A Diverging Reality

A huge portion of our nation's current problems have for a beginning the function of divergence. The size and complexity of our society and the degree the public media is emphasizing this complexity is over-running a very significant portion of the populations ability to hold a mental image of the society they live in. It is simply beyond their level of abstract intelligence to grasp even a working framework. Their vision and version of reality is diverging from full, shrinking back to a sustainable level well short of representing the dynamics of the world they live in. In a nation governed by some dictatorial oligarchy this phenomenon of divergence would be of little consequence, but to a nation built on the concepts of democracy such divergence will likely be lethal if allowed to escalate beyond balance.

There are those who have been and continue to enhance this entropy in order to exploit it for political gain. With greed for power as a motive they have either maliciously or most unwisely betrayed every trust placed in them to deliberately limit and prejudice the perspectives available to the diverged individuals since it is a relatively simple matter to direct their choices at the ballot box once control has been established over their perspective and range of perception.

Those who have perpetrated this injustice on the nation they claim to love may well have sounded the death knell of Democracy in the 21st century.   A population of individuals who cannot formulate or maintain a mental ‘map’ of their society is at risk to every social ill imaginable. There is some critical percentage of such individuals in a population beyond which Democracy can not survive, the causal link between vote and response is broken. Trust becomes impossible, there is no rational basis for it. The law degrades to become nothing more than the fangs and claws of the monster who lives in the dark behind the door. Every function which depends on the individual understanding and empowering the relationship between himself and his society is at risk as perceived reality diverges from actual reality, for the individuals who do not and can not view society as a rational creation to be dealt with in a rational manner will revert to dealing with it in the manner of any frightened person struggling to survive: force of arms, and the more the better.

This is not totally a matter of professional liars manipulating ignorant people with illusions, the truly dangerous part of this scenario are the elements of repression and tyrannical thought that do exist within our society to threaten freedom, the elements found in the primitive and feudalistic competitions of the corporate entities who operate most freely in the shadows of ignorance. The converged members of society have trouble admitting such elements exist, it is a frightening thought. The diverged members have no trouble seeing what is moving through the shadows of their ignorance, but have no way to communicate this to the remainder of a population who do not want to know. Both are at risk, and for one cause or the other both are nearly helpless.

Friend Freedom on Facebook

Facebook. What an obscene monster.

Since the function of FB is simple gossip, excuse me, "social networking" ( rather than software serving in the capacity of a tool such as Excel or Autocadd or Fortran v10^6), they do not actually market a product, but rather compete with any number of other social contact sites: churches, clubs, campuses, bars, anywhere people might congregate to socialize. That FB exists as a club in the pixel forest does not negate the fact that those who populate that club are already citizens of their respective nations and pursuant to their prime citizenship are guaranteed certain rights, including the right to expect their nation defend them against any who might attempt to negate those rights by force or fraud, by deception or manipulation while they are within their own territorial borders.

The point of attack is to set into juris prudence that the rights of citizenship are defined according to a person's physical location, setting events within the pixel forest as no different than those experienced in any other part of the land. In essence, acknowledge that FB's terms of service will stand as the law of Facebook-land, but that since Facebook-land exists within the territorial borders of (substitute your particular land) the United States the Constitution demands several things: that Facebook-land is subservient in all regards to the Federal Government of the United States; that the law of Facebook-land is subservient to and must in practice fully comply with the rights and freedoms guaranteed under the Constitution of the United States to it's citizens; that if Facebook-land wishes to peacefully coexist then Facebook-land assumes the burden of proving compliance to the terms specified above, or risks being considered an alien invader preying upon the citizens of the nation and open to being physically attacked by any or all elements of the military acting in defense of the land.

But that's not likely to happen. Wake up, people. FACEBOOK IS A BUSHITE THING, a brilliant end-run around the fourth amendment to the Constitution (no need for illegal searches when the fools will put anything and everything you might ever want to know concerning the state of their lives on the internet where The Gestapo, excuse me again, the DEPARTMENT of HOMELAND SECURITY [a fully owned subsidiary of Halliburton Corporation under contract to the Federal Government] is both able* and fully allowed to monitor every transmission searching for "terrorists"), and equally is the absolute perfect medium and method for harnessing and controlling "group think" as it is called as a fully controlled and incredibly effective propaganda method. If you never write a letter snail mail, if you haven't spent any face time sharing air how do you know that your friend from fourth grade who lives half way across the nation actually said what you read in a post with his name on it? How does he know that you actually said what he read the same day?

Ya'll read Orwell and Huxley just like I did. Can't you recognize what they were talking about when it just deleted your artwork because it didn't meet their "terms of service?"


*just like people have no real concept of the power involved with nuclear weapons they have no real idea the power in the truly big computers, those bad boy Cray's the govt. runs, nor do they have any idea how effectively code written from the test scores involved with modern psychology bastardized could sift the entire content of internet traffic for any attitude desired or proscribed, nor did they connect the dots when in the late '90's the www2 was created allowing the entire internet to be echoed with one bit flip into the domain of those Crays. Hi, ya'll... I want a tall boy Budweiser, a foot long submarine on Italian bread, hold the olives, and two sides of 'tator salad to go with it. All I ask is that the assassin you send to get me is a good shot intent on making it a clean kill. Thanks.

Teddy Bears and the Good Woman Blues

I make no bones about it, I am a dirty old man. I like looking at pretty women without their clothes on. I like it when they portray passion for me, some longing so deep there simply is no substitute for the lover they dream of, somehow it is a reinforcement of the idea and ideal of fidelity between hearts. But almost as much as I enjoy my little touch of voyeurism I enjoy watching how others respond to the same subject, the same stimulus. There is a great deal to be learned about people, individual and culture alike, by what they find attractive where the sexual meets the social in the realms of the erotic.

