What I Disbelieve...Well, Some Of It

From: hellpopehuey@subgenius.com (HellPopeHuey)
Newsgroups: alt.slack,alt.pagan,alt.religion.wicca,alt.discordia
Date: Mon, Mar 10, 2003 11:25 PM

I have recently been engaged in three different Internet group debates
concerning "paranormal" phemonena, which I consider to be perilously
close to what scientists sometimes term "bullshit." While I don't
dismiss out of hand that certain things may simply be short of proper
definition because the science has yet to catch up to the suspicion of
X or Y, claims of ghosts, telepathy or astrological wizardry make me
itch in places I can't even scratch. Perhaps I appear to be more
skeptical or disrespectful than I really am simply because I take it
casually.

When a Chinese gentleman at the University of Houston caused a metal
puck to hang in mid-air when brought to minus-300 degrees or so and
juiced up in a magnetic field so potent it pulled buses towards the
building, that seemed magical enough, but when it was managed at a
mere minus-seventy a few years later, that's approaching the realm of
the practical. Dontcha think a maglev train such as runs in Germany
now would have made anyone but H.G.Wells void themselves if shown in
the steam era? So if a mother feels a rush of EEK when her child is
hurt at school, to me, its just the connective luv-magnetism of
field-familiarity, not witchcraft. Can you say "ley lines?" Remember,
you can dump a cat off in Malaysia and 2 weeks later, it'll be back at
your door in Topeka, yowling for more Little Peskies. There's a
sub-structure to be seen & followed. Sometimes smelled, too, but we'll
leave that one alone for now. As Homer Simpson says, "Just because I
don't CARE doesn't mean I don't UNDERSTAND."

The fine author Arthur C. Clarke is often quoted for saying "A
sufficient level of technology shall be indistinguishable from magic."
Although that magic often seems to issue forth from low-ball-bidder
wands that crap out after the 4th waving, I would not argue with that
contention. In this vein, I find it both amusing and wistful to
consider that one's sense of wonderment tends to go south as one gets
older. It was a great thing, in its own way, to believe as a child
that there were monsters in my closet, less so to be asked to vote for
one later. Too bad its always so black or white. If you can prove to
me the existence of a Public Service Fairy capable of installing a key
policymaker who is honest, competent and able to resist being
compromised by the preexisting network of smirking, blow-dried
Balrogs, I won't just leave a tooth under the pillow; you can have a
toe of my choice and a fresh, crisp Confederate $20.

There is also a burning need for a certain sort of earth magic. You
can resist if they come at you for being black or whatever, but you
can't do it if they are dumbasses who simply dislike you because
you're not *THEM*. That's the real conundrum: how to bend over far
enough to keep a job without suddenly killing someone with a stapler
one day. However, its fun because it takes a while. "C'mere,
y'clueless little uppity psycho-dickens, ah'm gonna STAPLE YORE ASS~!"
KCHUNK KCHUNK KCHUNK!!! "AAAIIEEEE!!" Well, its a little power-fantasy
over which I warm my hands once in a while. How this may affect the
krill population in the upper thermoclines of the mid-Atlantic, I
can't say, but as I have enough Diet Mountain Dew, lasagna and
Astroglide for my hot weekend date, screw it, I got mine.

While I enjoyed "The Matrix" in the same casual way I usually enjoy
other escapist fare, there was one very telling bit of writing in it.
The main character is told he can take the red pill and go back to
believing what he wants to believe, or take the blue one and see how
deep the rabbit hole goes. Perhaps it makes me a whirling wanker in
some eyes, but I fervently wish there was a purple one in the middle.
While I don't wish for a pill that solves things FOR me, which would
deprive me of the learning process and the satisfaction of cracking
another piece of the code, I'd do a jig in a Maidenform bra for a way
to resist Absolutism.

I refer again to the mystical succinctness of silly old pop culture,
in this case Monty Python. 2 old ladies on a park bench: "They say
Doctor Bronowski knows everything!" "Oh, I'd HATE to know everything!
It'd take all the MYSTERY out of life!" If you pass a certain point,
you come too close to the All. Then you become a hateful old bastard
such as Mr. Natural's pappy. Pass! Once your IQ hits 190, you often
can't even stand the company of a cat. A non-Siamese cat, even.

My general position on much of it is two-fold. I appreciate
C.S.Lewis' comment that if there is no God, how is it that we can even
argue "right" or "wrong?", which has a certain logical base I can
respect without allowing it to be neutralized by my wafting
agnosticism. There are a few standards. I can live with a reasonable
mix of logic and faith with getting my knickers in a twist that would
waft me off to Texarkana if released all at once. This is more than
you can say for many a young Republican or people who buy a lot of
Christian rock CDs. The way the world has become, you can create a
firestorm just by saying "knockers" in the wrong place. Then again, if
you do so with proper timing, it'll make you a lot more fun for the
attendants in whatever asylum or nursing home in which you wind up.
You'll get an extra pudding cup, more meds and they'll turn you more
often so you get fewer bed sores.

I seem to Get Across so rarely lately, heh...I am so crazy, all that
makes it past the Maginot line of my ability to share comprehension
are these few simple words, which you are exceedingly brave to ingest
at all. Good thing we are not telepathic or your kids would start
calling you "CwazyMan," which would go over poorly with the neighbors.

Of course, since a teacher In Los Angeles is suing "Fear Factor" for
causing her mental anguish because a staffer, doing a segment for the
show, chased her in an alien costume, making her think a "real" alien
was after her, what the damned neighbors "think" is a debatable thing
at best. Remember, she's a grade school teacher...who thinks she can
tell a "real" alien from a guy in a costume. Sally, what did you learn
in school today? That Miss Schnorer is a Weekly World News subscriber
with a weak sense of humor and impaired judgement.

I believe I don't know everything, but I also don't believe in
hippie-dippy, incense-scented tofu popsicles in Flower-Child
Strawberry, Poppin' Cherry and GOAT flavors. I believe its funnier
than hell that the Dell computer commercial idiot got busted in New
York for buying some deadly radioactive marihoochie from another
goober on the street. Dude, you're gettin' a police record! Why, when
*I* was a young zombie, we had some sense of decorum and did our
flesh-eating somewhere more discrete.

Besides, all that blarney becomes meaningless and a half in the face
of this simple fact, stated by that great SubGenius musical
institution, The Band That Dare Not Speak Its Name: GOTTA GOTTA GOTTA
GET A GUN OR A JOB! This is a wonderfully balanced statement, both
philosphically and empirically. In addition, its as close to the
Infinite as I need to come for the day, as its 3 a.m. Good morning!

--

HellPope Huey® hellpopehuey@subgenius©.com
Something like a cross between the X-Men,
Snowball the Signing Gorilla
and a Chunkendale.
A wondrous wad of exotic intent in 13E brogans. Howyadoin'?

"Most of the population done made the Devil their king
and they're workin' for him overtime!"
- "Green Pastures"

"I touched my 'lectric guitar to the mic stand in the rain
and Lord I felt Your power like I never will again"
- "Funzone"

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Original file name: What I Disbelieve...Well,.txt - converted on Monday, 21 July 2003, 13:47