There is now a category of story that is generally known elsewhere in the realms of reality to be bu;;sh*t with five-stars.
Mainstream news releases in Prime Time or Top-Cost-Per-Click-Information-Dispersal- Vectors (Facebool n’them) stand out in the generally intensifyin,lightened minds beginning late in the Nineteenth Hundred-span G.C.
BUT,but,but that was later, after Tesla giga-flopped the idea. I call 1917 the beginning of this. Ben Franklin, Volta, Galvin, Watts (not Issac) noticed things Tesla, better than any of his peers, com prehended. He gripped them, con cepts ,re cepts, cepts of every Nik could get a handle and grip that thing for all it was worth.
Comprehension to that which quires apprehension as an apriori fact,
That is what we are after on this quest. Hold on. Don’t be apprehensive. Evil is banished here by never being spoken here. You’ll get agrip on that too. The flame wars ended way back in the ’90s. There are still a few accidentlists and “it don’t mean nuthin'” sorts that wander in, but the speak no evil rule shuts ’em up until the hear no evil ambiance either undermines their feet of clay or just washes their wrong thinking into oblivion.
Official press releases the worst flow of reason blockers, but there are many “I was there” tales told by folks who were not there, and “pioneer kid sagas”, “war stories” of every ilk that are lies of the plainest variety. Those can kill whole civilizations in two or three generations.
Bogus Science is a currently prevailing monstrous pile of crap we must deal with.
Snooty old dudes,Professors recently returned from the grave of the guy who lied about the truth the defeated of long agone died to believe;
Professing from international podia, hmmm
history channel, discovery channel, pbs, bbc, thug, slut, cnn, riligiofrekeo.
Bottom-line, take-it-to the bank, everything is evolving and always have/has been that’s mathamatically verifiable in an infinite number of ways with no more than three imaginary numbers. To begin with. That is BS of the bogus science variety. Stinky. Gross, right.
I have dis-covered recently, inno-cently, de-cently, a trope. full-formed, (trope is one of those words you learn in Mormon Sci-fi school [or maybe trope is what the characters who are Jungian-conformity promoters are.] The whole universal world scheme things are called universes. And this one I am in is all new to me. The very definition of strange. You know.) Oh, I just learned fantasy tropes are more than literary tropes. Stands to reason, right. Fantasy tropes
One other story category, which has some truth at its roots and mine is the “Old-Cowboy-Kid” story or possibly, the “Old-space-cowboy-kid” story. These stories are being lived, as we speak. They are possibly taxing on resources horded for personal ponderings and prayers, how ever that may be,
Let me assure you, every idol word or thought you entrust to this stream of thaught ends up as as rain many times hereafter. Next week, if you live by the sea, in mon-soon. PLease, ponder the questions in each post and help this become the wikipedia of truly meek literature. The freedom of the press, un-roled, for the time being. As it is or were, as may be correct in your cultural lessons, rolled up the acted out. Now the roles change. Warriors become meek lovers of beauty as truth and kindness as reality, each man royal in the Kingdom of King of Kingdoms.
Aaron Copeland’s Ode to the common man for bit here, make it interactive, they can do that in 2017 right?
IN 21st century America the meek began the act of inheriting the whole promised land with no qualms what-so-ever. We meek have always known the earthis our home. We were taught sa children that we are earthlings in this dimension
Can we get a cameo in our minds movie here circa 2025,
Steven King with that Marvel guys mask on top of his head,
Mardi Gras, remember it went viral for decades man. You never saw that. I’m sorry I forgot you’re the new kid right? Just follow an hour, or a day or two… the time jumps are hard to get used to, but this is history, you know, the world is ching all the time and the tiniest things are valueable, everything makes everything better,
ye ken all things wor kin t’gether, gather good stuff laid up for just such a time as this here time, my special friends. You feel outawadda, old timer, imagine being able to remember this, like you were there….
Navajo, male, 13 year old social captive sent 400 miles to go to Third Grade, in Mrs. Delk’s class in Kingman, Arizona. Can you possibly imagine being a 13 year old, borderline-pubescent Navajo boy with now-documented DNA links to the people of the Lama sand-painters in Tibet
I was in Ms Delk’s class.
