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The Pointless Pyramid of Abraham Maslow

CEE

    I hesitated, in taking up this challenge. The Boss Lady, wants sources and references and footnoted allies to stand behind the author (or so it seemed), like Michael Jackson’s “boys” in the “Beat It” video. Quoting an Other, as ammunition, so to appear non-demagogic. I get it, this is a journal, not a street corner, but, that’s simply not Me. I don’t have much to offer, beyond rhetoric, be it in poetic form, or in prose...I just know I’m right, and that’s far too dogmatic, if not downright certifiable, to most all of you, out there. So, I resisted the urge to throw a mms at Janet, because all it would be—to everyone but Me—is spin.
    Then, it occurred to me that, Here, Now, in the post-postmodern, everything is spin, right? And, at some point, sources and quotes and Ph.d’s and elected office only allow the right to more cameras and microphones. They don’t show us all some golden, glowing Tolkienesque “way”. And, I remembered Jon Stewart, during the 2004 convention scene, popping wise at an elder Ted Koppel, showing the inherent fallacy, in what he called, “beverage truth”. If this one and that one sit before whomever the Pearly Whites are at the time, and this one brings out stats from the Brookings Institute and that one brings out stats from the Heritage Foundation, what have we learned by the end of the program, but what uniform we’re invisibly wearing? The battlecry from both “sides”, now, is that there are “two Americas”, but as a result, there’s no logic in affirming our logic by backing it up with another’s logic, because we’re all Yankees fans and Red Sox fans and at some fixed point, only a “Thunderdome”-solution, is gonna save us. In this pretty world, that ain’t happenin’...so, maybe rhetoric, is all anyone can hope to spout...and, suddenly, I felt qualified to weigh in, re: this issue’s Q.
    Short answer? This poem, by CEE:

The Root of Giving a Crap

The rationale behind
In God We Trust
Is
Ease
It’s french silk pie
To trust someone you don’t hang out with
I trust The Donald, too
If that’s any indication

    Longer answer? Reaction to Your reaction, to the Above work.
    “What does it say?”, my World Lit. teacher would ask, and your response no doubt runs somewhere along the lines of, “The poem not only is untrue, it advocates being a mindless idiot! Why trust, of all beings, a person, spirit-based or flesh, whom you don’t keep company of, and therefore don’t know?! Certainly, the individual is a mystery to you; how do you trust that? You get better odds in Atlantic City!”
    Yes, precisely. The poem Above, asks for a reliance and an act of faith beyond even falling backward in an encounter group. It’s the blind lunacy of wish fulfillment, Oliver Twist in its saucer-eyed, mud puddle ignorance. It’s acting and living and thinking and being as though the old Steve Martin joke about “Fred’s Bank!” (as he stuffed “deposits” into his white suit) is legitimacy, the Right Hand of Fellowship. It’s square dealin’, Karl, for no one more culpable or with more power than you, would ever, ever harm you. For why? What reason have they? You may to a certainty trust them, for they have never let you down. Not really, they haven’t. There are those in your sphere whom you, personally, privately believe are viperous ne’er-do-wells...but, how can you condemn, in so much as the tiniest blanket manner, if God—or a god—or a certain person undisclosed—has not shit personally, upon your personal shinola? They haven’t proven their unworthiness. How do you “know”?
    That’s right. The discernment you’re using, in response to me, regarding the discernment you’ve gained in Life, is the answer. And, I agree with you. It’s a lack of trust inherent, intrinsic, so wide Evel Knievel himself wouldn’t have a prayer. And, now, we have arrived at The Truth. Whatever deity, or elected or appointed They with whom you have a problem “makes you” feel x-way, is exactly half of said problem. Yes, God knows you’re the defender of (your) faith, and any politico or pundit or mouthpiece or suit with the opposing logo is just a bitch or son of a bitch whom hangin’s too good for...got it...but, you feel the way you do, based upon something, rooted in something, and I’m giving great, whopping benefit of doubt, by not saying you have couch issues.
    Point is, the BoSock or Yank of Blue or Red, the one(s) standing there in mindseye, is the crux. The one on the Orwell Channel, right this second, is only representative. This whole thing began somewhere... for each of you...and, it didn’t begin with dipshit trust. Or, maybe it did—and at that point, you’re a child whom another beat down with their fists, or a child whom The Others rejected. The bottom line of the second half of our equation, is You. You don’t trust. You have no reason to. Because those you’d “trust”, can’t be policed like it’s The Real World. Because you yourself can’t actually, really KNOW. You can’t trust the well-polished Other around the corner out of sight, no matter their very team logo, if we extend far enough. You can’t. So, you don’t. Whether the chicken or the egg is the assface, is really a moot point.
    Final answer, Rege? This poem:

DAMASCUS (Anathema DNA)

Abraham never thought
One day, “They” would own it
Pompey could have never thought
It would fall to “They”
Saladin never thought
“They” would have any claim
Generations never counted on the “They” of
Ottoman
And of France
Of They who hesitate to kill “They” in the form
Of a young woman
Standing before a Syrian soldier
Refusing to budge;
You ask, is this any kind of Holy Land?
Of course, but you beg the true Q
The problem is People
So the problem is Birth
Which began after Eden,
Where walked with Him, but two as One
You ask, what was the curse upon Man?
Man

    Me, I have my own story, my own issues, for not trusting a single, goddammed one of you, much less anyone thinks they run my life from an incorporated part of Maryland...but, that is in The Past, ages and ages past. I clapped my hands and was “out”, Long Ago. As I’ve said in chapbooks, I don’t know the answer to the Riddle of No Answer...but, if you’re looking with red-eyed shadows, at some powerful someone and finding it a filthy Gordian knot...well, that knot, nonfriend, is in your stomach. The mannequin or mannequins hawking beverage truth for the Hate Baseball of the hour, didn’t put it there. And, if you hang on long enough, only an asteroid in 2029, is gonna take it away. Rather permanently, I fear. Perhaps George Carlin had the right of the spin: “It’s time to end this silly experiment.” Fine. Anyway, I’ll be gone, by then.
    Anyway, I’ll be gone.



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