How many Finns have finished fins päädyssä “le fin”?

While I wait for an inspiration to hit me or simply rub up against me and go, “Me now!,” I wait.

I wait for a style, a period, an influence, to work its magic upon my video clips of a trip to Alaska.

I have given up wanting a lead candidate to get my vote, now that the two leading candidates for U.S. President have declared themselves alike and equally adept at being either a wolf in sheep’s clothing or a sheep in wolf’s clothing as the situation requires.

C’est la vie.

I had given up reading books when my mother in-law got real sick and died.  I resigned myself to not reading a book again after my father got real sick and died.

The complexities that I wished to weave in brainwave pattern matching/synching/syncopating have dissipated.

My vocabulary shrinking.

My wry, sarcastic sense of humour intact, mild but biting.

My automatically-correcting grammatical radar falling into disuse.

‘Tis me, here, though, isn’t it?

Not another.

Time…time, time, time…time to consider new possibilities.

My country is no longer my own — it belongs and has always belonged to the wealthy alpha leaders.

My sights are set farther, out there in space and time.

I want to go further.

See a furrier.

Tell PETA, “Look, I slowly squeezed the main artery to the brain so that the animal went to sleep and died before I skinned it for my wife’s warm coat to wear to the opera, a more humane death than being eaten alive in the wild, or hearing your ranting chants.”

Look through my “complete” collections of National Geographic, MAD magazine, the New Yorker and other desk reference volumes.

Read my father’s copy of Pyle’s “THIS IS YOUR WAR.”

Stop thinking while this moment of memories with my father rushes through my endocrine system.

Stop feeling this pain.

Stop wanting to lash out and attack others for their successes, knowing death gets us all, no matter how far or short we got relative to fellow members of our species, dead or alive.

Your struggles and successes are not mine.

I slow down, soaking in the mixed emotions, the son standing here in place of his father, regardless of historical significance one may have or may not have had more than the other.

I cannot eat memories but they can eat me.

I can rewrite memories but not the events on which they are based.

The molecules, atoms and subatomic particles have moved on.

Why can’t I?

The animated graphic novel will have to wait.

So, too, the Alaskan travelogues, new and old.

I have only myself at the centre of this known universe in this current version of a dream/illusion/fantasy I try to get you to align with, just like everybody else.

How can I be different from and yet the same as you?

I wait for an inspiration.

Earth spins on its axis.

Our solar system spins around the centre of the Milky Way galaxy.

Toward or away from what are we expanding?

When time is meaningless, what are dreams about a future on another world?

I can crush the crystal ball with one hand, the shards opening fissures, wounds, tears in the fabric of spacetime.

We all know we have to eat.  Most of us reproduce.

The moments we spend in-between, here, there, any/every where, what are they?

…so this is what it’s like to float in weightlessness…how long can I stay here?…do I have to leave?…there is no waiting when there is neither time nor space that waits for the me that is not-me which does not exist…

Confused about politics…

Okay, so I was driving down the road when a news flash interrupted my meditative music.

Apparently, Public Radio International has claimed the top spot in the Mexican government, led by Enrique Pena Nieto.

As you can see, I’m confused.  Public Radio International, or PRI, is, according to wikipedia:

a Minneapolis-based American public radio organization, with locations in Boston, New York, London and Beijing. PRI’s tagline is “Hear a different voice.” PRI is a major public media content creator and also distributes programs from many sources, competing with National Public Radio and American Public Media to provide programming to public radio stations.[1] Additionally, the company is increasingly focused on fulfilling the unmet needs in global news and cultural perspectives, created and curated specifically for relevance for Americans.[2]Therefore its competitive set in the larger media and information landscape consists of organizations focused on creating, partnering and providing global news and cultural perspectives content.

PRI is the “managing partner” of American Public Radio, which provides satellite radio programing via Sirius XM Satellite Radio. APR is composed of PRI, Chicago Public Radio, WGBH (FM) in Boston, and WNYC in New York City.[3]

Am I to understand that the Mexican government is now in direction competition with Carlos Slim’s media empire?

What does that say about the drug cartels?

Who, at the end of the day, will rule the streets?

Will kids listen to the likes of Ahmad Jamal, Hey Rim Jeon, or Yomo Toro?  Does that mean the pop days are just about over for the dynamic duo, Justin Bieber and Paul McCartney?  Will Dolly Parton release an album inspired by the Tijuana Brass?

Do Australians celebrate Christmas in July?

