This is mostly superficial rubbish, but there is the odd moment or two worth preserving [perhaps] ....

To: tempestuous@yahoogroups.com
From: "Philip Talbot" <philtal_uk@yahoo.com>  Add to Address Book
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Date: Fri, 04 Nov 2005 14:39:48 -0000
Subject: [tempestuous] Revized Re-edit 1a 04_11_2005
   
To: tempestuous@yahoogroups.com
[Undated - and more or less out of any time-and-place context.]
This is mostly superficial rubbish, but there is the odd moment or
two worth preserving, for
the time being, for future [re-]consideration.
From: "Philip Talbot" <philtal_uk@yahoo.com>  Add to Address Book
Date: Wed, 23 Feb 2005 14:44:23 -0000
Subject: [tempestuous] (unknown)
... our revels are soon enough easily ended ... these shallow small-
minded self-serving actors, as I foretold you ... are easily
de-constructed ... and scattered into thin air ...
... only serious stuff from now on then? ... hardly! ... because that
is not my style! ...
xxxx murked the spat ... which is what they aimed for ...
... as far as mainstream media [ie time-serving prostitutes telling
stuff
they know to be untrue for money] would have you believe, the Iraqi
elections were free and fair ... but evidence is piling up that they
were not ...
...
Shakespearian fictions make me wonder about how real world people can
be
conjured into and out of existence ...
... like voters for example ...
... biggest corruption of the electoral process of course was in
Falluja ... where antis were literally slaughtered ... and entire
streets of hostile voters reduced to rubble ...
... now that was disgusting beyond measure and a corruption of
all 'democratic values' ...
... but not content with that ... they went further ...
... on the level of mere statistical manipulation ...
Allawi was an exile and CIA stooge who had no popular support base or
party structure on the ground in iraq ...
... yet he got 13% of the vote the official voting figs suggested ...
which just was not true ...
... looks like Shi'ites and Kurds ... happy with their share of the
carve-up ... loaned Allawi a few ... just for the sake of
'respectability' ...
To: tempestuous@yahoogroups.com
From: "Philip Talbot" <philtal_uk@yahoo.com>  Add to Address Book
Date: Wed, 23 Feb 2005 17:01:29 -0000
Subject: [tempestuous] (unknown)
The fictional character Prospero said farewell to magic in The
Tempest.
The real person Shakespeare said farewell to the theatre with The
Tempest.
So the stories go.
Truth or illusion though?
Fact is, not enough is known of Shakespeare's real life to say for
sure that The Tempest was his final completed play.
He did say fare-well to the theatre at a relatively young age - that
seems sure enough. And the registers of births-marriages-deaths
provide firm evidence that he died shortly after retiring from the
theatre.
It does seem possible that having 'exhausted' all his theatrical
possibilities [having been through the variations of tragedy, comedy,
tragi-comedy, history, etc, etc, etc ...] he 'gave up the ghost' ...
as 'twere ...
Finishing a study of the [rather young-dying] Spinoza [whose 'system'
is too rational to correspond to/with all observable realities, in
fact, but which is internally coherent - and as such 'complete in
itself' (i.e. within its own frames of reference)] a while back, it
occurred to me that there were dangers in 'completing' a systematic
work ... after which ... what next? ...
Similarly ... Dante died shortly after 'completing' his internally
coherent epic Comedy ... Goethe died shortly after 'completing' his
Faust ... Proust died shortly after 'completing' his 'rememberances
of
things past' / '[re]searches of/for lost time[s]' ... Joyce died
shortly after 'completing'
his 'work in progress' ...
Quite often, you can see something similar happening with people's
everyday life-narratives ...
... after 'completion' ... what next ... ? ...
The Tempest is a 'marvellous' [in many senses] work of literature,
though.
And 'deceptively' [literature being, amongst other things, an 'art of
illusion'] simple ...
In the 'mind-stream' of the 'collective consciousness' ... the
narrative and the characters transform into other narratives and
characters ...
The Tempest is a 'comedy' ... but it is rarely laugh-aloud funny ...
it is a deeply serious work disguised as 'romantic' froth ...
Prospero is ... or might be ... Lear gone beyond the passionate
ravings of tragedy ... or ...
Anyway ... to my way of thinking ... there is something to be said
for 'incompleteness' ... at least life goes on that way ...
To: tempestuous@yahoogroups.com
From: "Philip Talbot" <philtal_uk@yahoo.com>  Add to Address Book
Date: Thu, 24 Feb 2005 19:35:26 -0000
Subject: [tempestuous] Tempestuous 10-Finger Exercizes
Type-casted Caliban cried out tempestuously: 'This island's mine!'
That perhaps under-stated it.
'I am a fucked up schizoid mess and getting ever more fucked up
schizoidedly by the day,' he further cried, to bring out from the
undercurrents of
consciousness a few more points of potential interest.
