Wild Hair

by M. Whiled Eir
written 12jun2014; last updated 05aug2014


The Wild Hair series of exclamatory expressions, collectively, are preliminary notes for:

The lyrics of "I Don't Live Today", by Jimi Hendrix (1966), sings to us of the absence of authenticity in daily life, of a dishonesty in calling what we are left with as "life". And, much as it did for Hendrix (with his dedication of the song to "the American Indians and other minority groups" [cit., Richie Unterberger's The Rough Guide to Jimi Hendrix (Rough Guides, 2009, ISBN 978-1-84836-002-0], it touched my wounded soul with his own, and we connected in our quest and demand for its presence.

There is an "escape" from the jaws of the "daily life" passed off as a choice between sequences of its extraction and substitution: "official" death or affirming this denied existence of authentic life itself.

The former speeds up "slow death". The latter means declariing war-by-deed and war-by-form against those who manage and those who benefit most from this world inverted, wherein it is posited by excusers of the realm aplenty, that this is "as good as it gets" and that only more mediation and inversion will reveal less mediation and inversion.

That is what we call "The Big Lie". The existence it denies is present and the absence to which it denies existence, is passed off as "normal". So, until the "thermometer of the norm" and its ever-servant "experts" are exposed as tools and roles of a more invisible mechanism/process which systemically and systematically freezes life volition into a death march, then the once-living — an "empty feeling" rather than a loss, since most us are tramatized by toxic "food", a barrage of noise, and other pollutions before birth, we are delivered as "spectators to our own lives" and thereafter know life as "an alien experience":

Will I live tomorrow?
Well I just can't say
Will I live tomorrow?
Well I just can't say
But I know for sure
I don't live today

No sun comin' through my windows
Feel like I'm livin' at the bottom of a grave
No sun comin' through my windows
Feel like I'm livin' at the bottom of a grave

I wish you'd hurry up and execute me
So I can be on my miserable way

I don't, live today
Maybe tomorrow, I just can say
But a, I don't live today
It's such a shame to wast you time away like this

I don't live today
Maybe tomorrow, I just can't tell you baby
But a, I don't live today
It's such a shame spending the time away like this

Lifestyle as the Inversion of Life and as a Fictitious-valuable Asset

Rather (and simply, beyond "rather"), do you want to transcend both lifestyle and abstractly trashing lifestyles because they don't fit well, or to reinvent a world which prefers them, and who fear us without them... to implement an answer to the merely-pondrous question authority, to give authoritarianism the proverbial boot, to go beyond the choiceless choice trap of politics, to tear apart the binary incisions made by all sorts of social doctors trained "up there" to treat us "down here" to their learned techniques of correction, control, and concrete persuasion, into accepting that this (and we) are as good as "it" will [and is going to be allowed to] get.

Lest we return from lifestyle to living directly, and excise their dead and deading weight and those tailors of "facts", "history", and "what is possible" which weigh down upon our chests and hearts with their thousands of flatland "points" digging into our senses in all ways "impossible", and those psycho-cobblers, making hobblers of us all....

Lest we return from the acts which capitalize the "Z' in zombies and us in human "zoos", to reinvent a world politely starving everyone and everything of use, subtley less every day, so that a mutating gnaw bids us to speed up our generalized lifestyle known as slow death? We walk faster to it, and make the travel plans our own, detouring away from all self-referential points, as like legends taken off our life-maps, replaced with the flat terrain of deeds, the linear paths of funding, the circular logic of redundancy, decorated with billboards which mirror back our every memory loss for substitutes.

Maybe you think that the only possible way to enjoy the treasures unsupported by advertisements, games, and elections amidst the rising flood of garbage coming from Sacramento, Peking, Washington, D.C., Hollywood, and carrot-stick promissory notes — from the scams of the Federal Reserve, stock market, mortgage bank, gold & bit-coin con-artists — is through a more qualitative and real-world deployment of what remains after the privatization of the common wealth and public domain: self-empowerment, self-interest, self-responsibility, mutual aid, social courtesy, imagination, compassion, wit, and wisdom?!

Maybe you feel that only by proactively, imaginatively, resolutely, and playfully creating — with no toleration for slick & invasive politicos, colonizing & recuperating mediators — freely associating and commun[icat]ing together as [the] self-[em]powered, and acting with direction, directly upon our world ... we just may be able to free our own hostaged humanity, our trademarked-away, ability to trade without any taxation by a thesaurus of thieves, the untrammeling of our imaginations, the deprogramming of our minds to see the rainbow behind the plethoric falsification that the universe and our lives are a linear series of controlled/licensed/legal/permitted binary choices within a hierarchy always defined as above, beyond, and outside of us!

The unspeakable 'common wealth' wisdom — which the co-enabling left and right authoritarians mouth-in-unison, as the combinatorial face of their master-in-common, preserves a generalized and hideous facelessness — is never beyond reach:

isocracy • direct democracy • generalized self-management
mutual inclusion • the gift economy • the passion to create • 3-dimensional greed

Given the real choice of further burying ourselves or burying politics — that tool of global, regional, and local sociopaths who manage & maintain the globality of virulent hierarchy and pathocracy for their psychopathic masters... a self-anointed 'elite'... inbred, malcreantic, dysfunctional, ponorological Social Fabians (which George Orwell exposed so well in his Nineteen Eighty-four and Animal Farm) — we choose to transcend the blood lined and soaked ownership, codependent behavior of mas[s]ochistic surrender & sadistic systemic extraction and banal use of others' self-powers. We are both the only question and answer to false dichotomy of 'freedom' and 'liberty'. The compatibility is found not in silent & separate suffering but in our festive self-implementation everywhere, and today. Neither gadgets, experts, gurus, the truth droned at us o'er and o'er by footnote-fetishists, ...

We are our only chance because living's presence, nonsense, and absence is the only truth each of us knows and is, thus, also, our most qualitized and qualified gift.

If attracted, interested, and/or intrigued, then...

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