Can someone give those idle folks in Mali something to do besides tearing down burial sites?  Don’t they have jobs or some other useful constructive occupation?

Will Microsoft copyright the phrase “Higgs boson” before it’s too late and the phrase becomes a common household name like “collaterized mortgage obligations” or “six degrees of freedom”, depriving the corporation of calling itself “The House that God’s Particle Built!”?

Five Minutes Until Closing Time

The situation is this: what do you want after the crisis in Syria is less violent in chaotic parts of that geopolitical zone?  How do you want the people suffering the worst economic conditions in the Eurozone to react?  If you don’t have to pay your medical bills, who’s going to determine if you got your money’s worth?

Tuned in to Pandora radio, picked the Soundgarden station and an advert for “Meet Singles in Your Area” popped up.  Switched to the Claire Lynch station and an advert for “Viagra” popped up.  Stayed up when Alison Kraus started playing.  Very punny.

Anyway, so we’ve got supply lines to regional energy sources which we want to stay open.

We’ve got people in the Middle East who claim that civilisation originated there.

We have people in China trying to prove the same thing.

Thing is, does it matter?

What is civilisation?  Violent suppression?  Censorship?  Surveillance?

And that’s just in the UK.

When is a revolution acceptable?

Who gets to choose when to participate in an uprising?

Is every wealthy person an “alpha?”

Is every person in a position of authority — in charge of military forces, that is — an “alpha” or a “beta?”

[Cue references to “Brave New World”]

What does it mean to be an American or a world citizen?

Can you claim membership in both groups?

I’m blending in with my surroundings, the chameleon nearly invisible, a reflection of the intersecting waves of social [in]justice, letting words, images, labels and such flow through and around me.

Some call it happiness.

I call it being me/not-me.

On Canada Day, I consider a visit to the country via Alaska, wondering if I should move to the land of depleting boreal forests, oil shale field fracking and old gold rushes.

I trust our species to use as much fossil fuel as is in-the-slightest-bit feasible to extract because alternative energy sources are expensive in comparison to…well, pick your chart, select your argument and present to a skeptical public the why’s and wherefore’s of the social/economic/ecological cost of running a modern-day civilisation.

Meanwhile, I’m slapping some money down on a trip to the land of Molson, moose and moist towelettes.

Trekking over tourist traps and snow country.

Working my network of associates and colleagues.

Wondering if monsters sleep under rusted truck cabs in desert conditions near tundras.

Or was that a deserted Tundra truck under seeping monster cabs in rusty conditions?

Maybe ol’ Dusty Rhodes’ll be singing a sad song on the way to the next WWE Hall of Fame induction.

Time for another hand-drawn animated satirical cartoon disguised as what?  The last time, a horror novel.  The next time…?

Stay tuned!

Alone on this lonesome highway, the Wandering Wonderer meditates on the universe that revolves around him solely for his lifetime entertainment, the illusions enjoyable, if tragic or funny in forgotten moments of timeless navelgazing.

This is my dream, my illusion — getting our states of energy, our living, breath bodies in one form or another, out into the solar system, not just our electronic, robotic companions escaping the heliosphere — carrying on the work of our species for millennia, using stories, humour and Earth’s resources to make my [adopted] dream a reality worth living for.

Everything else is just a game in your dreams and illusions.  I’ll play your games sometimes but I promise I soon get bored.  If the alphas and betas want to fight each other to the death, go for it — don’t let me stop your madness, battling over the same ground your ancestors wasted their time killing each other to claim again for the very first time.  If those kinds of games of yours are all there is to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, then end mine here.

No?  I’m still alive?  Good!  Time to explore new fields where resources and repurposed technology may make my dream come true…

Respect the Sanctity of the Cones

There is a phrase, common to officers of the law patrolling Colorado streets at night, that defies description here in the Martian colonies.

“Respect the sanctity of the cones.”

You see, back in 2012, the President of the United States, seeking reelection, decided to interfere with the operation of police and firefighters to offer his condolences in the midst of a state emergency.

Ask yourself if you would rather have a firefighter working hard to save YOUR house rather than standing for a photo op with the Prez.

Or a police officer holding back traffic for a firetruck heading into your neighbourhood rather than an entourage of national security folks establishing a clear perimeter of security for the Prez.

You see, I’m reading historical blog entries like these:

I support any person who wins the majority of electoral college votes for U.S. President.

But I can also call into question his motives when he puts his reelection campaign ahead of a real emergency.

You ask me, this stinks.  Mr. Obama, you are making yourself an annoyance in this case.