The 'injustices' - against others as much as self - were driving him
crazy.
Yet sanity had little to be said for it, because others behaved in
ever more paranoid crazy manners themselves.
He was the one who owned up to his paranoid craziness - and got type-
casted 'a raving madman' by the likes of Kareless Katrina and others.
'This island's mine!' he cried again ever more insane seeming.
But was he referring to an isolated state or a wider territory?
And was the 'commonwealth of imagination' the more
rightful 'birthright' of the formally educated and qualified
Prosperos or of the informally educated and unqualified Calibans?
Schizoid confusion?
The integrity of the personality threatened with/by fragmentation.
Too much of everything. Too many demands made on him. Too much
expectation. The world closes in on him, so he retreats from it.
Narratives - even mixed up and crazy seeming ones - help to hold
things together.
Depersonalizing Preludes.
'Anon anon, my dears, forgive me my little trespasses - and bigger
ones, too, if that is how they are judged.'
The pseudo-franciscan serving man [but was he really a houseboy? or
was he not more truly a stud? - in minds where truth and illusion mix
to build new realities, he might be both] was a bit slow sometimes.
They misjudge him, you see.
They think he thinks his mind's a racer.
He believes he knows it takes time for things to sink slowly into his
dense mind.
Rush him, otherwise overload him, and he cracks up.
And he is lacking creature comforts.
Poor Tom's a-cold and a-lonely.
He drinks pretending it will warm him and people his isolation - but
only to ruin himself
even more quickly really.
But did it come to this sad state solely because he could not cope
with rejection?
In the images of separations, images of universal entropy.
In the images of meetings, images of universal harmony.
Everyday reality was somewhere in between, of course.
Hi-Fi Low Techy Fallootin' Fugues.
Narratives - even messed up ones - can hold things together.
Against Stereo-Typing.
Humpy Dumpy was resting in pieces.
He could not even get his own name write.
And he did not know where he was really let alone why he was
there.
Was Humper in the dumps because cross-tongued Frumpy Dumpling had
cruelly duped him, dumped him, and left him behind in the lurch?
Or was him left pi calculating [... and it never seems to end ...
{Who ate all the pis? 'Me Sir!' cried the greedy mathematician - and,
as
evidence of his misdeeds, a trail of decimal points dribbled from
mouth-to-plate ... or plate-to-mouth ...] because his negative
numbers had added up to a more positive one leaving him behind in
paralytic in a ditch while she got on with more actively catalytic
reactions?
To further discomfort Himpy Dimpy, Faggy Hagface then tossed in the
suggestion that he was a closetted Mr Humphreys and that she had
given him his freedom because he could not say 'I'm free!' himself.
Sometimes Hummer just took the up-the-arse insults silently - it was
after all only another cheap and spiteful little castrating power-
play by the
female-of-the-species to keep the downed down-trodden decent enough
man down [and
good hetero liberals never denied suggestions of their 'gayness',
anyway, because they were true to some degree - no one is
entirely 'this' or 'that' - and because, for those for whom it is
more wholly true and of their nature, 'gayness' was not something to
be denied].
Non-P.C. Hummer knew that poor bugger beggar as he was, he was not,
in fact, much of a bugger bummer.
'Actually, I don't like cocks up my arse, if that is what you mean,'
is what he actually said to her when she suggested he was a secret
homosexual, and what she actually replied - for she had a stock-in-
trade for every occasion - was: 'Actually most of them don't do
that.' How she obtained that inside knowledge was never revealed -
but
if it was from fag-break gossip with her camp followers, then it is
suspected in the passive voice that they were not telling her the
full unscatalogical truth.
Homeboy should have though there and then: 'I will never be a well-
served sir with that saggy faggy hag - Miss Slow Come might have a
nice pussy, but she is nothing but an old dog really, and will
never learn more pleasant tongued tricks.'
But Himbi? [the man was a walking question mark] never learned to
hate her and dismiss her properly. That too was a mistake for one who
thought herself more naturally 'passionate' - anyone who could not
hate, she claimed, was somehow lacking in the full-range of feelings.
Sometimes he gave her words too much over-due attention, that was
sure. Her critical words on his lack of hate stumped him for a long
time ...
Whenever he was at a loss for a new way forward Hammy put himself
under the influence of the consumerist want-makers ...
Being pissed-up was a piss-poor way to live well but, well ... it
seemed he had to
drink the dark stuff because the darker-still-stuff was not really in
him.
'I am not a bitter man' - he said, finding a parroted version of the
gift of the gab while drinking the dregs of two cans of snug-fitting
stout unladylike associations - and more than Tucan play the game of
pretending to be 'pure genius!.
