rigorousintuition.ca

From Pere LeBrun, the website of Wayne Kasper, a very good writer I've only just chanced upon. Right at the end, he says, "Admittedly, this post is half-baked, anecdotal and impressionistic," but I found there's a hell of a lot in it that resonated with me very strongly (and I don't even live in Britain).

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29 May 2011
Their Cave (And Welcome To It)


The real creation myth of the west.


Here's some autobiography, a banal excerpt, far more dull than some things I could tell you: Recently I was employed as a Census Collector. The pleasant weather was conducive to working on foot, and I like to move around when working. I wasn't confined to a poorly-ventilated office, overseen by a David Brent, populated by nodding replicants of all ages. I doubt most would describe me as a 'people person' (I'd prefer to see myself as discerning), but working face-to-face with 'the public' has always been preferable; and I'm far more at ease doing so than most colleagues I've had. Moreover, compared to most of the shit on offer, the pay was quite good. I could choose my hours and decide how to use them. If you covered your brief within two days, or even one, you still got paid for five. So, whatever. I've seen much worse.

At this point you're probably expecting a tirade about precarious employment, government tenders or bad management. Or how my fine mind* was entitled to something more ennobling. Sorry, but no dice. I accepted all that as given as soon as I saw the job ad. To engage in such a critique would be as redundant as saying Big Macs smell like shit, or Saturday night TV is like a Nuremberg rally for eight-year olds. Let's just say what predictably poor training prepared us for wasn't reflected in actual experience. The media tried to stir up the possibility of a middle-class revolt (their favoured kind); or in training, anarcho-crusties binning their forms in the name of protest. Apart from one doorway bore who lectured me on why he shouldn't be expected to bother, even though he would anyway (I'd hate to be his son, I thought), it was a hassle-free process. I'd go so far as saying that it was rather enjoyable.

Those who 'failed' (keep that word in mind) to complete questionnaires had pretty everyday (that too) reasons. To wit: Old age, disabilities of varying severity, mental illness, extended stays in hospital, adult illiteracy, limited English, parents of disabled children, parents of many children, new mothers, underage mothers, sheltered accommodations, transient bedsitters, immigrant workers in precarious accommodation, overworked service workers like carers or nurses, or newly-independent young people unaware of what a Census actually is. In a nutshell, those that the government has decided to fuck over with extreme prejudice; with more popular support than many would care to admit. Here's the point where you expect me to Con/Dem the filth overseeing or enabling this; but I'm afraid you're in for more disappointment. I'm not quite sure where I'm heading here. Believe it or not, most of my posts are 'improvised' whatever the subject; so expect a ramble. However, at this stage I'm bored with attacking the government, in writing at least. It's something else, something that's been niggling me way before the last election; something in the corner of the eye that may only be clear at given moments.

In my designated area was a peaceful bar/cafe where I would organise my paperwork at the end of a shift. With that out of the way (give or take any other commitments) I'd sit, watch and listen to the other customers. Their accents, their body language, their appearance, and indeed their subjects of conversation, had little or nothing in common with those I had just visited. It's doubtful that any of them completed their Census more than a week late, if late at all. Although they weren't all white, healthy and middle-class, they were still unrepresentative of the surrounding area with which I had become aquainted. In the cafe, they weren't hipsters and they weren't the 'beautiful people', but as a micro-demographic they would be defined as 'normality'. For want of a better term, their proportional representation would be mirrored in an evening soap opera, or indeed polling booths. To all intents and purposes, they appeared very much at home in British society.