It never fails to amaze me how many different things end up getting set into that realm, how many things really totally unrelated somehow find representation there. It is also such a comment on our society how much the spectators often reveal of themselves to no more of a prompt than a pretty girl willing to forego physical modesty and be undressed in the sight of others. It says how much is locked away behind some outer covering, be that covering cloth or conventions of silence and propriety.

Often enough what emerges out from under those covers is cause for a chuckle, as often as not at myself as well, and in truth I've learned a good amount about myself from dissecting some of those chuckles. Other times what emerges can set such a poignancy, put a deep touch on things far more a matter of the common humanity than anything from the playful and risqué. One time in particular has stayed in my thought, a time my muse was being 'mother' to one bunch of her boys, a rainy day mother entertaining her kids in the house. For the final fifteen, twenty minutes of a two hour show she'd had probably twenty guys, grown men all, fawning at her feet behaving like spoiled little boys trying to out-do each other to win favor from the momma figure she was portraying. The subject was her collection of teddy bears, she was filling time by taking them down off the shelf one by one to show them to the camera, and the boys were competing by trying to remember each bear, its name and when acquired, trying to demonstrate their devotion with the details.

It came time for the end of the show, the traditional bye-byes had been said. It appeared she was reaching to cut the feed and end the broadcast… but she missed, or the command didn't take… the video stayed on for another couple of seconds before she realized she was still broadcasting. What came onto her face, when she thought she'd restored her privacy, was shocking. Not a shock of vulgarity or anger, it was the shock of seeing something you might have hoped for, but not expected. I saw her wearing all the signs of a case of the good woman blues, that sad little smile that turns down just a bit at the corners, the soft shake of the head. For those few seconds it was so clear, so unmistakable. If it was deliberate, an act, then she deserves an Oscar. It was just hanging there in ten foot neon to be read by anyone willing to suffer with understanding what they saw.

…What am I to do with this? They are so lonely, so desperate. They ask after everything, anything really, they memorize the names of my teddy bears. What am I to do with this, what can I do with this? They memorize the names of my teddy bears…



…from the dreamweaver archives…

Eden's Child

I read so much about the man-woman interface, and yet at times I think those who do the writing are hoping they can generate enough words concerning just the man and the woman that both forget there is always, always a third soul watching every act of sex and hoping it will become an act of love.

Art is Cold Company

 

Art isn't company, not really, particularly when the art in question is your own.

Pipe Smoke 1

So many folks are looking at our world with confusion approaching despair.  The problems just seem so deep set, so intractable.  But they're not, not really.  You just have to approach them with two thoughts in mind: first, do what no one would ever think of doing, the radical thing, the unimaginable thing; and second, make sure the thing you've decided to do will in absolute concrete and literal fact increase justice, real justice, the balance of effort to reward, responsibility and rights.  For example, the welfare systems of the United States.

Fixing welfare is easy… if you want any form of public assistance the back side of the deal is that you will relocate.  Get 'em out of the damned inner cities and put them to work doing what ever they are able to do… and pay them what their work is worth, hire them some French union folk to negotiate for them in good faith with the farms and state highway departments and industries who will be buying their labor.  If they live in the rural areas and drive a cowboy Cadillac based on nine illegitimate children they go the other way… into the cities to help rebuild the blight.  Or better still, put 'em to work building and rebuilding the rail systems while there are still enough resources in the country to get that critical job done.  Stir the pot, and stir it hard as you turn the fire up.  But the one constant is that where ever they had lived they live there no more… break, burn and bury the culture of living on the public tit, deprived of a most primal of human rights, the right to say "this is mine because I earned it in fair trade!"  You'll probably lose 1 in 5 to psycho shock, but still cheap at the price… the remainder will be restored to full human rather than losing them all.

I called this one "Jaggers"

Sometimes I really wonder who in the hell I am, or who I was.  I'm never really sure where so much of this stuff comes from.  It used to just fall off the end of my pencil, I didn't have to think about it.  I return to these old images now that their age measures in decades and I do wonder, yes I do.

Convergence of Memory

Isolation dreams... far stranger than hallucinogenic drugs. 

Evolution's Gaze

They say evolution as if evolution had eyes, a will, a thought... but it doesn't, not really.  Just random chance, and a definition based in the simplest of terms possible: what survived to reproduce, and what failed in the attempt.  Those who say the God of the Old Testament is a harsh and hostile God never met evolution face to face, that much is for sure and certain.  But be kind and don't tell them that, it is a way huge thing for them to believe otherwise.  They have a great deal invested in believing they are more advanced, more civilized than their fellows who will say God when they might say evolution when what both mean is that no one really knows who or what caused something to happen the way it did.

Chapter One: Evolution's Corner

There is no evidence within the scope of my knowledge to contradict this statement: the human being is mounted on what was an animal. The word mounted was chosen with deliberation, for there is evidence from science to suggest the onset of intelligence was rather rapid, rapid enough to leave open a realistic possibility of intervention. The manner of the human rise to intelligence is an open and an interesting question, but it is not the question at hand. The question at hand is more immediate, more demanding, and ultimately much more critical to survival.