It is poor decisions like these that make me question your honest attempt to be a leader rather than a vote chaser.

Remember, I am one of the Undecided.

Unfortunately, I live in the state of Alabama, which is all but guaranteed to support your opponent to take office in 2013.

But those of us in swing states, we look to our President for a true vision, not just another politician gladhanding the homeless and asking to remember you come November when you blocked the way for those who are really sacrificing themselves.

You see, I thought I lived in a great country where protection of the people was not just something that happens “over there” in Vietnam, Grenada, Iraq or Afghanistan.

I expect protection of my people here and now.

But go ahead, bring the posse down to the Centennial State and see exactly who remembers you for what you did to those people whose homes were destroyed because one too many police and firefighters were diverted from their primary duties to shake your hand on primetime TV.

Hey, I’m just a regular citizen, occasionally remembering to donate plasma to the Red Cross and give clothing to Goodwill.

I’m no saint.

But I am a voter.

And there are a lot of people like me not expressing their opinion in the ocean of voices floating in the blogosphere.

We read the history of your times in the early decades of the 21st century and wondered when we were supposed to see the Rebirth of the Enlightenment cause it ain’t happened yet!

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Hole Punchers and Drive-Thru Windows

“Yes, yes…what is it, Rick?  I thought you were harvesting fungi and making algae soup for breakfast this morning.”

“Well, I was looking at the growth patterns of vines in the woods this morning, paying attention to capillary action, when I saw a branch of the future you might want to tell my…I mean, your readers.”

“Rick, Rick, Rick.  How can I do that?  I’ve already told them you’ve retired and here you are, still setting up your supercomputer to extend prediction paths out into the forest.  That doesn’t sound like you’re retired to me.”

“‘You young whippersnappers!’  Why, I ought to give you a good whoopin’ for backtalking me but then you are taller and stronger.”

“Oldtimers.  Geez.  Look, am I or am I not in charge of your network?”

“Let’s just say you were handpicked for the job.  Kinda like the way we maneuvered the population of the United States to put a man who had an African Muslim father and Caucasian Christian mother into the White House.  Which goes with one of these future predictions I see.  The way the vines tell it, now that we’ve secured a member of the Muslim Brotherhood as president of Egypt, we need to convince one of the U.S. President’s daughters to marry a member of the Muslim Brotherhood, thus cementing the bond between the U.S., and thus the West, and the Middle East.  It’s the only longterm way to secure peace within certain circles of the Muslim community and get rid of terrorist breeders within their ranks.  And if they adopted a Chinese baby, that’d perfect the deal!”

“Man, you and your wildlife.  I suppose the ants were talking to you again today, weren’t they?”

“Now that you mention it…”

“Naw, forget it.  I’ve got my own show to run.  You want this gig, you gotta take it from me!”

Rick says to thank Nancy for the smile and laugh she shared this morning.

Fast Food News

Hey, movie fans, this is Neau Tahm Toulouse here with Entertainment Tweetly.

In political news, the governor of Tennessee today signed legislation banning scratch-n-sniff cards in children’s toys.  The legislation is called the “gateway drug prevention” bill by the press.  The governor countered that the new bill also contains subsections that approve the issuance of government IDs like social security numbers and voting cards but not driver’s licences to online personalities, keeping kids more strongly glued to their gaming devices in the hope that obsessive video gaming will act as a form of abstinence from physical contact with other humans, let alone any gateway sexual activity such as breathing the same air as another young adolescent in the room with you.

The Solicitor General has already posted a notice that the new Tennessee bill will probably be challenged in lower courts, so the Supreme Court took the preemptive move to issue an immediate comment about the Tennessee legislative act, stating that with one state recognising the legal right of virtual citizens, corporations now have the right to vote in elections, the corporations’ voting power (i.e., number of votes per voting district) proportionate to their monetary size, number of employees, superPAC donations and former legislators/judges/executives on their consultant/lobbyist payrolls and/or board of directors.

The governor, son of the founder of a large corporation, responded, “He who laughs last usually has his vast wealth in offshore accounts and trust funds.”

I caught Julia Roberts in a moment of regret and sadness during a recent interview, who was bemoaning the fact that she’s almost forgotten and reduced to playing the role of mean, wrinkled witches because she’s considered past her prime.  She admitted that she had wanted to perform nude or topless scenes in film but had been discouraged by her agent because Julia’s breasts are asymmetrical in shape and audiences weren’t ready for mainstream stars to have imperfect bodies displayed larger-than-life.  I only had my cell phone, which has a lousy microphone but I believe she also said, “younger actresses are lucky — audiences are so jaded they don’t pay attention to nudity anymore, as common as it is on the Internet — exhibitionism is expected, not shocking.  Getting a job via the casting couch has changed, too, now that women are sitting in the director and producer chairs these days.”  Julia wouldn’t elaborate when I asked her for details about that last comment.