In younger days, this juxtaposition may have led to a vague sense of resentment or hostility; but it wasn't that. It was a sense of... not sadness (although I may have veered towards that, if forced to label my emotions)... but numbness, a sense of comprehensive distance; without any feelings of omniscience or superiority. I couldn't help but wonder if these feelings were shared by the clientele I observed. The chitchat, the greetings, body language, common reference points: to filter the content and pay attention to the styles, rhythms, structures and themes of communication (the treacherous rewards of studying English Literature), I couldn't help but conclude that this distance was shared around the room. It was even observable with parents of young children, families. I really hope I'm making sense here, but what came to define their interactions were the hard limits of what they didn't do or say. I'm not talking about Hollywood 'emotion' or Oprah-confession either. Many of the people I visited had a more openly conversational manner than the people socialising in front of me, despite their non-stop banter. Those I visited discussed the circumstances of their life (not negatively, I must add), their medical or family conditions, or if recently arrived in their homes (or country) how they came to be there. I assure you that as a lazy hack I made no attempt to extract this information from them. This was in stark contrast to the volume of discussion in the cafe about consumer goods, newspaper articles, films or indeed 'relationships'; largely discussed in terms familiar from any number of TV shows or lifestyle magazines. They probably saw themselves as working definitions of 'everyday people'. In a harsher mood, I'd argue that their mutual/self-image may be superfluous to life as it is generally lived; but I'm reluctant - if not unable - to make moral judgements. I'm struggling to define it as something else.

Here's a less (?) banal slice of autobiography, which may or may not be relevant: One winter I became hooked on Mad Men, in a way I no longer would on a TV series. This was during one of my periodic bouts of lonely alienation, at levels so acute it can feel almost purifying, if not vaguely mystical. It encouraged another, but far less periodic, tic of mine; something familiar to anyone who's heard of 'chaos magick' (or watched Seinfeld): the decision to behave and conduct oneself in a consciously superficial manner, according to an image you want to project, protect, and in some senses believe. Yep, that's the embarrassing truth. I wanted to be Donald Draper for Christmas. I set myself strict rules about how I would dress, what I would discuss and how I would discuss it; with a view to maintaining this image at all times in almost every situation. I never lied, but what I would 'reveal' would be subject to strict boundaries. I reshuffled my persona according to how familiar I was with the company I kept. This wasn't with a particular goal in mind, and socially I've always been quite lazy (see above - I'm not offering advice on how to get laid here), but you know what? It 'worked' in a way that still freaks me out. How it did I'll leave to your imagination, but the problem(s) arose from a gradual, unavoidable, revelation of depth. Those drawn to this deliberate 'emptiness' became hostile to much of anything beyond that. I never 'cheated'. Nor did I make a sudden turn to the 'dark side'. I just eventually relaxed. Nonetheless, initial plasticity was rewarded with what's regarded as 'good' according to mainstream mores. My minor downfall came from discussing life beyond the spectacle. Where my error of judgement occurred depends on one's relationship to said spectacle; so I'll leave you to make up your own minds about this episode, or seasonal arc. You may even find it creepy, if not a little Mr. Ripley-psycho, but in my defence these adjustments were actually quite minor; little more than an 'edit' of sorts. And anyway... how many of us do the same throughout our working lives, friendships, even marriages?

OK - maybe I'm still not being clear, so let's return to those I was paid to visit. Despite being an 'official' presence in their homes, many of them interacted (with me, with each other) and behaved with far more ease and candor than anyone I saw in that cafe over six weeks (or since), however drunk they got. For reasons practical or social, most of those visited would be invisible, if not absent, from public spaces; particularly the indentikit retail spaces of most British city centres. The way such areas are designed, policed and operated has accentuated this 'absence' since the 90s. This isn't just the case with shopping - nightlife seems to conform to this pattern ever more, whatever the venue. Gone are the days when beauty (or rather excellent grooming) would stand out in a run-of-the-mill bar or restaurant. It's a common standard that isn't explicitly demanded, but agreed to as much as contemporary codes of behaviour and conversation. To get dystopian about it, I'd argue that the spectrum of clientele in these spaces rarely ventures outside what their flyers, adverts and billboards insist it is. Even how we 'let it all hang out' offers no contradiction to how it's marketed. By this I don't just mean beauty or fashion, but the general way our relationship to capitalism's spectacle can be a mutually affirming, but for one party reductive, process. As the political mainstream (or 'centre') contracts its discursive boundaries, I've found this to be the case with political discussion too. Not just in newspapers and TV, but in the online jungle and the meanderings of daily life. Conversation has become as formulaic as Hollywood genres, but I just know this wasn't always the case.