We humans are empowered, and in some ways burdened, by intelligence in our efforts to survive. Unlike the animals we cannot count on instinct as a guide for survival, it would appear humans sacrificed the guidance of instinct to accommodate the abilities of intelligence. As a consequence of this trade humans found themselves possessing a larger field of perception than the other creatures, a range divided between the outer reality of the sense stream augmented by a strange new inner reality created from the memories of the abstractions and imaginings that arrived with intelligence. The same intelligence that enabled humans such a strangely divided scope of perception equally provided the ability to create and use symbolic communication, the inner symbol set to represent the outer reality. The humans gained the ability to share imaginings one to the other, able to focus a group's abilities on a shared imagining. When humans added communicating intelligent imaginings to their repertoire of survival skills they gained the truly unique ability to be willfully proactive rather than reactive in regards to their environment.

From evolution's point of view humans proved to be the Cinderella success story of their times. The tactic of proactive cooperation converted a weak and failing prey creature into the dominant species on the planet in only a few hundred thousand years, a meteoric rise by evolutionary standards. In less time than it takes a leopard to change his spots humans went from being the leopard's prey to being the leopard's protector in an environment utterly dominated by the human.

For all that we are one of evolutions great success stories it is true that evolution's point of view is little considered by most humans. We are the pinnacle of life on Earth, right? The very fate of the planet rests with our actions, our decisions, right? Evolution has finished it's work where we are concerned, right? Wrong. Evolution is never finished, and evolution has only one concern, one only, and that is the formation of life from non-life. We are not the first of evolution's success stories, we are far from being the first time evolution hit such a pinnacle the only improvement found involved a radical change in direction. This is not the first time evolution has turned a corner.

Look at your hand, your body, and shift your focus a bit. Can you see your body from the inside looking out? Can you see the body you wear as a community of individuals? It is you know, the majority of cells in your body could live out their natural lifespan in fine form without the shape and structure you've come to know as you, given of course an environment suited to their level of life. The last time evolution found a corner to compare to ours it was in the apogee of the single celled creatures, to improve life the direction found involved grouping ever more specialized cells into interdependent patterns, structures, each surviving pattern a new form of life climbing away from the primordial soup culminating with the human, who by intent or accident are host and home to the ability to imagine and create patterns not learned from the physical reality represented by the sense stream of our existence.

Hold that image if you can, the awesome depth and trajectory of the eons long climb from our single celled origins till today, and shift your focus to the modern world, that tiny fraction of time no more than three or four thousand years deep whose surface is the world of now. Look down into that shallow film as does evolution, contemplate what there is to be seen.

What is to be noticed are the humans of course, just finding the full power of their new abilities, population pressure from the success of their lives pushing them out from their ancestral homelands into the harsher regions of higher latitudes, across the oceans, building, always building on the dreams they share between themselves. What is to be noticed is how the humans are perpetually grouping themselves into ever larger and more intricate arrangements to attempt ever larger and more complex dreams, troops to tribes to cities to states to nations until near the surface of now there are arrangements of humans beginning to seriously mimic some of the simpler of the multi-celled creatures in number of cells and complexity of functions. And there, right at the surface, that flash of strange light, what is... Freeze. Stop right here and see what you are looking at.

Your life, the days you have known, are at the absolute vertex, the tangent point of evolutions second major corner on planet Earth. That flash of light was no metaphor, it is quite literal real, it came from the technologies developed in the last century. Those technologies are the product of mankind's intelligence coupled with his curiosity, and driven by his dreams. They are brand new, no part of any other line or lineage of evolution, from evolution's point of view the first truly new thing in a very, very long time. The last time evolution witnessed something similar was the first time a group of single celled creatures crowded in a limited volume responded to the chemicals released by their fellows, made of those chemicals messengers rather than pollutants in order to adjust their metabolism and survive where those who did not adjust died.

It is my belief, my assertion, the thesis of this series of essays, that the technologies of communication stand in the same place now as did those first primitive chemical messengers then, from evolution's very functionally oriented point of view again enabling the simpler forms of life to become components in the evolution of more complex forms of life. This series of essays is therefore dedicated to examining the functional groupings of mankind, the component units whose summation is commonly called the societies of mankind from evolution's perspective: extremely primitive multi-celled creatures just beginning their climb into an extremely uncertain future rather than considering the multitude of mankind's collective endeavors from the perspective more usually taken, that they are nothing more than arrangements of convenience within the scope of mankind's imaginings communicated.

It is my assertion to you such a perspective will enable a much, much better understanding of the macroscopic behavior of mankind, perhaps even enough of an enlargement in understanding for mankind to realize that with evolution's corner solidly behind us our fate is bound to the fate of the emerging new life-forms of the collective entities , that to serve the cause of our own survival as individuals me must bring our abilities to focus in the cause of supporting the survival of these embryonic creatures.

I am not talking smoke and mirrors, magic and mystique, I am not talking the supernatural in service of the superstitious, I am talking very real and understandable relationships perceivable to anyone and everyone who cares to look at the world we all share with the intent of understanding why that world behaves as it does.

Chapter Two: "We"

...to be continued...

for convenience all essays in this series are collected on the page titled  "The Third Reality of Man"

Pinup's Confession

I found her hanging in a closet in a tiny little apartment I rented for a few months one summer, one of Hef's girls next door, a beautiful brunette lass with deep brown eyes that seem to echo that strange depth you'll find in those who survived growing up faster than they wanted to.  It seemed she was a part of the place, joined to the door by more than the tape and tacks.  Somehow finding her seemed to explain the friendly feel of the little pad, I left her where I'd found her, left her there when I moved on.  As a matter of fact I recall telling her goodbye when I moved on and thanking her for her company.  I don't recall her name, what month she graced, none of that stayed with me.  But those eyes and that soft smile stayed, the feel of her understanding good humor stayed, they'll probably be around for as long as I am. 