This is Neau Tahm Toulouse, returning to his hopping spot in the French Quarter.  I gotta take a break and read some real literature.  This pop news reportin’ is ruinin’ my vocabulary and eloquent speechmakin’.

Organisational Skill Assessment

Before I compose a hand-drawn animation sequence with the Bamboo Capture graphics tablet and fill my future with out-of-date electronic debris, I finish sorting through the piles of debris that constitute the bulk of written material which emanated from this set of states of energy called me.

Watched a commencement speech by Laurie Anderson [I thought, for a public performance multimedia artist, her acting was rather stilted], which has prompted me to click my way to a website and order a copy of the book, “How to be idle,” which in turn opened my eyes to the reams of office paperwork stacked in boxes around me.

Here’s one from 03/24/98:

Kiersey Temperament Sorter Results

Your Temperament is Idealist: NF
Your variant temperament is Healer: INFP

Any Personality Test, including the Sorter is just a rough indicator of temperament.
You might want to look at different temperament descriptions to verify the results and learn about other types of people for comparison.

I+6 N+16 F+12 P+14

David M. Keirsey
keirsey@mail.orci.com

At that time in my life, the department manager was all about fitting us into jobs that matched our personalities.

What she didn’t account for was a chameleon like me, a people pleaser who assesses the wants and desires of the people around him and blends in, hiding his personality behind layers and layers of masks, revealing himself to a select few.

I told the manager I’m not who she thinks I am and she responded that was a normal reaction to the test results from an INFP like me.

Later, I learned that she gave the same response to everyone who questioned the test results.

I wasn’t questioning the test results.  I just wanted her to know that the test results indicated my exteriour in relation to giving her the test results I thought she wanted to see.

For instance, let’s say I find out my college History professor is a dopehead and adherent to the philosophy of Timothy Leary… I make sure my term paper for the class, a review of a book about socialist utopias, contains plenty of illicit drug references and hippy religious conversations.

My goals are not your goals.  My goals are outside of the time and place in which we encounter one another, so it doesn’t matter to me about the profit targets you want to reach or the edifices you want to build in your names.

Ideas and images associated with temporal moral and ethical practices are imaginary, as far as I’m concerned.

We either reproduce our genetic material or we don’t.

Everything else is fiction about how we decide to protect our reproductive organs until we’ve produced progeny that need our protection.

Me, I have only these works of art — the sketches and writings that were birthed by me with your influence, a part of the universe, upon me.

I have no genetically-related or adopted children.  The closest I got were the nieces and nephews who [might have] looked up to me as an adult member of their clan/tribe.

They are adults now.  My influence upon them diminishes as they decide how to protect their reproductive organs until they’ve produced progeny that need their protection.

One of my hidden goals was to live long enough to be a great-uncle.

I held up my step-niece’s little one-month young girl in my arms, making me the great-uncle I wanted to be ever since I was a little boy and looked up to my childless great-uncle and great-aunt who seemed to have extra spending money my parents never had, despite the great-relatives’ middle-class wages as a postman and office secretary, respectively.

I have grown tireder as I’ve aged, exercised less and eaten minimally-nutritious chemically-treated foodstuff.  I no longer want to be a model for others or someone to look up to.

It’s time to slow down and concentrate on the dreams and desires of the personality behind all the masks…

The boy who saw macabre nightmares come to life when his favourite politician of all time, Richard Nixon, resigned.

The boy who looked down at his plate of spaghetti and thought he was eating a dish full of bleached worms covered with red sauce to hide their little heads screaming for mercy.

The boy who heard the grass talk to him.

The boy who sailed the universe at night when no one was looking.

The boy who knew that stone gargoyles and cast-iron mailboxes were like three-dimensional photographs of a reality hidden inside other people’s heads, finding an outlet, me wondering where they came from before they appeared in people’s thoughts.

The boy who earned his Eagle Scout badge and went on into Explorer Scouts, later to become a Unit Commissioner, an adult role in Scouting, because he never thought he had gained his father’s love and trust, constantly seeking, seeking, seeking approval up until he reached his adult age of 18 where he received a full college scholarship via the U.S. Navy ROTC program, accepted at both Vanderbilt and Georgia Tech, but realising he no longer had to seek his father’s approval and flunked out on purpose.