'Our' imaginations, 'our' public life, even 'our' emotions - can it be they've been subjected to a rapid** segregation, gentrification and enclosure, as severe and asymmetrical as it's been for those late with their Census? As a lifelong pedestrian, I claim a certain privilege: I can stop, look and move through society as it may actually be, if regarded in terms of its majority. The majority that doesn't speed past society in cars from A to B, huddle together within property/career cliques, or use leisure time get drunk or buy tat in designated 'centres', or indeed participate in the great wall of noise known as 'public opinion'. This became particularly apparent to me when I stopped following pop music, watching TV and movies, or reading newspapers much. Being left with little to talk about except politics or personal relationships/gossip just left me with little to talk about - to discuss those matters in depth seems to have become increasingly unwelcome (all plot and no character). Which may be the main impetus behind this blog. Those unwilling or unable to participate in this aren't so much the 'silent majority' as the invisible majority; perhaps only clear and present to each other, or those paid to work with them (itself subject to the requirements of the spectacle - listen to a policeman, teacher or social worker discuss themselves/'them'. Chances are you'll hear a fair share of TV cliches, however ridiculous). I've done that kind of work myself (and I wasn't immune to cliches, either). When I did, something became apparent: what are designated as vices, social problems, emotional issues, circumstantial difficulties, cultural barriers, family dysfunction, 'risk factors' - it's all just life to the vast majority of us. It was this that bothered me far more than levels of bureaucracy or managerial control. This is a living, breathing world of difference, trouble, surprise and experience. The mainstream, the spectacle, the 'centre' - it has less and less room for any of it. Why do so many people expect it to have room for them? Why fight for space in the coffin before it slowly closes?

Admittedly, this post is half-baked, anecdotal and impressionistic. I offer no manifesto, nor any moral assessment of 'how people are'. Or I at least hope not. My feelings on the above may just be a symptom of some undiagnosed mental illness; and if it is, I'll be far from alone in that. It's just something that seems to lurk around what I see, do, and discuss these days: a culture of full spectrum surface, a quiet 'singularity' that really has had profound effect on how those identified as 'normal' relate to each other. A deliberate - and relatively recent - exclusion of depth, any attempts to entertain it, or identify things for what they are (why this need to find so much significance in empty product?). A consensus imposed without (much) violence, but no less aggressive in its demands. How this has occurred remains unclear. I may even completely change perspective, and happily immerse myself in it all; as so many seem to have already done, following a voluntary lobotomy. So much so that I may even delete this post very soon. Saying that, comments are even more welcome than usual. It's not as though my 'worldview' is as complete and tidy as that colonizing the public mind. If no comments are forthcoming, it remains to be seen whether I rest my case, or make an urgent doctor's appointment. I doubt either option would put my mind at rest, but maybe 'rest' is the last thing our minds need under present circumstances.


*Not a boast. I assume most of us have one, in one way or the other.

**I can't help but see this process as having accelerated, and consolidated, over the past decade.

ADDENDUM
Dismiss not, however, the genuine concerns of our most vulnerable volk. If we call them pricks, do they not bleed? Or at least command their audiences (and advertisers) to share their pain?

http://perelebrun.blogspot.com/2011/05/ ... to-it.html

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I cross-posted this in the Hauntology thread because it speaks to that and I hope to see it read.

He's getting at something omnipresent, without a doubt. Mass-produced character armor, synthetic thinking taken from the "one medium" of all of the literate. Obvious here, as well, though it's hardly the only thing going on here. We all participate, including (especially?) when we know we do so.