'Drink!' the fake Irish father-figure said in a travesty of a
stereotype that was quite amusing occasionally, but not when overdone.
Instead he cried: 'Francis!'
'No! Anon, anon, sir!' was the reply.
He was no saint, nor was meant to be - nor no Hamlet either, though I
see you smirking knowingly - but he was a fair part-time imitator of
a kindly one - he did not have to pretend not to hate, because,
simply, he did not hate much ... and that was no fault [or indicator
of limited emotional range].
Hanky Dampy pulled himself short with a snort.
Hang on ... is this not getting too soppy?
[Or should that be 'sloppy'? With wet ones you never could tell. He
said 'soppy', she said 'sloppy', so there sentiments were clearly not
well matched - and the Letts Diary indicted clearly when they called
the whole thing off.]
Cynicism just averted, the drippy droppy kid drip dropped more drab
drops over spilty milky.
Honky Downbeat had no groove in his soul, that was his problem, she
said.
Hinky Deadly had no variety either - he was like a stuck record.
Hunky Deadpan smirked at that further misrepresentation by Hagface
Hogwash.
Hikey Downwind tripped over his own triping feet once more - he was
such a clumsy ass soler, wasn't he?
But though he had many a fall, Hokey Download never actually fell
completely arsehole into manhole - and that absence of serious
stepping mishap told him something: he might be no jungle boy bodily
rhythmn-wize, but he had a bit of the jungle in him - and like every
other human had human bits that had started stepping out on two feet
in Africa. He did not know the hip movements well, but he knew a few
leg movements.
[In other words, factually: after some very long and desperate
periods of depressive torpor - during which no one came to my
assistance - I started to walk again.]
Hiho Dorky was not the lord of the dancers, it had to be admitted
but for a few hours most days he managed to foot quite fleetingly. He
still could not talk the talk much, but he could at least walk the
walk a bit.
[In a rare interlude of pleasantry, Mellowing Minxy said to Hurted
Downcast that, on more than one occasion, when she had watched him
just walking across the room, and seen what a great mover he really
could be, she had felt more than a little bit shakey and trembling -
and almost moist with appreciation. (Such interludes were all too
rare treats as life-time went on.)]
As he emerged from his hole more often, and got out and about more
and more, Hidebound Dumbo began slowly to rethink things relatively
speaking - the motions seeming to change the course of his thought-
flows.
Hardcore Humanist certainly became less Rigid Atheist as he
experienced with his own senses that there surely were in the realms
of observable things truly more heavenly and earthly stuff than had
be dreamt of in his previous philosophies of being and non-being.
On a more everyday level, Haughty Dismissive slowly came to realize
that while he had been brought up to be a comprehensive kind of man,
he had slipped up badly into snobbery somewhere.
It occured to him that he had become a snob - dismissive of
the 'lowly' many - in a vain attempt to please the 'likes of her' -
and like many a false-self bad-faith move, that had been true to no
one.
He came down to earth with a bump.
Humbler - if never completely Humble - Bumbler then ate some cheaper
but more cheerful pies - and even learned to enjoy sparrow songs for
the first time in his life.
He seemed to see that many of the people he had been born among, and
grown up with, secretly knew that he looked down on them - but that
many of them put up with that sort of thing because they did not have
high enough opinions of themselves.
Then he seemed to see that there was even more to it than that - and
that it was not that clear-cut, and that no one had a really true
measure of the relations between self and others.
They thought that he thought that he was better than they were,
whilet he thought that they thought that he was worse than them.
He thought that they thought he was uglier than them, but they
thought that he thought that he was more attractive than them.
And as for cleverness ... he thought that they thought that he
thought he was clever - which he did, it had to be admitted, but he
was clever enough to know that he was not as clever as they thought
he thought himself to be.
If asked: 'How clever do you think you are?'
'Not clever enough,' was his clever-clever reply.
They were all quite clever these human sorts really, and they knew
that, and he knew that, they were differently clever, each in their
own ways. That is what he really thought anyway.
He was an irritating clever-clever clogs, though, wasn't he?
So why then did ever so clever-clever clogs often clog up into an
almost silent state?
Perhaps it is because he knows that he is not quite clever enough to
find the really clever words he'd like find - and if he, who could
use words more cleverly than many/mosty, clogged up to wordless
inarticulation, then what hope was there for articulation by people
who believed, rightly or wrongly, that they are less clever than
clever clogs.
It was all very frustrating, because he had a thing or two that might
be generally useful to teach - and there were some/many who might in
fact like to learn a few more things from the likes of him, who are
quite clever, aren't they, now, really?
Clover Clags could not find an answer to sort of twisted question, so
he shut up again - and might rightly be accused of disappearing up
his own arsehole.