I had become the man I never thought I’d be able to grow up to be.

I never was my father and never will be.

I am me.

My hidden visions, the alternate reality that I carry in my thoughts as I interact with people who seem to like to embrace the inconsistent reality of [sub/ex]urban lifestyles and belief systems, are crawling out of me and into the world in which we meet and greet one another cordially.

They are not perfect.

They are not commercialised, plastic products for mass production and insane profit margins.

I don’t even care if others steal, borrow or marginalise my work.

My work is not me but my work came from me so I associate myself with my work but I do not tie my self-worth to what I’ve written, drawn, danced, sang or sewn.

This is the only moment in which I live and I claim this moment as mine, declaring myself absolutely insane in comparison to the insanity of boxed stuff that we only call food because the pretty picture on the outside tells me it is.

Unlike Madison Avenue marketers, I don’t have to make money from my creative redefinition of ordinary life.

I can, have been and will be me, willing to use the excess capacity of our species’ social structure that produces a buffer zone outside of basic survival to express myself here and elsewhere, on paper, in blogs and wherever I feel I want to breathe what always has to be my last breath because the next one is not guaranteed.

On to the graphics tablet, building upon my first animation!!!

As an independent filmmaker said,

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.”
—Jim Jarmusch, The Golden Rules of Filming[

Writing a short story for a book review in a History college course…

Walden Two: Just Another Religious Cult?

In the very books in which philosophers
bid us scorn fame, they inscribe their names.
——Cicero: Pro Archia XI.xxvi.

“Here it is,” I said, holding a Webster’s dictionary in my lap. “Utopia… well, there are three definitions. Which one do you want?“ I turned to my longtime friend, Jessica, and waited for a response.

She looked at me, and with a sarcastic tone, replied, “Whichever one suits you, how about that?” We often discussed the way people have the tendency to only make remarks or statements that defend their position. No one wants to be proven wrong. This time, though, I told Jessica I wanted to find out how good a utopia could be. She argued that I was not going into this project with an open mind, that I had decided long ago utopias were “nifty.” People always remember what I want them not to.

“Okay, smarty, here’s the whole definition. ‘Utopia, imaginary and ideal country in Utopia by Sir Thomas More, from Greek ou: not, no; and topos: place. One, an imaginary and indefinitely remote place. Two, often capitalized, a place of ideal perfection especially in laws, government and social conditions. Three, an impractical scheme for social improvement.’ Wait, here’s a good one, the definition for utopian socialism, ‘socialism based on a belief that social ownership of the means of production can be achieved by voluntary and peaceful surrender of their holding by propertied groups.’ That’s exactly what Walden Two is, a utopian socialist community.” I had found the definition I wanted!

“You don’t have to shout. I’m right here. So I guess you’re trying to convince me of something. First, you say a utopia is ’imaginary’ and ‘impractical.’ Then, you try to cover that up with another definition about a utopian society full of ’peaceful’ people. Can you imagine President Reagan asking everyone to peacefully give up their property and bank accounts for the good of our society? Be real.”

She’s right, I thought. There’s never going to be a…

“But don’t you see,” I burst out, “that’s what Skinner is saying. There will never be a political solution to forming an almost nonpolitical society.”

“Okay, but my point is this: do you really believe Americans are going to give up discotheques and funeral homes for SOCIALIST living? Remember, this is the land of Richard Nixon, J.C. Penney’s and apple pie. I just don’t see everyone wearing robes and traveling in buggies.”

“Very funny,” I snorted as I picked up a copy of Walden Two looking for a passage to help me out. “Listen, ’What would you do if you found yourself in possession of an effective science of behavior?’ You didn’t get the true message of the book. This isn’t a real utopian society. And, this isn’t a socialist government, either.” Jessica gave me a questioning stare. “Well, not much of one, anyway.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to write your paper on yet? I thought you were going to write about All The President’s yen…I mean, Men.”

“I was, but the professor said that 80% of the class would probably write about the same book so I decided not to do that one. I’d say everyone in the class has already read about and knows about Watergate. Too  easy.” And besides, I thought, why write a story on a great president? If I could write a convincing story on a socialist society, then I could try proving the worth of a phone—bugging president.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I went over my notes on B.F. Skinner, searching for some supportive evidence on the idea of my paper.