(my culture wasn’t pro-gressive with ms and such. As kids we just learned from our grown-ups that many extra lip and tongue and brain and ear and eye connections were condenseble by syllable-redundancy reduction
to grunts in many instances,
which are clearly being held in mental grips to this day. Comprehensive offensive science for the truth in theory clan. ) Newb, at this depth paren these are invalid. This close to root-tip, grammar is taken for granted. Everybody believes they heard what you intended. What you say is what you say. Remember how you wondered while idle words are accounted for? Here, there ain’t none. Feel lighter?
So in my grade, from Happy Corner (which is Catty-corner from the Methodistic Temple, now a tax collector/regulater place) class to MCUHS Class of 1966 graduation (which I took for granted by skipping the final muster, that attitude costs me later) I all of us had the accent now associated with the “Poor white trash kid, strugglin’ t’ find Idaho or arizona, johnny yuma offspring, nothin from nuthin mentality. mightsrights everthangs keepsiesallatime.
Did you yell ollie ollie oxenfree? or Oy,ye oy,ye Outs in free? after a symbolic bloody cu-throat raid preparation for, it could happen, it happened to Audie Murphy, it could happen to you, pilgrim. Hide and seek it teaches the wee-uns, get-a-way free, no fightin’ needed by little people, the whole world is yours. You don’t take ground. You stand. Turn yer cheek ye must, but stand. Die not easily, my child, do not kill, do not pillage and rape and steal and crown yourself with the glory of gold’s reflection of reality. Hide, and watch. The meek inherit the earth.
whence I saw my wished-it-was pet, Jupiter, a crow my father some how caught in a box on my front porch on Oak Street, flew away when my dad let him go after I walked to school
are told by old men who believed they were cowboys since they can remember. Not only their heroes, but their school teacher’s husbands, and little-league coaches, and uncles and dads and preachers and boy scout leaders and DeMolay Masonic guides; all were cowboys, historically-socially speaking. They had the winning of the west in commons as experience that goes on, generating stories that grow to mythic proportions.
“Old-cowboy-kids” shall be, what do they call that? in programming, declared, like a variable thingy, OCK or per haps, now and then, ohseekids, which can include “Old-Commoner-Kids” whose grands were pioneers without ever being cowboys, even in movies or magazine stories.
The Dick and Jane literature the two subsets of the American Post-war kids shared with their own parents were the Pre-war New Deal-funded experiment in progressive education which shaped the men who went to Korea. Those men’s actions in the first new world global police action resulted in the institution of rules to govern the class of men called cannon-fodder by modern realists. The were called infant-ry by ancients steeped in glory in the afore-mentioned war story victory histories.
“Other-side Stories Told, True or False” OSTTF searchable, just in case some day some seeker has a tool that can dredge every tale ever committed to print with robotic brain that sends immaterial questors flowing past common men in a medium the commen man may feel and effect.
That could happen, Ben. Will they remember to pay attention having been taught nothing is everything and its scholarly corellary, nothing is real. No, that’s the spiritual-crazy correlary, the spirtual claimed-sane corellary is, It means nothing some times expressed as It is nothing, por nada, valueless, no problem so no price.
Take a tip. Old Cowboy Kids can recognize every sort of excrement on sight. They don’t need to taste no cowpie to know where it came from and how it happened in the first place. That’s common knowledge we share.
So Joe Warren was a school-mate of mine, his aunt was my fourth grade teacher and I doubtless played P.E. games with him and maybe some highschool freshman football. We never ran in the same little high-school herds that form from kids with common lives, partly because my mother was a wee bit ashamed of how she left Wikiup, back in the olden days when there was no electricity, 1943.
Mom was a trope, a type common in tales of princess born to poverty due to the shenanigans of evil merchants and warriors and their sycophant seers and speakers of history. The truth she knew, she believed could set here free. She learned the truth of knowing a lie, but she never quite made free, unless she was free in other ways, other wise ways. My mother became a meek woman after she was broken by the spirit of history in her time. It happened to so many. Self worth is worthless if no one wants a share. Its economics.
Back to Joe. Joe is now a character in my novel. He is an imaginary character built of parts of a Facebook friend with whom I share common chronology and culture at a non-family level. I have several such friends whose comments and insights as seen and contemplated with old-man-experience-tempered minds, I shall share, for all our great-greats sakes.
You need a bigger audience, my friend. B. Franklin said right thinking is the key to happiness. Happy old, socially-secure, dirt-rooted hunter-gatherers men like us can light the young’ns with a bit of common sense now and then. I’m starting to share some of your posts at kenpepiton.com. thanks for thinking.
https://www.facebook.com/joe.a.warren/posts/10210034463325511