To: tempestuous@yahoogroups.com
From: "Philip Talbot" <philtal_uk@yahoo.com>  Add to Address Book
Date: Fri, 25 Feb 2005 13:51:31 -0000
Subject: [tempestuous] Re: Tempestuous 10-Finger Exercizes
Chirpy quirky qwerty cheap cheep ...
... moods can change very quickly for the worse though ...
... sight of a poster with the word 'partnership' changed mine far
for the worse a few minutes ago ...
... got me to thinking ... 'they' talk 'partnership' when what 'they'
seem to mean is 'exploitations' ...
... certainly more often been offered 'rip offs' [at my expense] than
partnerships, personally ...
... 'temptestuous' minds are difficult to live with of course -
as 'she' [in various forms] taught me ...
Restarting bombastically ...
The actual singular state is foul and stinking.
Pontential of pluralistic partnership is likely to be much more fair
and sweet-smelling.
That is just possibly 'wishful thinking', 'of course' - and what look
appear like 'sweet-smelling deals' on first glance can turn out to
be 'rip-offs' [always read the small-print].
But if Charles can get married 'unconstitutionally', then I should be
allowed to do so too - because 'rights' apply to all citizens not
just one.
[And the Cosmopolitan Republican rightly asserts his human right to
be an expanisve-minded 
'citizen' (of the world), not a 'subject' of an, in fact (not merely
opinion), not very
impressive narrow-minded royalist national state.]
And my true 'queen' will be a truly equal partner - not some
subservient 'princess consort'.
But adazzle them dimmly deft Dicky ducky ... because they are not yet
properly prepared for the really 'brighter stuff' ...
A useful staging device is the 'conceit' - whereby the audience
[potential or actual] can never be quite sure whether you are 'merely
fooling' - or even just plain mad - or not.
This seems like a 'conceit', but ...
I am reluctant to share my 'powers' more widely, and that is fact,
because I don't really trust 'them'.
By 'them' I mean [generally and specifically ] 'oppressors'
AND 'oppressed' - because 'they' can seem too interchangeable.
The 'oppressed', given power, all too easily [experience teaches]
become 'oppressers' themselves - this is an all too common pattern of
human history.
Sketchy fictional illustations ...
In Shakespeare's The Tempest, Prospero represents something like
an 'enlightened dictator' and/or a 'kindly tyrant', as it were. His
use of power over others is mostly kindly, but he does treat Caliban
very harshly - and that is troubling, because it seems 'over-done'
and 'unnecessary', and seems to involve a failing in 'fellow-feeling'.
But if roles were reversed, would Caliban treat Prospero more kindly?
It seems unlikely - and Caliban O'Kitty taught me that ...
That is 'only' fiction, though, and I am neither Prospero nor
Caliban, nor meant to be either.
But ...
I do know a 'thing or two' about the way 'power' works.
What to do with such powerful 'knowledge' [even if it is
only 'potential' knowledge]?
Ideally, I would share it around - power is a great
potential 'fertilizer', and, like garden manure, seems to work best
when spread around quite thinly, as someone said to me, almost
quoting someone else, the other day.
But I don't really trust 'them' with the potentially enhanced power -
partly because I don't trust myself with it.
'So' ... I 'tweak' the 'system' here and there ... rather than seek
to force a large mass-flow change of direction ... 'safer' that way,
I tend to think ...
One of my 'big ideas' - which I have not really worked out yet, but
have a kind of outline understanding of -  is that 'key elements' of
the really 'big ideas' are as likely to be found in the minds
of 'anonymous' - though named and identified, within their local
contexts - and seemingly 'lowly' people, as in the minds of 'famous'
and more obviously 'high-status' people.
Like all 'big ideas' this one is not entirely original - it owes a
lot to the Christian notion of 'sublimity', for example, but I would
not want the Christians to think in a conceited way that they
deserved all the credit for it: because they adapted it, in their
turn, from other people's thinking.
There seems to be a life-enhancing/life-protecting 'defence' against
the physically powerful in this 'big idea' - namely, 'they', nor
anyone else, could ever really tell who really carries the elements
of the really 'big ideas' - so if 'they' destroy ANY
individual, 'they' might be destroying key elements of the
really 'big ideas'.
In other words [to get somewhat cryptic seeming, but not
really], 'we' put 'it' together between us - based on mutual
recognitions of personal 'uniqueness', and of the value of our
differing talents, and of the potential 'deeper understandings'
within EVERY individual human consciousness.
When people deliberately destroy ANY unique individual, they are
potentially doing huge damage to humanity possibility generally -
because that individual might carry a truly essential component of
the 'key' to human possibility generally.
What I am searching for, 'of course', via such 'speculatory' ideas,
is a way to protect vulnerable individual human beings against
persecution - to the point of destruction - by groups or other mass-
flow processes ...
And that is all just 'wild unworldly dreaming' though, isn't it?