Nothing Rhymes with My OPPs

2

October 21, 2015 by Dr. Geyser

In this breathtaking edition of Writing While Taking a Dump (WWTaD), everything is surface and mere appearances – so watch out! Those who are familiar with the legacy of WWTaD on ettucesaire.com may find the present instantiation of WWTaD to be a welcome relief. I will be posting an update on summer WWTaDs soon. Heedless to say, there is no air conditioning in Dr. Geyser’s bathroom, and so summer was a bit of a crapshoot. The staff are still trying to piece together his relentless scribblings. More to come, in any event!

Continuing with our introductions: Dr. So-and-so, arch nemesis of Dr. Geyser, is briefly introduced. Americans are briefly treated to the rules of their own game. Other things happen: Psychoanalysis: Truth: Gestalter Egos: Censorship by Google AdNoNonSense (old news). Two zeitgeists, Aaz G and Ow G, are captivated, captured and immaterialized in the latest acronymical style. There are some interesting words towards the middle, and many coinings splatter-brained throughout. Darwin survives Spencer’s social torpedos, but America is  in the mess. Crapulence abounds.

Cocaine Toothache Drops

Nothing Rhymes with My OPPs: A lamentation of Dr. Geyser

I begin every morning with a song, ostensibly written and performed to humor my neighbors, my spouse, and now the internet. Engaging in a bit of highly redundant psychoanalysis (for I learned what this whole thing was about long ago), it is clear enough that I must only sing to mop up the inner motions (e-motions) left over from the night before. The dream state was not able to absorb the real state from the day before, or some such nonsense. Truth is not hidden behind our defense mechanisms, despite what Dr. So-and-so might happen to be saying. The body is the only origin of truth, and it changes from generation to generation, from gym to gym, and from birth to death.

 

Truth is just on the other side of that wall – I can almost hear its beating heart!

So says Dr. So-and-so, but Dr. So-and-so is an idiot. Or maybe I am a layman, too. After all, the Greek word for the layman – for the uneducated, uninitiated and inexpert – is idiotes. In contrast to the Cartesian ergo, which hides the ego in its ‘therefore,’ the idiot is an unintelligible body, an id, almost an it. He is as unfamiliar as that megaloafer who ‘works’ over in IT. Because we have only seen the target of our mediocre aggression at a distance, our first act as aggressors is simply to justify our abuse! This begins in the car, defended as a moment of political rage directed at against, even while originating from, feelings of personal failure that we are taught to mask, to sublimate, to repurpose. Just as the layman is a tool in the hands of the expert, the body must be the tool of the ego, the self, the soul – or whatever.

In pursuing the body of truth as the truth of the body, perhaps I am simply projecting the mass errors committed by an uncritical Dr. So-and-so, my arch nemesis, back into the hall of mirrors from whence they came without any attempt to modify their basic content. Something about human psychology tells me that there is more to this than an optical analogy. You get the gestalt, right?

Or whatever, perhaps I wake up with them and they are a consequence of a reality that I must face without them. Or maybe I will just go back to sleep and finish this thought later.

Wink (∞) Wink
Blink, blink blink wink blink
Blink
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

But where is my filter? I am being so boorish and rude. I am like a square hole refusing a round peg because I am too cool to become dependent on an indefinite numerical tautology. The right-angled have no need of π (pi), just like the righteous have no need to believe in God. The difference between science and religion is a matter of social power – politics, I mean. The difference between the scientist and the Christian, however, is that the former walks through the valley of the shadow of death and simply knows no evil. Buried in the heart of our moral relativity, there is an absolute, unwavering knowledge that ‘good’ is merely the repurposing of ‘evil’; that evil is a consequence of good deeds, a remainder created by the process of dividing and conquering, and a reminder that the powerful have the authority to put on the armor of righteousness created by the ‘servants of God.’

Profession vs. confession
Science vs. conscience

Group think should have died with Hitler – do not be conned into any more ‘should haves.’ Every ‘should have’ carries within itself the mentality of an allied mob, terrified by the life which it created – the Treaty of Versailles created a German hero by claiming the m’oral rights of the victor.