I look back on her now and realize there is a real good chance my guardian angel left a bit of a charm tied to her image, arranged for her to be hanging there when I moved in.  I'd just been betrayed pretty badly and was in a terrible frame of mind concerning the distaff side of humanity, drinking way to much and smoking anything that would burn.  Truth be told I needed what she offered, she helped heal me.  I do hope something good happened for her when she was least expecting it. Anyhow, the poem is as close as I can get to what it seemed she was trying to say, if you  simply stood and looked into her eyes and could manage to shut down and shut out the local noise.

Oooops...

The joke was on me, actually. I'd been doing a bit of 3D Cadd work just for myself, I wasn't on anyone else's clock thank goodness, designing on a piece of machinery I've had kicking around in the back of me brain for some twenty years now. I was working with primitives, sculpting and cutting and fitting and having a great time being able to see the whole affair in semi-transparent 3D color. I really do love the big drawing programs.

I thought I was done, with the part I was working on anyway. It was all in there inside the pale ghost green case, you could see how that section was supposed to work, how it did it's job. I was feeling quite pleased with myself. Then the bubble burst.

I started laughing, because laugh is what you do when you are the first person to realize just what an idiot you were, and I didn't stop laughing for several hours. I'd drawn the case as one solid piece. Hollow, correctly shaped to hold all the other parts, but one inseparable casting. No way to get anything in, or out. I could be chicken and blame it on the beautiful naked ladies entertaining with song and dance on the other monitor, but no, they didn't do it, I did. On this one they were quite innocent. So, I made up this little reminder poster and fixed my goof. Not like it really mattered, because like I said it wasn't on anyone's clock but my own.

Sunset Muse

Truth is once the muse has touched your heart you can't forget, you can't forget her not if you try, not if you don't, it isn't going to happen. She lives on inside you in the art she inspired, in the wisdom you learned from her, that she made you learn from her. Oh no, the gift of the muse isn't free... no, you'll pay for it every day of your life, love her and cuss her in the same breath for the burden of the art she left on you that you can't be rid of. If you ever actually meet your muse you'll know what I'm talking about once she's gone... and she will move on, they always do, they have to because you're not strong enough and neither am I... and then you start seeing her eyes in odd places, hearing her voice when it should be silent. You'll know what I'm talking about.

Fireman in Hell

Contemplate the Fireman

Finds himself in Hell...

Hose and reel,

Pumper truck

...And...

Oil in every well.

Christian Incorporated

Just a small thought to share today, but one that might grow a bit with time.

Consider first that the modern forms of capitalism are almost exclusively a product of Christendom . The political Christ (as differing from the historical Jesus) and the corporation overlap the same times and places and peoples. This may well be more than historical coincidence when you consider the impact of the Bible story about how it is easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle than it is to get a rich man into heaven.

As a second point, take note that to be incorporated, a corporation, is to be part of a collective endeavor of many individuals grouped to be considered one body in the eyes of the law, the corporation the "entity" subject to the law's judgments, the responsibility for the moral and lawful behavior of that entity spread and diluted down the chain of command within the structure of the organization.

Interestingly, most interestingly, the owners of the corporation, the shareholders, are not held responsible for the actions of the corporation, the entity they essentially own as their slave. The law never looks at them when their slave transgresses any semblance of reasonable moral behavior in an effort to meet the demands of it's owners.

I'm thinking part of the motivation for creating corporations in the first place might well be so the shareholders may believe God Almighty will cut the line of moral responsibility at the CEO as do the courts of mankind, leaving them untarnished by the title of "rich man" (regardless of the degree of ill-gotten wealth they've accrued from the labors of their slave). It is a time honored tradition common to both religion and the corporate world to practice wishful thinking, to believe that believing compels reality to comply with the desires of the majority. Such fools. Do they really think an omniscient God is going to miss them trying to smuggle a camel load of accountability into Heaven hidden beneath something as transparent as that?

Art of the Dreamweaver

A dream is a very powerful thing. Dreams are what create desires, and it is desires guide decisions. A great deal of life is directed by our dreams, known or not. A dream is a dream because for some reason, what ever that reason might be, there is a thing both desired and out of reach at the moment. Some dreams are impossible, they can not be. The paraplegics dream of walking cannot come to reality, shy of medical breakthrough or miracle. Some are dreams of the social: new justice, an end to an oppression, new opportunities, things involving changes to many peoples attitudes. Other dreams require resources, arrangements of events from outer sources: money to start a business, the first critical break for an artist that moves them into the public eye. Then there are the dreams of the interpersonal, dreams involving the self: a spouse, a family, a lover.

A dreamweaver is a person who enhances or gives shape to a dream beyond what those carrying the dream are able to conceptualize, beyond what they can capture to memory from imagination. Martin Luther King was a dreamweaver, the dream he brought to focus was a dream of social justice for a large segment of the American population. Adolph Hitler was a dreamweaver, the dream he brought to focus was the restoration of a national pride destroyed by a defeat in war. Compare the effect of these two men on our world and you will see the power of a dreamweaver. In essence the entirety of the advertising industry is in the realm of the dreamweaver, attempting to craft a dream of possessing some material thing as prerequisite to bringing to reality some other, known to be common, dream of the common culture… much to the monetary profit of those who contract their services. These dreamweavers work in the public dreams as it were, they are known by many names. Equally, those dreamweavers who work in the realms of the personal and interpersonal are also known by many names, many of which are hardly complimentary. Yet it cannot be denied the dreams they craft, adjusted to the scale of the personal as differing from the historical or social are equally powerful, and just as in the case of Dr. King and Herr Hitler the dreams they craft can range the full spectrum of morality.