.

Great, thanks. I get that sort of disquieting feeling sometimes when in the company of some of my friends, not my closest friends but other mates I've had for a long time - the topics of our conversations are limited to things advertised somewhere, restaurants or cellphones or movies or sport, "what's on", shops, and we don't really talk about anything interesting. It's not so bad from time to time (and I do like hearing about a nice place to eat), but I sometimes see them with people that I know are their best friends, and it makes no difference to the conversation, i.e. they live like that, all the time. I should just be grateful it didn't happen to me, I guess.

I was going to say you don't have to live in Britain for it to resonate, this applies to the global upper middle class... but it doesn't. It's spreading but the decay is worse in some places than in others.

Great writing, brave topic. I don't know enough upper middle class people to know about them, but i also think what Mr Kasper is talking about doesn't apply just to them or just UK.

Why might this pruning of culture be worse/more noticable now?
Maybe its a consequence of ubiquitous media and shrinking thought spans.

Maybe its hard times. As the greasy pole gets slipperier (post GFC/oil peak) it is harder to make headway or even hold position and harder to shut out all the feedback saying 'give up!/get out!'. All those who persist must 'double down' in effort, must not risk disloyal or risky words or deeds, and not dare to question where the bus they're trying to get/stay on is going.

To show care outside the tribe, or weakness within it, is loser-ville to many. Poor fuckers.

MacCruiskeen wrote:something became apparent: what are designated as vices, social problems, emotional issues, circumstantial difficulties, cultural barriers, family dysfunction, 'risk factors' - it's all just life to the vast majority of us.

excellent observation. In my experience people are terrified to think of themselves and their loved ones as anything other than 'normal.' Television has divided people into 'normal' and 'not normal' via the dichotomous lifestyle/reality shows they offer the viewing public. We've got, on the one hand, Home and Garden television-programming which doesn't touch 'dirty' with a ten foot pole and then we've got the flip-side with Hoarders, Intervention, and Beyond Scared Straight. If you want to be associated with HGTV you'd better not be living a life that might get you a spot on My Strange Addiction.

MacCruiskeen wrote:a culture of full spectrum surface, a quiet 'singularity' that really has had profound effect on how those identified as 'normal' relate to each other. A deliberate - and relatively recent - exclusion of depth, any attempts to entertain it, or identify things for what they are (why this need to find so much significance in empty product?). A consensus imposed without (much) violence, but no less aggressive in its demands. How this has occurred remains unclear. I may even completely change perspective, and happily immerse myself in it all; as so many seem to have already done, following a voluntary lobotomy.

I strongly identify with what you are saying here. I go back and forth on whether it is that I've changed or that my peers/family/coworkers changed. Surely it can't be all of them, I tell myself. It must be me. I think maybe people like us are akin to Puritans, unable to move with the times? Consumerism just leaves me cold and honestly advertising, to me, can feel like an assault. I keep this to myself, mostly - no one else seems overly bothered that everywhere you lay your eyes or ears someone is selling you something. Loudly. Insistently.

You might like this, if you haven't seen it:

That was an awesome piece of writing Mac cheers. Its one of those pieces that grows exponentially as you read it and whacks you between the eyes. at the end.

Like Wayne Kasper himself, I'm both relieved and disturbed to hear that the experience he describes is familiar to people I regard as kindred spirits.

Still... "hauntology" is one of those terms that I think obscures more than it illuminates. Here, he quotes a blogpost about "hauntology" before going on to make some salient points about the de facto inevitability of real, and sometimes smelly, material presence:

6 May 2011
Coughing Up The Red Pill

The non-spacetime crisis, I think, is a crisis of presence. When we exist in non-spacetime, presence becomes impossible—or it is known by its absence, in a kind of negative theology. To put that less cryptically (or maybe not): technology has basically dissolved the unity of the subject in a particular place in time.

http://www.popmatters.com/pm/post/140675-/

In the time it took me to cut and paste this:

1. I briefly leered at a woman ordering food at the cafe counter.

2. She caught me doing this. At the same moment I became aware of how I was loudly, clumsily, eating a sandwich as I cut and paste the above quote.