Talk, and more talk, leads to violence. Just ask the Hero of Versailles.

Often enough, these morning songs are directed at other people’s e-motions that I seem to have contracted during the night. Me, a self-victimizing Scrooge, occasionally visited by the All-American Zeitgeist (Aaz G, for short), incapable of perceiving within the immaterial crustiness of this image my own rendition of Off-White Guilt (Ow G, for short).

Like a rhinovirus, my Other People’s Problems (OPPs) occasionally give me the sniffles, and during allergy season in America I begin to feel their itch. Just a bit of hay fever, often accompanied by peristaltic waves of anxiety/diarrhea. And when my OPPs go viral, it is like Heaven to me. A burden is lifted, a shifting load of OPPs is redistributed onto the shoulders of those who actually have the practical resources to carry what cannot be efficiently resolved. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, my OPP is vaporized into a pulse of optical information, transmitted to the inveterate beacons of our metaspiritual ague, to the journalists and the demagogues governing our age of information, and to all the other ill-suited pajama-wearers and red-palmed panhandlers of social change.

The cattle-hustlers who colonized this space, who believe in de-savaging this network, feel justified in condemning their ancestors for committing an historical series of events dubiously referred to as ‘colonization.’ Colonization is a natural process that occurs, for instance, after a forest is burnt to the ground. Yet in our collective imagination, every forest fire remains either an act of God or an act of Man; either a random variable or an avoidable deviance from it. All of this can be related back to responsibility and desire, I am almost sure of it. Here I anticipate a future post, at the very least.

It is not so much that we do not believe that 1% of people control the lion’s share of our lion’s share of Mr. Smith’s Wealth of Nations. Rather it is a question of what that money is actually worth. Perhaps 99% of our wealth is merely a compensation for avoiding an even more ineffable problem than the one we are presently trying to punch out and pinch off. Membrane blebs abound, Mr. 1%.

Globalism is the rhetorical equivalent of a colonial charter.
Globalism is the internet, Mr. NY NY ECON-O-FLUSH.
Like this article, the world of the NYTs is flat.

Poop is all surface, you don’t need to look inside to see whether there is something else within (special or different, or maybe hollow, or a worm from Herbert’s Dune). Poop is homogenius, a real trickster at heart. In fact, the outside is different because it is coated with mucosal mucous.

Up to 50% of fecal mass is bacteria.

I thought I had conquered this problem definitively, without any opportunity for further questioning or e-motive remorse. Yet doubts about my OPPs linger, like a great white wake, the oceanic silhouette of a thrashing demiurge, rising and falling in mockery of my subtle lures with all the bloody drama of Spielberg’s Jaws. Just imagine if Mr. Darwin’s OPPs had eaten the captain and destroyed the Beagle, transforming a chronically ill medical school dropout, sent abroad in Her Majesty’s purse due to an intellectual failure to thrive, into a modern version of Odysseus. He could have delayed the publication of On the Origin of Species indefinitely, rather than waiting for Alfred Russell Wallace to publish an identically British theory of biological change.

We had gotten so used to overlooking flaws in others that we no longer could see our own.

FYI, for my All-American Reader Ship (AARS): ‘survival of the fittest’ did not originate with Darwin, but rather his more sociable peer, Gerbert Spencer, whose name would go on to become “virtually synonymous with Social Darwinism.” Those are your words not mine, O American survivors of the fittest. Perhaps our central dogmatists at the NIH should go back and reread their Darwin!


Copyright © 2015 Dr. Frank Geyser, Ltd, Inc, ATP, AC/DC, INR, HbA1c, Ftp, GOP, Etc.



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2 thoughts on “Nothing Rhymes with My OPPs

  1. […] I noted in a previous post, in a normal adult human being, up to 50% of fecal mass is actually bacteria. Because these […]

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  2. […] For further examples of how to use my OPPs, see “Nothing Rhymes with my OPPs.” […]

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