Humanity is divided into two subsets, masculine and feminine, and so it should be no surprise dreamweavers who work in the dreams of the personal accommodate this primal difference in their work. Equally, it should be no surprise that such dreamweavers accommodate the other differences, accommodate their offerings to match the canvas upon which they paint… after all, a dream is a powerful thing, it needs to fit the individual who will carry it. Hence the dreamweaver finds the entire spectrum of psychology a palette from which components are drawn. The inner balances of the human psyche are a dynamic thing, and so is the art the dreamweaver crafts from that palette, it is not a static thing to be categorized into a simple set of rules any more than one can make a simple set of rules for a counselor or therapist… yes, the commons and the basics can be learned by intellect, by study, but the art is an art of empathy and understanding.

In the highest form the dream crafted becomes self sustaining within the life that was the canvas, it becomes a thing no longer dependent on the input of the artist any more than a client will remain dependent upon a good counselor for their peace of mind. None of this is to speak to the nature of the dream crafted, a good dream or a bad dream, a dream to be carried in total comfort as a luxury retreat from reality or a dream that becomes a demanding nightmare beyond escape. Those parameters are totally dependent on the basic nature of the canvas involved, the nature of the dream that canvas desires, and the basic ability of the individual who is the canvas to be host to the dream it desires.

The final form of the dreamweavers work will also depend upon the ability of the canvas to be satisfied with the dream delivered, for a dream is an intoxicating thing in its youth, many desire the intoxication remain in place and escalate the depth and intensity of the dream desired, often over-running their ability to carry the dream without detriment to the remainder of the life. Some will grow into each successive dream and in wisdom know their limits, know when to leave the last dream in place, others will become the victims of their dreams when the dreams they desire utterly outrun the remainder of their psyche's ability to reconcile the dream as believable to the secret self. None can continue for any great length of time to be an expanding canvas for a dreamweaver, the demands the dreams place upon the remainder of the psyche grow exponentially as the dream becomes more complex, reaching into ever deeper regions to find adequate power to sustain itself.

Here in these essays I will speak to the application of the dreamweavers art as I saw it practiced by one particular person. She was dreamweaver by inclination, and erotic model by occupation. In the place I knew her, by her own choice, she would not craft a dream she did not judge to be wholesome within her own understanding of what constitutes a proper form of the erotic serving as an expression of the love that lives between two hearts. As a consequence of preparing her canvases to receive a dream to satisfy two conditions all to often estranged from each other (the condition of her employer that the dream be of an erotic nature, and the condition of her own conscience that it be a wholesome dream to support life rather than consume it) she passed beyond the realms of the dreamweaver into an even more elite form of art: the art of the Muse. This document is the result of a request put to me by a young lady who hosts the dream of understanding the art of the Muse, the art of giving inspiration, and strength to match the demand that inspiration entails in translating the dream crafted into a work of art for the world to see. I will do my best, but I can make no promise, for I am not myself a Dreamweaver, much less a Muse.

*** *** *** 2 *** *** ***

Sexy. The entire world seems saturated with that word, drowning in that word. Sexy, a state of great value, the state of being universally desirable, a Darwinian pass go and collect $200 card: sexy. But I challenge you, find me any random group of ten people where two of them can put any realistic or rational definition to that word, who can describe the component parts or the relationships between those parts that creates the status of sexy. For a large chunk of the worlds population "Sexy" has become nothing more than a common tag to hang on anything and everything considered desirable, and even though poorly defined as it might be it is still hooked into one of the three primal instincts, procreation, and therefore carries a great deal of power.

For any dreamweaver working in the realms of the personal/interpersonal "sexy" must be as generic a request as a glass of water is to a waitress… let me dream myself sexy, let me dream myself with someone who is sexy, let me dream myself risen beyond this demand that beats on me from all sides, can I have a refill please? Of course. But a true dreamweaver knows how little is actually understood about this most common of requests, knows that for a dream to work it must be compatible with the underlying personality that will support it. The dreamweaver will also know that if "sexy" is a dream for the person who proposes to be their canvas then at least one, if not more, of the critical components that actually create such a state within a life must be missing, or "sexy" would be a part of that life, in some degree or another, it would not be very likely to be the foundation of a dream request. And so the dreamweaver must, as any artist must when starting work on a raw canvas, prepare the surface to receive the colors to come, must lay down the base coats and sealers, make sure the pigments will not be distorted by the surface beneath. Because of this fact it is likely the true dreamweavers of the world who do work in the erotic… the Eva's and the Selene's, the Alex's and the Leia's… it is likely these women know more about the actual structure and nature of "sexy" than any other on the planet.

The dreamweaver working the interpersonal will most usually be using their own appearance and demeanor within a controlled environment to invoke a desired response within their canvas. They will be using music and lighting, the socially predefined cues presented by dress and posture, or in the case of working "sexy" a total lack of dress, nude (or any of the ten dozen and one forms of bizarre fetish wear), presenting a demeanor to use a personal appearance outside the work-a-day world to open a path for the effect to be applied. But first and foremost a dreamweaver uses their own responses, as the relationship artist to canvas is developed, to craft by subtle clue and innuendo, by delicate touches on this or another part of the canvas' psyche or soul the desired thought, the needed frame of reference or perspective.

