 'workable soil'
as of now there's enough dry matter to pull it into the surface layer;
with today's overnight rain, a solid 10x10 plastic sheet, the edges tiedly sealed
would ' burn' the dry matter under the sun,
make the worms happy and get rid of the grass sods
then broadcasting buckwheat, a dense stand as cover crop
Not before there's humus that incorporates with the clay
nothing can be sown for over-wintering, no roots get deep enough yet
no matter how thick the mulch cover tries to be
-humus thick enough to hold the moisture during the next heat and dry spell
up front, the small grass patch is nearly dead,
so turning it also into a green manure producer
with deep rooting plants like comfrey...
but for now, after the rain, a good beginning,
overseeding it with a thick stand of buckwheat...
Parsley in the pots grows good,
stuff for the winter window sill and the salads to come
Chives the same, one pot at a time,
great green stuff for the home-baked sandwhich
I don't have a spade, it would be useless,
hard clay is stronger than me,
so let nature take its course and work the soil herself
I also got to 'work the raspberries
an old stand from last century
that needs rejuvenation
red plums are ripening,
surrounded entirely by grass
that needs to be mulched away...
the apple trees, fewer apples this year,
one two trees, their fruits turning yellow, dry meat
I suspect water shortage like last year,
surrounded by dried out weeds
getting to know the 'garden' ---
and if next winter the native deer return -
I left all-around the wild flowers stand,
the same they ate last winter
those deer produced a lot manure...
they shared the bird-seed with the birds
and 'stretched out' in the warmest spot of their garden
how we partied all night, went to school or work
and were neither bored nor tired
this fresh fruit and vegetable diet from the garden my parents had
was so natural that I come to see now
how naturally I grew up, was fed by nature
I remember my mother in the middle of the night urging me to go to bed and sleep...
this diet over the last 13 month, since July 2006,
turned my sleep back to where it was when I was a teenager
Up 18 hours, getting 'tired' at around 5:30 in the morning,
like Picasso getting up by mid-day or one or so...
(Nietzsche's 'turning point')
this hasn't changed much, even so there was a short period
I would get tired late in the evening, nevertheless like a monk
I would still wake up at 2:00 and continue awake non-stop
Swedenborg used to sleep 'as needed' whenever that was...
ate strictly his semolina with milk and apparently nothing else...
now I don't watch TV, don't drive a car, books in the public library
don't carry the stuff I study...
so these Prairies here are another planet for me,
here people/talk and their hysterics
at first reminded me of my work last century
in a mental institution
it seems more and more that the ambiguity of 'madness'
is turning once again into an even ' greater normality '
and 'live people' I observe are extremely dead and univocal,
especially since my ears turned away from their rhetorical perversities
than during the last twelve months while losing 40 pounds...
there's no hunger, but an appetite regained...
an appetite for potatoes and fresh bread
in both, my father is the model: he always ate his potatoes, not more than two,
less or more;
now on the bread he liked to bake it himself, but it was not worth it
for the one or two slices he would eat
and over the years, I was sometimes 'for month' on a breadless diet...
now I crave for fresh bread: I got flour and and the rest
and started a tiny loaf and another one made of rye flour
a slice or two wrapped in slices of Swiss cheese that I can get here
at a tourist price
I don't have enough of a plot to grow my own grain,
the tomatoes are still green
nights are already cold, down to 12-13-16 degrees Celsius
my August moon is not as hot as it used to be (last century)
the bag of oats never eaten, will serve as mulch
yes, against all my home rules, I 'baked' some meatloaf with extra lean meat,
added a chopped up onion, tiny bit of sea salt some spice, two eggs, a dried out bun
and had to add some flour - and baked the works at 350F ...
at 2 am I had a small feast...
as 'big' as the tiny loaf of bread, it will last all week... pending my appetite
this is my first bread-baking since university days in Tucson... last century
Here, the bought bread, frozen factory stuff and chemical laboratory enhanced,
no matter what 'name' is attached,
was so catastrophic that it didn't do one bit to keep my appetite alive...
and since I like variety and change of spice to feed my unpredictable appetite
from day to day, and into the night and overnight
this seems to be much better going forward into the winter month
which starts with me as soon as temperatures are below 18C
like tonight...
"It is not
when one has taken everything away that nothing is left,
rather,
nothing is left
when things are unceasingly shifted
and addition itself
no longer has any meaning."
in 'The Remainder' in 'Simulacra and Simulation' (1981)
Jean Baudrillard July 29, 1929 - March 6, 2007
adding up to three inches now,
abdominal fat gone
from a belly as if a moveable fat-container
clear view now
all the way to the erectional machine,
a truly expansive philosophy engulfs the naked eye
too much belief in language, discursive punishments,
a consortium of words that undermine body after body
when a hunk turns into someone pushing his belly forward,
fat enhanced after some years...
which is nothing but a false substitute for being promoted to a man -
retroactive punishment for his youth with words
a wordy diet of disbelievable sentences cooked up by opinion makers
peddlers of belief never to be trusted
stay away from words that seduce you towards fat-
the masses excercise freely like herds,
their belief their diet
but you can't read nor listen nor watch-
you know all limits
where and when culture turns against you
for punishment as if by profound diktat
believe nothing:
all habits train you into eating
to convert your body into fat, then into correct sex and delicate language
like all propaganda that confiscates your head
for its very aims and subversive purposes
one must take distance from a culture, an absolute politics
that is nothing but a camouflage for 'good will'
your pursuit of your happiness
guarantees you your youth
beyond any age of randomness:
culture's perennial fickleness