3. Shortly after, I silently broke wind. Although there are other people present (and so in theory 'blame' could be deflected upon another customer), my poor table manners and being 'caught' by the woman at the counter has increased the likelihood of being perceived as the culprit.

4. The weather is pleasant, I've finished my sandwich and I'm embarrassed. However, if I leave now then the staff and clientele are more likely to suspect I 'did it'; so the preferred option may be to sit it out a while longer. Indeed, it may even start to rain by the time I leave.

5. This will exist as an ever-present memory if I return to this cafe anytime in the near future. While writing these sentences, I'm internally negotiating the use of time (when should I leave and/or return?) and space (would outside be the most convenient refuge from embarrassment among other customers?).

So, in conclusion:

I eat, fart, idly think about sex at inappropriate (?) times, and debate whether to sit or walk. Therefore I am. Call me a caveman, but I'm at a loss to see how I've lost my 'presence'. I've just experienced the past half-hour in terms of weather, eyes, penis, mouth, stomach, feet, backside and other people's bodies - and I haven't even shut down the computer yet.

Labels: Philosophy, Socratic Farting

http://perelebrun.blogspot.com/2011/05/ ... -pill.html

This paragraph perfectly describes the utterly undescribable feeling that's lurked below the surface of my existence for quite a long time.

'Our' imaginations, 'our' public life, even 'our' emotions - can it be they've been subjected to a rapid** segregation, gentrification and enclosure, as severe and asymmetrical as it's been for those late with their Census? As a lifelong pedestrian, I claim a certain privilege: I can stop, look and move through society as it may actually be, if regarded in terms of its majority. The majority that doesn't speed past society in cars from A to B, huddle together within property/career cliques, or use leisure time get drunk or buy tat in designated 'centres', or indeed participate in the great wall of noise known as 'public opinion'. This became particularly apparent to me when I stopped following pop music, watching TV and movies, or reading newspapers much. Being left with little to talk about except politics or personal relationships/gossip just left me with little to talk about - to discuss those matters in depth seems to have become increasingly unwelcome (all plot and no character). Which may be the main impetus behind this blog. Those unwilling or unable to participate in this aren't so much the 'silent majority' as the invisible majority; perhaps only clear and present to each other, or those paid to work with them (itself subject to the requirements of the spectacle - listen to a policeman, teacher or social worker discuss themselves/'them'. Chances are you'll hear a fair share of TV cliches, however ridiculous). I've done that kind of work myself (and I wasn't immune to cliches, either). When I did, something became apparent: what are designated as vices, social problems, emotional issues, circumstantial difficulties, cultural barriers, family dysfunction, 'risk factors' - it's all just life to the vast majority of us. It was this that bothered me far more than levels of bureaucracy or managerial control. This is a living, breathing world of difference, trouble, surprise and experience. The mainstream, the spectacle, the 'centre' - it has less and less room for any of it. Why do so many people expect it to have room for them? Why fight for space in the coffin before it slowly closes?

I have a strong suspicion that this blog post is going to become something of an RI theme song.

Thanks so much, Mac!

Major thanks for this Mac - it is a real diamond find.