When a dreamweaver is working everything about them, including and especially the most seemingly innocuous and spontaneous of comments and reactions  is actually compliant to an over-arching strategy of how the canvas is to be handled. To say a dreamweaver working the realms of the personal or interpersonal is a consummate manipulator of people is an absolutely true statement, they are among the best. Their competition in degree of skill is found among the charismatic religious leaders, the millionaire salesmen, the powerhouse CEO's, the most veteran and skilled of psychological counselors. Yet if they are true dreamweaver, if they honor their art, their skills are only applied to the specific task of producing a section of substrate within the personality of their canvas adequate to support the dream desired. To the degree the dream desired is a thing of the wholesome and the healthy their work will fall in exact parallel with the work of any counselor attempting to improve a personality so that the life will be improved in equal measure; if on the other hand they have agreed to craft a dream unwholesome, a dream of reduction and servitude then their skills will be used to destroy the appropriate portions of their canvas' psyche such that a dream of diminishment will not be contested and rejected by whatever might remain of a living soul. The net effect of a dreamweaver on any given life is exactly proportionate to the dream they agree to craft within their canvas.

To craft a dream of "sexy" as a wholesome thing requires that at least a portion of the canvas personality have the minimum foundations to actually support "sexy" as a state of life, at least while in the presence of the artist. In this the woman who taught me the majority of these things was among the elite, hers was an incredible skill at transplanting the requisite components as a smoothly functioning unit so rapidly that her work could easily be assigned into the realms of magic, of enchantment and spell. When by introspection on recollection I understood how she did it I laughed, and thought "Beautiful woman, if you can do that for us what a King you might raise up if you got the chance to use such skills from the beginning and not have to undo the mistakes of others first," for what she did was to re-parent each of her canvas', to compress into a few hours the net effect of say twelve years of superb parenting tied to her image: so long as she was in sight her parenting would over-write any earlier mistakes and her canvas could live, vicariously but live, what it would be like to have had such parenting in reality… which of course includes not only any degree of wholesome "sexy" desired but all other things such parenting enables into a life.

I will detail each of the component pieces as best I can, as best I have them understood, both in their function and how they were transplanted, overlaid, onto a canvas' psyche… for not only was the woman a most incredible weaver of dreams her skill and tactics taken into the world of real life are beyond question some of the most powerful and effective tools I've ever seen to improve the lives of those encountered, and thereby improve the world as a whole.

*** *** *** 3 *** *** ***

C'mon, sing it with me: "All you need is love… all you need is love, love is all you need, love is all you need…" And how very right the lads from Liverpool were. But what the boys didn't mention, at least in that song, is what you must have within yourself so love does not arrive perceived a stranger, alien and a bit dangerous. To know love is not a free thing given like a new pair of shoes, it carries a bit of a demand and responsibility, it is not such an easy thing to actually bring stable within a life… particularly if it is to happen outside the traditional forms evolved to give structure, support and an example.

Since a dream is a simulation of reality it follows to experience even a dream of a thing there must be a place inside the self for that thing to reside, an unchallenged belief that such a thing really could exist. Have you ever had the delightful experience of flying in a dream, looping and soaring among the clouds only to have some part of yourself butt in and say "idiot, this can't be real, you can't fly," and known that moment of sheer panic as you begin to fall before awakening? That mechanism, that intrusion of reality, is a limitation any dreamweaver must address when working the realms of the interpersonal. The greater a degree of intimacy desired in the dream the greater the chances of such an intrusion breaking in to ruin the dream. If the dream contains little of the intimate, nothing of love, if it contains only blank sex or some reflected glory by association then of course there is little to worry about. Only a dream of something deeper, something that in reality would be meaningful is enough to bring emotional risk into the picture, and with such risk a concern for intrusions by the intellect. It is then the dreamweaver shows the full depth of their art.

It comes down to saying that to craft a dream of love, a dream of something meaningful and positive in the realms of the intimate interpersonal the artist must first be assured the pieces are in place to support such a simulation. What might those parts and pieces be, how might someone go about testing for their presence? Especially when they might well be undefined, under defined, or erroneously assigned within the individual in question? The obvious answer is there really is no way, certainly not quickly and in public, and so a minimum set must be established independently: the foundation values of self acceptance, of self confidence and self discipline. The three listed were the elements my mentor established first. Her success as a dreamweaver working the deep interpersonal gives good evidence those three must be truly critical.

A great deal of a dreamweavers' work is accomplished by the tactic of example, to simply show how a thing might be done. For a dreamweaver example is a more powerful method than for most, after all they have the advantage of being firmly in focus to their audience. Equally, being firmly in focus allows them to exaggerate, in subtle ways, the expressions and gestures that commonly serve in the realms of non-verbal communication to convey rather elaborate thoughts without a single word. It is said any picture is worth a thousand words, in the case of a dreamweaver at work that value is more likely in the range of ten thousand words, to be truthful.

Self acceptance was listed first of the three, and with reason. To accept to yourself the self you are is an absolute necessity for any form of intimacy, dreamed or real. If there is no self acceptance then any degree of acceptance by another is in direct contradiction to primal self image, and a contradiction of self image is ever more uncomfortable as the degree of difference enlarges. Distilled from the million and one euphemisms possible a common response to such conflict might read "If I don't accept myself how can I believe you do? What price, what conditions are placed on this thing I would like to believe is true, but really don't? You, who are putting me in this conflicted state, what are you willing to risk, what will you offer as collateral on my risk?"

My mentor had an answer for this problem, a means to defeat the question at least where she was concerned. She would remove, simply remove, her clothing. Not a striptease, no hint of invoking any childish titillation from violating the taboo of being seen unclad, she would simply undress and continue on as if it made absolutely no difference what so ever. It made no difference if she started from full street winter wear, or favorite kick-around-the-house casuals or one of her slinky sheer little boudoir gowns, they simply went away without fanfare and she would continue on as if she really didn't notice. You might call this a strange tactic, a strange rationale, but it worked. Consider the symbolism she presented, the example. Translated it would become "Hi! This is me. Regardless of where we met, regardless of where we live or the customs of where we live, how we grew up, we are all human, and this is me, Alexa, a woman, a human. Who are you?"

