Sunday, November 22, 2009

Aristotle As Prufrock





Once again I make refrains on Aristotle's crass remains, which would RETURN those crystal spheres enclosing our most strident fears. And all to fool... convince... ourselves that we must hold the highest ground of grace and strong integrity — "creation's crown"! Hypocrisy...

TAKE ARISTOTLE AT HIS WORD, as churches did—Aquinas hard—and push your woman to your heel; put her through your strange ordeal. Make her work the lion's share, but work for less—or be contraire—to OWN a hundredth for her toils as she reduces, makes, and boils.

Take dominion of your Earth, and treat her like the bitch you've cursed; beat her if she won't conform to arbitrary wills and norms. Throw your filth across her ground and foul her face but scar, confound ... too, mess with normal weather patterns—raging storms to flood and flatten ... then drop that polar shelf of ice and raise your wave of flood and fright? Scouring Earth from pole to pole, a cleansing facial harsh and cold!

Depending on a moon, they say, or "just so far from solar rays"; seasons placid, and "predictable," water, heat, and food — some victual. All of this must come together, blessed by God and *his* trite measure, plus some luck to mix right in—to make some spark for *smarter men*.

Likely, "RARE!" they have construed! "We're alone," these BALLYHOO (!), then, hustle back to do their "work"... ...sullenly, so less alert!

UFO's are scorned, ignored, or shut behind their screens and doors, so we can say that SCIENCE shows that their "concern" is predisposed.

"What we want's a waste of time," they're quick to say from strident shrines, though we have paid, and dearly too, for what they hold from me and you.

Locked beyond the common pale (and stuffed to tunnel, boom, and rail) there exists the covert record: secrets kept, purloined ... collected. Secrets signal strident change, and who gets hurt, friend; who gets blamed.

Power settles with new will, and change is rampant. Take your fill! This may be what's kept from us ... that *they* lose power, might, and thrust ... that we could be as them, to find ... that we're contrived, unbrave ... confined.

Meanwhile, we're a laugh (God's treasure?), that we INSIST we use OUR measure... holding to our hubris, meanly, so we can coddle fear obscenely. We would dote on Aristotle, sucking on his drying nipple, living at the charmless center he contrived to suit HIS temper, made SPECIAL when he's alone —to be God's favorite in His home—a "crowning jewel in cosmic crowns" of "loving gods"... ...with angry frowns?

We'd give space folk motivation? We'd tell 'em how to DO their mission ... paint their feelings, points of view, tell them how they'd pick and choose?

Then we'd dictate *understanding*, argue *physics* notwithstanding, tell them what their form should be, and how they'd speak like you and me? What a crock, hubristic wrong, we use to sing our centric song...

We'd dictate what we wished was true, forgetting what we always knew, that what we *know* is likely wrong ... that we might sing more humble songs.

We do these things, retreat from grace, and wallow in a pride disgraced! We forget the time and distance ... expanding as we speak ... for instance. We avoid the misty blackness, elude the depths that lead to vastness, retreating to our shallow minds ... in ignorance's grasp confined!

We doom OURSELVES to crass perdition. We MAKE confusion indecision. We won't see the bigger picture, look beyond a narrow stricture, or fund the courage we would need to validate our break-neck speed! We don't look into the sky, except to plant the reason why that puts us at the *point* of *things* — the universe revolves and swings ... around *mankind* so proud and haughty, but like J. Prufrock? A little dotty.

...And like a Prufrock, our Aristotle... ...figures in to "short" and "throttle", forcing us, yes, to a center we CONTRIVE, so are embittered.

We won't know what futures bring if we insist and falsely sing the jaundiced praises of a hubris ... we've contrived to bathe and soothe us.

We don't make consistent rules, we shortchange all our children's schools by feeding pap, a tasteless gruel that rots the gut and fouls the stool.

We won't make a lasting peace, we'll struggle where we're challenged least, and let the BIG chance slip away if we allow this glad decay!

Fail not to search your sky for that which they'd let slip on by. Challenge ALL your institutions, hold them close to constitutions. There is stuff they won't explain, and this is why one MUST complain!

Believing you're alone's un-brave, and makes you just a *tool* ... a slave. A larger fire only shows there're shadows still... ...but so it goes. You're obliged to make that light, though shadows rule, regardless. Right?

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