Some impressions from the piece

Authenticity can come from anonymity
The feeling of sitting next to a friendly person on a transContinental jet flight can create a lowering of the barriers sometimes, if the conditions are right.
I was in my 30s, flying London to Beijing (pre TienanMen) I sat next to a German couple in their 60s. They radiated love and happiness and freedom and adventure. Almost the first thing we discussed was... their joy.
We had no need or purpose to exchange names or contact details

Discovering the automaticity of most people is a huge shock
I liked writing and reading in a coffee bar. Over time I got to know the baristas, who at that time were Polish.
I wondered how I might make a difference to them, so I said "Thank you" in a way I had learned through Landmark. I meant it. Over a few weeks a non-transactional exchange formed. We noticed when the other wasnt there and mentioned it. I noticed a difference in the coffee she did for me vs others (apart from higher quality latte art). She said when she made mine, she put good thoughts into it. I told her I felt it. she said "You are my favourite customer" When I asked why, she said "You are... here!"
She moved on, so did I. When I went back after a few months the new manager was coming from a place of "by showing a smile to customers of >2.5 seconds per order, turnover increases 5.6%"

The staff had the glass eyes of antique lifeless pets.
The coffee had no soul - it was a latte simulacra.

Online dating: transaction processing of compatible memetic cliches
My greatest (and unintentional) experiences of human automaticity have been around online dating.
In some ways it has been profoundly depressing - I mean WAAAY past depressing things like deep politics.
The barriers erected, the patterns sought.

The Women Hi I want someone who will buy me shit, listen to me, take me out and fuck off when I dont want him here
The Men Hi I want someone who wants to fuck as much as I do and doesnt whine

I want a guy who likes a cuddle on the sofa with a DVD and glass of red wine.

Imagine this type of cliche repeated thousands of times. I moved from it feeling like a drill to it seeing it differently.

The idea is having a wide set of people on which it has alighted, rather than the people having the idea.

There are even dating site acronyms - eg UFOs - Ugly Fat and Old. For five seconds that is funny to my ironic PoMo self. Then it (to me) is really Empty. So many of the photos of the women have dead 'doll eyes'.
One strange thing - almost all the women whose picture I see that I like, whose eyes are ALIVE - turn out to MEDITATE. This is from a near Aspie whose face recog skills are not great

My profile got a response from a Russian lady - "your profile will not work because people want lies you tell truth is uncomfortable".

Hello all above. Really glad you've responded to that old post. Very interesting comments made here (including the cruel iciness of dating requirements these days!). Good to know I'm not alone feeling like I do. Recent government/media/police actions seem to confirm anxieties i had relating to that post. It appears that when the smiling plastic veneer is removed - if only briefly - the very savage and hateful impulses behind all this superficiality reveal themselves.

Just don't call it f*sc*sm? May be where this cold plastic country is heading... the problem is too many would be willing to deny that's the case, so they can keep feeling 'normal'.

I don't really 'do' forums, but further discussion is welcome, so I'm prepared to make an exception. This site seems to have much more intelligent commentary than most

Television functions behaviorally at least partly by offering models of appropriate responses to situations. In that sense it's the waking life's analogue to the dream state. The dream state of television allows for and promotes the visualisation of groups of persons as the crowd rather than the classes - it tends to subsume class structures within the attitudes of plot and character and dress and language in order to further the picture of the undifferentiated masses of citizens, all the better to secretly appeal to the vanity of the individual as potentially better than, more beautiful than or more able than their fellows. The hypnotic suggestion, given during the subject's sleep, to counter the incipient ennui of homogeneity.

When everyone is lying to each other, the conversation become banal, and that's the state of the situation as it stands. You've got to walk and talk a lie in order to assume the posture of normalcy nowadays. No one wants to admit that they're part of the problem, part of the group.

The dawn of awareness of the disingenuousness of our social structures, our governments, our churches and schools, and our position relative to those lies has forced a squirming mood of complicity upon society. You can respond to that realisation through any of several defensive modes: dissociation, submission, bland acceptance, hearty embrace, denial, or whatever. But the television presents its viewers with formats for feigning equanimity within this collision between what we know to be so and what we can successfully project without cracking.