There is good wisdom in such an approach, it speaks from several levels into several dynamics of human interaction. The impediments to self acceptance are rooted in the acceptance of society. It is beyond this scope to speak to such a thought, but again, a challenge: find me any motive to reject the self, to deny self acceptance, that is not ultimately derived from outside of that self. Find a motive for any individual to deny themselves acceptance of themselves that did not come from family, society, or the culture of their birth. Of all the markers of societies' power the convention of wearing clothing, when the environment is benign for bare skin, is undoubtedly the most omnipresent and among the most deeply ingrained. Where there is clothing society has power.

Far more often than not problems in the interpersonal are derived directly from the social, after all, the social is the macroscopic form of the interpersonal. This fact was well known, and my mentor both exploited and defeated it by the simple tactic of mature, civil nudity. The dreamweaver does not engage in the immature behavior of the stripper, attempting to induce a new round of juvenile glee at each bit of flesh revealed. The dreamweaver is simply undressed, and from this very simple, and yet very powerful gesture makes it quite clear that in this place, in this group, between us, we judge our civility and our acceptability by different standards than elsewhere. In so doing she granted a great many permission (by example) to take the same attitude within themselves: here, with her, I do not need to be bound to the conventions that so limit me elsewhere, here with her there is no reason or need to reject myself as being unworthy to enjoy a dream of intimate companionship, here the rules are different. The shallow, the immature and the vulgar would say, if compelled to speak at all, that seeing her nude was the entire point of them being there, and yet it was not, it was only a preamble. How little they knew, and how easily she moved and molded them to her will.

They pull together, and since they pull together like a pair of fine horses they might as well be described together. I'm talking of course about the other two foundation attributes, the paired traits common to all success, all achievement: the traits of self-confidence and self-discipline. These two perhaps more than any others are the indicators of what a life is capable of producing for itself, for others. To forge any relationship of enduring value is a thing of accomplishment just as much as forging a Fortune 500 company from a scribbled sketch on a coffee shop napkin. This fact is not often commented on in some circles, notably those who would be more likely to be pursuing an achievement in the material, and yet it is still a fact. Bringing it to clear focus is yet another of the dreamweavers' preliminary tasks, and a most delicate one it is.

The former, confidence, is a thing of accumulated success while the latter, discipline, is a thing compiled from self-will acting on behalf of belief, faith. For all that they draw from quite different areas of life they need to be synchronized within close ratio, for each feeds from the other: the successes that enable confidence are produced by the work of internal discipline that must have the confidence to maintain belief and faith in the ultimate value of the effort. They play just as vital a role in matters interpersonal as they do in any other area of life, perhaps impacting in more subtle manners to a degree, but still vital components for success in any endeavor, including the partnership to create a dream of depth and complexity. It is when a dreamweaver of skill addresses these to assure her work a solid platform that she quite often may be found wearing several hats at once: mother, mistress, and ultimately Muse.

Reaching into these areas I most strongly suspect my mentor was actually working one on one with her canvases more often than not, when it might have seemed to her judgment (or intuition) they were open to such an effort, although it was not obvious at surface levels. In honesty neither can I actually prove such a claim, even though there was supporting evidence of the circumstantial and chronological variety. If solid proof exists I would not have seen it, it would have been found in the custom private shows contracted rather than the public shows I sat in on. In private she was working one on one or at most a with a very small and compatible group. Still, from the glimmerings and hints seen in public I feel comfortable in speculating a bit based on those hints extrapolated out against the observed results.

Sweet Alex… so warm, so comfortable and so comforting, so easy to be with. And I say that with all deliberation, because I have no doubt when she engaged to the intent of setting self-confidence and self-discipline into acceptable balance she reached deep into the maternal portions of her heart, for both functions are a product of nurture, and in truth it is the nurture from the mother sets those first critical ratios that often run a lifetime unchallenged. Not to say she would become anyone's "sugar momma", but rather to say I saw her on more than one occasion wearing the demeanor of a mother (amazingly, she could pull it off nude, and still make it ring true), the postures and expressions of a good and veteran mother dealing with her children: the same demand of excellence, the same impenetrable wall of rejection for a thing found foul and unwholesome, that same instant outreach of comfort and reassurance when a thing was found beyond one of her "children's" abilities, something they needed to grow up just a bit more before facing again, and only occasionally a true frown of displeasure to burn worse than any strap. At an earlier point I said she would "re-parent" her canvases in order to assure herself the component pieces were in place to support the type of mature dreams she delighted in crafting, and so she was. It was a thing of beauty from many perspectives to watch her at her work.

During those times she "mothered" her little brood the entire tone of her performance changed, it was easy to see. Understanding she was, in fact, giving the gift of maternal nurture made such times a treasure of examples concerning how to give such nurture: how a small smile that flickered with pride for something said she hadn't expected but approved of, no more than that, just a moments worth of a unique little smile for them, you could watch the things that person said later and see just how much confidence her little smile had enabled to them; equally you could watch someone melt to rethink their position when she would put a hand on a hip, or fold her arms across her chest with that little under-the-eyebrows look so many mothers will use as a first if not final warning. Warm and loving, sweet sensual beyond and before any form of sexual, yes, she could be all of those things indeed, and… you did not want her mad at you, because when mom's mad at you you're gonna regret it. Parenting, second edition, limited.

To my thought is says so very much that such tactics were not only accepted but seemed to be craved (by an audience of men often twice her age, lesbian women of all ages) gives solid evidence of how much need there is for each of us to parent each other with such subtle little offerings that are never ever spoken of in words to anyone, little offerings that in truth are offerings of love in its' most full and mature form.