Meanwhile, Jessica read the Wall Street Journal. As I looked at my notes, my mind began to wander. I asked myself, Is there such a thing as a utopia? Would anyone want it if they had it? How can there be a perfect society when we, the components of this society, aren’t perfect? Is Skinner’s ’science of behavior’ the solution to a utopian society? I just couldn’t find a reasonable answer.

“Lee,” Jessica asked, looking up from the paper, “did you know the Indian tribe that ate the first Thanksgiving dinner with the Pilgrims doesn’t exist anymore?”

Still lost in thought, I responded, “What did you say?”

“I said, did you know the Indian tribe that…”

“Hey! That’s it,” I said, nearly jumping out of my seat.

“That’s what?” was her response, angry with me for interrupting her (first) discovery. She knew I was about to go into a long monologue and she’d never be able to finish her thought.

“Didn’t you read some book about an Indian named Black Elk or some such?”

“Yeah, and…”

“Well, I seem to remember you saying Black Elk was in touch with God or some spirit. Wasn’t that his argument for returning to the tribal life, because of our losing ’harmony with God?’”

“He didn’t argue for tribal life. He just stressed the importance of a spiritual life. If you want, I can get the book for you.”

“No, that all-right. I think I have something, though. Let me find the page I’m looking for first.” I began thumbing through Walden Two. “Here it is. ‘Walden Two isn’t a religious community.’ There’s some more here somewhere… oh yeah, I don’t know if I told you but in this book, Skinner isn’t the builder of Walden Two. It’s this guy named Frazier who formed it. All through the book, Frazier is defending Walden Two against the doubts of Skinner and a colleague of his. Anyway, Frazier goes on to say, ’It would take me a long time to describe, and I’m not sure I could explain, how religious faith becomes irrelevant when the fears which nourish it are allayed and the hopes fulfilled—— here on earth. We have no need for formal religion, either as ritual or philosophy.’ Don’t you see? He’s saying the same thing that Black Elk said.”

“Uh, Lee, are you sure you know what you’re talking about?”

“Come on. You’re the one who’s studied Hinduism and Buddhism. They all have this belief in God or…what is it the call it?“

“’The absolute experience.'”

“Yeah, well, isn’t Walden Two a sort of absolute experience? I mean, according to all that’s in this book, Walden Two and the science of behavior are like the Brahman or nirvana of Hinduism. I’m not sure if Black Elk used this word but it’s like the manitou of the American Indians. They all seek to reach an ultimate goal, the perfect reality. Just think, to Christians, the reality is God and we fall short of God. Thus Christians must always try to become perfect, god—like. They believe we never will on Earth. Neither does Skinner.  His science of behavior stresses the need for improvement in every aspect of our lives. You know, the funny thing is Skinner has combined science and religion in his philosophy, and he admits this in so many words, too. Yet, he flatly denies religious beliefs in his teachings. I copied this passage out of Collier’s Encyclopedia. Read it.”

“…the aim of Indian philosophy is not a mere intellectual
apprehension of reality but an intuitive experience of it.
Emphasis is consequently put, in every system of Indian
philosophy, on the need for practical discipline. An aspirant
to philosophic wisdom must be not only intellectually alert
but also morally pure. Metaphysical contemplation is possible
only for one who has cultivated such qualities as equanimity,
self—control, and contentment. All schools of philosophy,
orthodox as well as heterodox, are agreed that a seeker after
metaphysical truth should cease from harboring a thirst for
the fleeting goods of this world, and should turn to the
eternal reality for ultimate satisfaction. When a candidate
is considered morally and emotionally ready, he enters on the
enterprise called philosophizing. Guided study, rational
reflection, and continued meditation constitute the technique
of philosophizing in India. This process continues until the
metaphysical truth is realized. That such realization can
come to one in this life is the teaching of many schools of
Indian philosophy. Even those which believe that the final
realization comes only after death nevertheless teach that he
who has received philosophic knowledge leads thereafter a
transformed life …. The integration of the new with the old
has been the technique by which Indian philosophy has grown.
In the struggle of ideas there are no vanquished. Some ideas
become dominant not be conquering others but by absorbing them
and thereby becoming richer.

While Jessica read the passage, I started realizing how far our conversation had gone. We had started talking about the possible existence of utopias. Now, I thought, we were discussing religions and philosophy. What I needed to do was explain more fully how I thought the two should be or have been combined in Skinner’s Walden Two.

“What do you think?” I asked, hoping Jessica would give me some way to finish what I wanted to say.

“Well, I studied this last fall in Religious Studies class. I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

(Occasionally, I get people to say what I want.)

