Monday, 6 November 2017

All I Can Think About Is You: Cybernetic Celestial Biology

A Great Storyteller and Physician followed us all the days of our lives, our lives would read like a massive book printed and stitched together pages of days and nights of high and low tides the world over overture of all of these concussions of thinking, feeling and being, thinking, feeling and being by multiplicative orders of peoples, by the hundreds of billions over history, with more or less capacity or will to give voice to how they actually think and feel and are, in fact, in their whole flesh, blood and bone and with all of the prenatal and postnatal generational sadness, vigor, strength, memory and personal survival among billions of a liberty and a love that has most definitely "altered when it alteration finds."

Fruit ripens in the sun. Wherever fruit grows and wherever fruit goes, it has grown and goes with  a sun that is intimately related as a bodily organ to anywhere that fruit might happen to be consumed by a human being or any other Animal.

And the truth is that the fruit of our own flesh and blood celestial biology [and Tree] is in many ways over many generations a bitter and even poisonous fruit, a bitter is relieved by poison and poison gives way to bitterness as a critical function of the organ we commonly call the liver and its articulation through all of our neuroskeletal, neuromuscular and neurochemical or electrochemical flesh and blood celestial biology.

Show me a man with no bitterness and I will show you someone who does not know how or how to give voice to how they actually feel in their whole flesh and blood past and mind as one whole organ of living creative intelligence that is very much accurately called The Sun of all our flesh and blood stories, changes, voices and immersion, by amniotic conception and birth, in the truly electrical maelstrom of stories of all causes and all effects. Psychopaths cannot voice their anger and, like Freud who wanted to kill his father and fuck his mother and nurse maid, often assume that this is or should be universal to any "healthy" person.

A tree is composed, or so we think, of one uniform element, wood. And wood is elemental because it is electrical; it is elemental to the current of living creative intelligence; it has fire in it and many seasons of air and water, light, heat and cold and much else besides, that of the epic ripples of every tide of our hunger, heart ache, thought, feeling and creative intelligence across thousands of generations and billions of suns and moons, winters and springs, summers and autumns. A forest works together, and so do all the true stories of human family experience. 

We are at home on Earth as it is in Heaven - or Hell, all of which are spelled, be it We, Ea, Hea or Hel, with veiled allusions to the amniotic current and substance of life itself every way that it is spelled, collected and radiated through the Sun and Moon and Stars if through Man Himself, every single breath of whom took communion in the most holy living waters of antiquity, waters of sons and daughters too often bought and sold, condemned to wend their lives and their minds with the buying and selling of their celestial heritage, would they only pay with their labour and not its utter extortion by every organ and proportion of every intersecting cult of Science, Church and History over, across every surviving metric of human brain function good or ill, none of whose most morbid wars of Biblical scales are ever scrutinized for all that they may have to offer a learned man or woman as much as we would peer into the farthest reaches of space or into the deepest reaches of the "Adam Kadmon" or Monad of all the Church of socially engineering the Torture of our Celestial Biology and its every voice and organ of all True Knowledge, knowledge as true to the whole past and thus whole mind of our own flesh and blood as our sons and daughters deserve by birth in any world that wishes to deem much less tout itself as anything but the most sophisticated and dizzying insult to Man's creative intelligence. 

Love, which is to say that common sentiment so widely taken to mean the very real or very imaginary prospect of domestic bliss of brilliant good fortune in making a match of one's own flesh and blood with that of an wholly other human being, a sequence of allusions, delusions and chemical intrusions of truly celestial if impractical proportions whose every letter and definition has enjoyed or suffered from some of the most if not more incredible and indelible scrutiny, hope and sorrow, devotion and distortion and even extortion than perhaps anything else save for the history of Man and the heritage of Man's whole flesh and blood voice and story as an Animal of some considerable immersion in a complex of forces and elements that have, it would seem, eluded any but the most costly or preposterous sciences and religions which differ more in degree than in effect [where a man who is thirsty but equally abused will invariably choose Blue or Red soda pop or sides in a World War Incorporated] the effects of either of no little utility to its constituent human organs of thought and labour, repression and depression, and an comparably infinite utility to the entire cybernetic system we are taught and, frankly, forced by torture to believe, at a neuro-electrochemical level, functionally equivalent to our own flesh and blood, which is why, one can reasonably suppose, every branch of knowledge in a cybernetic-industrial society is so completely denuded of any surviving allusions to truly human heritage and living reproductive celestial biology.

Such a world makes love and hate effectively developmentally equivalent and so our responsibilities to society as a whole much more costly than society's responsibilities to us in a soul-sucking if increasingly pleasurable relationship that has, due to its combined success and failure, evaded very much more scrutiny than that of the ratings for popular Television dramas or the actual causes and effects of our yen for large-scale warfare of shockingly symbiotic compatibility with the end result of just about every however silent and largely forgotten epic of mass human mental and emotional development [or much touted glorified arrested or repressed development] of successive generations, orders, tortures, voices, stories and organs of our whole flesh and blood history, our whole mind, of our whole celestial biology of Man a Mother of Man. 

Also See Destroying the Rainbow Connection

Quite often all that I, a merest mortal man, can think about is thee
A spirit of my happy youth so strong and wild, well
Upon my merry way a child of a world so free
To bar or to admit the stories mixed of heaven and of hell;
None other had existed in their history before
The war, of sorts, upon the sports of heathen gods of old
Unrivaled kings and queens whose thrones and those just being born
Had found the crown of such a round and buxom maid of gold
And silver tongue quicksilver blood two temples such as ours
One squire happened thus to trip upon himself to please
The spirit of an ancient church of love the sun and stars
Whose very substance gathered all of human memories
And found that hunger and that ache that none had fed or touched
Until they touched the great attraction vacuum-like for aught
It had so little precedent of satisfaction if by tongues
Of quite another kind as rattled bones of Church and God
And every way I think and talk and walk for aught we thirst
Together for that hell and heaven flesh and blood of his and hers,
Thy pink, thy blue supernal think thee instinct every waste
Electric with the pulse of all this life regenerates.

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