You have to be a grown up, or well on your way to being emotionally grown up (calendar age no matter) to appreciate what a dreamweaver such as Alexa will craft when her focus is turned to the truly erotic, that sizzling interface when the sensual, the sexual, serves the needs of a sentiment of the heart. If you are not fully mature, if you approach such visions with selfish lust they will be at best confusing, at worst destructive and painful.  I think I'll give this subject a rest for a bit now, give what I've said a chance to settle in and find a home. If there seems to be interest in continuing I'd be happy to return to these realms, there are still many more things to be drawn from the same well and spoken of, but for now perhaps it would be wise to let the ideas already presented have a chance to find equilibrium: that no one can dream in full what they could not live in reality, it is a dangerous error to think otherwise; that the act of dreaming is a simulation of a reality desired and may be used as an indicator of how ready one is to enter such a reality; that in all truth the act of helping each other experience true and accurate dreams of a reality yet to be is one of the best ways to help each other find success should reality bring a dream within reach.

Please Fence Us In

I'm speaking of the flood of illegal immigrants coming north out of Mexico, and my conclusion is we must close that damned border, even if it requires two full fences with a five hundred yard kill zone between them and an underground sensor grid to detect tunnels. We really have no choice in the matter, that border must be sealed for reasons well beyond simply the impact of under-taxed cheap labor willing to work the menial and agricultural jobs, reasons even more important than shutting off the flow of illicit drugs. The Mexican's are bringing in a toxin that in the next twenty years will most likely drive a significant percentage of Anglo Americans into a dangerous and probably violent social insanity that could easily destroy civilization on both sides of that border.

What is the nature of this toxin? In a word, families. The Mexican people are coming north to feed families, bringing with them working fertile families of the sort now an absolute minority among the educated, enlightened, short-sighted, selfish, player-gay-lesbian tolerant culture of the contemporary United States.

Simply the difference in the viability between the two cultures will inevitably initiate violence between them, and it will be the Anglo elements of the culture who will be the aggressors. They'll have no choice at a Darwinian level: when the average Mexican woman is bearing say four viable children and a high guess for the average Anglo woman is 1.25 children the only hope the Anglo will have is to even the odds by violence. The Anglo will have to be totally fierce and utterly ruthless, devoid of any hint or whisper of mercy, the Anglo will be fighting an enemy who can replace their casualties three to one compared to the Anglo. It will get ugly, more ugly than has been seen in quite a while. The closest comparison I can point to is the genocide of the ethnic cleansings among the African peoples as the compression of famine impacted their land. When I say ugly I mean ugly on the grand scale.

That fence has to be built, and it has to hold tight for several generations of Americans, I should think three at a minimum guess, long enough for this culture to swing back away from the suicidal extremes of contra-survival social conventions adopted during the past forty years, long enough for Darwinian factors to motivate a drop in the average fertility of the Mexican women. The two cultures simply must be kept separated until the fertility numbers are closer to comparable, for everyone's sake. If they are not the result could be bloodshed on millennial scale, the Rio Grande run red with blood, I-10 renamed Damnation Alley. You think I exaggerate, over state my case? I invite you, watch the Arizona conservative Anglos... look closely at the look in their eyes. Do you see that feral terror driving them? You might be able to, but I promise you they cannot no matter how clear a mirror you give them. They are not angry people, they are people frightened at an instinctive level, and people frightened in that manner are absolutely the most dangerous of all things on Planet Earth.

Sometimes...

I like to create original images. I lay no claim to any great talent at it, but I enjoy the activity, and every now and then one turns out medium decent if I do say so myself. Some I'll be posting here as illustrations, or to serve as icons of related thoughts, or maybe in a gallery just because I'm kind of proud of how they turned out, like this fellow with his strangely constructed cranium of vents and vanes and antenna and all. He kind of looks like how I feel quite often, a stranger passing over a very strange land.

Hello World

There, now a custom of the computerkin has been satisfied, I've said hello to the world. It is a minor custom, a polite custom, I really don't mind.

I don't usually pay much mind to the customs or conventions of the world, choosing instead to focus on understanding why they would be considered custom or convention in the first place. In point of fact I have made a life out of chasing the word "why." It is now, and always has been as far back as I can remember, my ambition to understand why this so very strange world of ours behaves the way it does. In the course of chasing "why" I've had occasion to turn many a sacred cow into sacramental hamburger, that doesn't bother me in the least. Equally, as a consequence of this ambition many things have been set aside for a time, at one time or another: sanity, sobriety, solvency, useful things all but non-critical, a man may continue to live and learn without any of them and in many cases continue to advance his cause the more rapidly for the lack of encumbrance.

If we carry anything at all away from this life it can be nothing more than what we've learned in the course of that life, I suppose it is my hope to leave with a degree of understanding that allows my compassion for my fellow man to be genuine and uncompromised, such is how I justify the nature of my life, the conventions ignored, the sacred cows served as supper for hungry souls. I am what I am by choice, I cannot claim otherwise. I am not young anymore, it is time to share what I've learned, what I think I've learned, and leave those thoughts where they are available to the others who also ask "why" of their world, and will not relent until they've an answer they can believe.

I hope that if you should spend an hour among my writings you'll leave with ten hours worth of thoughts to think, questions to ask, fascinations to indulge, dreams to enjoy. I do hope that, for if that should prove the case then my time to set those thoughts into words will not have been wasted, and the life I lived to conceive those thoughts will have been validated.

Yours Truly,
Cyranos DeMet