“I guess you really need to read this book to see everything I’m saying but that’s okay, I’ll tell you anyway,” I said wryly.

“Sometimes, your humor escapes me.”

“Let’s just say I feel in control right now,” not unlike Frazier in Walden Two, “and I’m in a good mood.”

“Ignoring your ego problem, what do you want to say?”

“Okay. Well, aside from the fact that a utopia is impossible…no, let me say this. I’ve been thinking about it and I decided what a utopia is. I wrote it down here somewhere…I found it. A utopia is ‘the balance between recognizing our mistakes and acting on and correcting them in the least amount of time. As long as we’re constantly striving for perfection at some maximum rate then we’re doing the best we can. Depending on what level our success rate of correcting our errors has reached, we will be in a state of utopia, not perfect, but as close as is humanly possible.'”

“Did you mean State of Utopia as in State of Tennessee?”
“NO.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I didn’t really think about it.”

“Think about it, then. I’m not going to let you get by with a thoughtless statement.”

“Uh, well, a state of utopia is kinda like being reborn as a Christian.”

“You’re still being vague,” Jessica said sternly, displaying her impatience at my not thinking through everything I’d said.

“Okay, okay. Give me a break. Let’s see…hmm. You know, Christians consider being reborn as the highest goal on Earth…and, well, everything after that is soft of a self—improvement and recruitment program.”

“Yes?”

“Well, and this is a deep subject…”

“Very funny. I’m not in the mood for your jokes right now.”

I laughed despite her anger, “You’re too much sometimes.”

“And you’re not. I’d appreciate it if you’d finish. I’m really interested.”

“Oh, sorry. What was I saying?”

“You were talking about Christians.”

“Anyway, it seems to me that Skinner is no better than anyone else who wants to be immortal.“

“I see what you’re saying but not exactly.”

“Fine, I’m not finished.” Jessica smiled when she realized how harsh she’d been and how silly we both were about our seriousness on such a light subject. I thought about the guy is Skinner’s book who had been so objective throughout the visit to Walden Two that he refused to believe he had any feelings about it.

“Before you finish, Lee, I’m curious. Do you believe all this stuff?”

“Kinda.”

“Okay, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Whatever. Where was I? Oh yeah, my question I haven’t answered. Is Skinner advocating using people for an experiment? Yes. Is he saying he’d do it? No. Well, he has a lack of faith. As I once told you, I believe there are a few men who control the direction of our world. And women, too, of course. Anyway, my goal is either to make sure these people are going in my direction — that is, where I believe the world should be going-—or that I make sure I’m one of these people. What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy!”

“But don’t you see what I’m saying? If, as I think you’d agree, we live in a world of predestination, then the only way I can test this belief is to try to see where I fit in the Plan. I know this’ll sound stupid but if I don’t fit in the Plan the Plan doesn’t exist. If there is no Plan then my belief is wrongly founded. I do, however, have faith in my fellow human, and that if one is told to do something, he will know whether to do it. If there’s no Plan, then I want to help make sure that I am there to tell people what is and what will be so they’ll know what to do. Am I making sense?”

“Yes, but I hope you don’t believe you’re as perfect as you just made yourself out to be.”

“No, no, no. I don’t believe I’m perfect. I never will be, you know that. But I feel I know a number of things, that together with other people, you included, by the way, we will help head humanity in the right direction.”

“If there is no Plan?”

“Right.”

“Okay, what do you believe is your place in the Plan?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Guess.”

“Well, that the goal I choose in this life is already known and I will do what’s right in accomplishing that goal.”

“That’s it?”

“No. Also I believe these people who control the world don’t really control it. I mean they have been chosen by God, or whatever you want to call the Creator, they have been chosen to pass messages on to the people as to what to do. We all have the choice to how we’re going to accomplish that goal on the whole. Yet, there are a certain number of people in the world who have the responsibility to make sure general objectives are carried out. As you’re probably thinking, mistakes are going to be made. I feel God has left a lot of room for mistakes, and thus, of course, for improvement. Who knows, Hitler may have been one of the chosen people. In a way, we’re all responsible. In a way, it’s the preservation of the species, but it’s more than that — it’s improvement of the species for the improvement of the universe.”

“You’ve never told me this before. When did you think of all this?“

“I hope you won’t get mad but I’ve been saying it as I’ve thought it. I’ve been fighting for the right words for months, though. I still haven’t gotten all my beliefs into perspective, though I know they fit in the same picture.”