It's as if the requisite water cooler conversations regarding last night's programming, or short lived cultural phrases and gestures appropriated from television shows bind the underlying lie of classlessness implied by advertised products (that anyone can look at and can buy with enough money - universal availability) to the image of the consumer, and then to the status of the viewer and his social group. Once class has been overlayed with products, once everyone is watching the One Big Show that the television presents, you don't have to even pretend class distinctions don't exist anymore. The viewer has already fallen into one of the defensive postures laid out by the conditioning, and covered his position vis-a-vis his class with the shadow of what might be, with the conviction of the sleepwalker.

In a similar way, the actions of our military and government have become so heinous that to acknowledge as real even the events that are allowed us by the media (blame journalism) is far too brutal for polite conversation, and so this deception is bound to the society across class boundaries, limiting or eliminating a certain kind of social discourse which was once much more common. The falsehoods presented as ideals by television can help mediate this painful silence with cliché, but in doing so create a social space devoid of openness and sincerity.

On the interpersonal level, this empty quality can dissipate and a real person stands before you in all their dirt and glory and it's possible to make contact sometimes. Of course this pervasive emptiness is mental damage on a grand scale. Suffering trauma, rejecting reality, adopting a flat affect - it's not healthy. But it just might be healthier for most people than coming to terms with what's really going on by themselves. You can really get hurt doing that alone. And the tenor of the times are at this point decidedly one-sided. When you close your eyes to the inhospitality and suffering of the age, something else is surely there to take the place of your sight - the afterimage, or the optical misama.

Once the masses can no longer have what they have been trained to desire, what will come to fill that waiting receptacle? Whatever does, you can bet it will include a politic of the very, very shiny.

Yes, we need to organise, agitate, educate, and tell the truth to whoever will listen, execute the long, slow overthrow. But me, I'm withdrawing, even though I know that strategy is not long for this world in terms of practicality. I'm just gonna be impractical while the getting is good.

Thanks for the post Mac, and welcome Wayne.

Thanks cuda for your observations on W. Kaspers excellent essay.

Thanks for dropping by Wayne and welcome.

barracuda wrote…

But the television presents its viewers with formats for feigning equanimity within this collision between what we know to be so and what we can successfully project without cracking.

‘feigning equanimity within this collision’, nice phrase.

It’s good to see how well RI’ers relate to these sentiments.

Language has become so much about manipulation that, in general, I find silence to be the better option.

One can however create a ‘license’ to speak in ways that challenge rather than reinforce existing social habits. My license is in the form of calling or introducing myself as a Guerrilla Ontologist. In answer to the, ‘what is that’ question, I say that it is to question the validity of initial assumptions that drive the interpretations of our perceptions.

Often the result is mutually discomforting and entertaining. One constant I have found in these conversations, with a few very happy exceptions, is that ‘regular’ people respond to these speculations much better than do more educated (read; people who find their identity through their conditioning and addiction to convention.)

Must this tower of banality collapse under the weight of its internal contradictions before we are able to break our entrainment?

Sounder wrote:My license is in the form of calling or introducing myself as a Guerrilla Ontologist. In answer to the, ‘what is that’ question, I say that it is to question the validity of initial assumptions that drive the interpretations of our perceptions.

Excellent! I call myself this already, but I'm gonna start using your elegant definition. I revel in any opportunity to put a strange brain on pointe to see if they strike a balance or fall over trying.

Isn't this just the old stiff upper lip?

Keeping a stiff upper lip is pretty hard to do and that's just the idea behind it. When someone gets upset, his lips usually tremble. Keeping a stiff upper lip is supposed to hide your emotions. This expression dates back to the 1800s, but is still used today.

So why just the upper lip and not the lower? Well, most men of the era had mustaches and a top lip was more noticeable if it was quivering.

http://www.sterlingtimes.org/memorable_images61.htm

Pierre d'Achoppement wrote:Isn't this just the old stiff upper lip?

It's more like the stiff entire body. (Suggested movie title: My Life as a Stiff.) I think Jack hit the nail on the head when he used the Reichian term "character armour". It's the mass production of neurosis, sold to us as health. The evil genius of it is in getting people to sell it to each other and to themselves. TV helps.