“You know something, Lee. This has been a neat conversation.”

“I’m still not finished, though.“

“How much more do you have? I’d rather wait if you’re just going to keep making things up as you go. No offense, of course.”

“None taken, my dear. No, I do have a few more definite things to say.”

“Okay but hurry. We only have a little while before we have to go.”

“Have we decided what to do?”

“I thought we were going to see ’The Wall’.”

“Oh, that’s right. Which reminds me——do you think Skinner took acid, from what I’ve said about him?”

“What do you think?“ she asked, smiling.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,“ I replied, knowing her answer intuitively. We often communicated ideas and feelings without actual words. “Anyway, I believe Skinner sees himself as one of these chosen people. From what I can gather, I believe he is, too. Just by reading this book, I understand him to say that all religions are a science of behavior. He even said that the control is in the hands of the wrong people. I believe there are nor wrong people just those who, for one reason or another, have chosen the wrong goals in their lives. Skinner also comments that Jesus was a ’personal emissary’ sent to reveal God’s plans to put God’s people ’back on the track.’ Here’s what Frazier said in the book. Oh, in the book he as the one show said that about Jesus. Anyway, Frazier said, ’”0f course I’m not indifferent to power,” Frazier said hotly. “And I like to play God! Who wouldn’t under the circumstances? After all, even Jesus Christ thought he was God!”’”

“I hate to cut you short ,Lee…”

“No you don’t,” I said, laughing at a joke of ours. We’ve always kidded people who say “I hate to say this but…” because they do want to say it.

“Yes, but you haven’t decided what you’re going to do your paper on, and we got off track a bit from utopias, don’t you think?”

“You just brought us back, didn’t you?”

“Everything goes in a circle,“ we said in unison, laughing.

Class rings and calendars

Going through my mother in-law’s drawers as we packed up her belongings, throwing away nonfunctional appliances, opened up vistas, windows into the past.

For instance, this simple pocket calendar (my favourite calendrical timekeeper format):

I suppose the year was 1946 when this was issued, a time when the U.S., Europe, China and Japan, amongst others, were mending global relationships.

In 2012, war on that scale is more a memory, a chapter in a history book, than anything else.

Now…well…we live history every day, don’t we?  Our lives, our individual lives, are ours to call our own, with many wanting our attention to make their lives seem more important than what we have planned to think and do.

Jostens, for instance, was once willing to trade a metallic perpetual calendar for a moment of your time thinking about class rings, announcements, awards and other objects that a commercial jeweler and stationer could provide not long after national rationing had reduced the frivolity of consuming items in daily living in exchange for items in daily killing to preserve a relatively peaceful way of life.

These days, the areas on this planet where we can openly play wargames amongst ourselves dwindle.

When average citizens can share their daily lives, the minute details of their subculture, without fear of oppression by bullying forces keen on preserving their wealth and prestige at the expense of the average citizen’s meager means, then what is war for, exactly?

What about a class ring?

I had a class ring once but sold it to take an older woman on a weekend snow skiing trip.

The ring meant more to my parents (who used their hard-earned cash to purchase it for me) than to me, a person who rarely sees the value in status symbols, fleeting as they are in the grand scale of our species’ history.

But without class rings and graduation announcements, I wouldn’t have this piece of nostalgia in front of me.

Somewhere, someone is wearing a piece of jewelry made of the gold from my class ring.  There may also be someone who mounted the citrine stone, once ordaining my class ring, that closely represented my secondary school primary color — orange — as well as the birth month of the girl I spent most of my time with.

There are stories to tell, observations to make, cats to feed and laundry to fold.

Yet, here I sit, imagining the year 1946, a year of promise, when the UN was formed and a year before the CIA was formed.

Syria’s independence from France was declared.

Project Diana bounces radar waves off the Moon, measuring the exact distance between the Earth and the Moon, and proving that communication is possible between Earth and outer space, effectively opening the space age.

The precursor to Sony was founded.

A Greek referendum supports the return of the monarchy. Later, George II of Greece returns to Athens.

Italy became a republic.

The World Bank began operations.

The interim government of India takes charge.

The ISO (International Organization for Standardization) starts setting standardised standards for standard bearers everywhere.

In the first Basketball Association of America game, the New York Knicks defeat the Toronto Huskies 68–66 at Toronto’s Maple Leaf Gardens.

The Casio Company is founded by engineer Tadao Kashio.

One calendar year — what a turning point!  Even 22 years later, 1967, the last year of the perpetual calendar, seems so far away sometimes…