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Thank You, Doc

    I’ve mentioned many times, I’m old pals with a couple of anarchists. I am not one, myself. In the Long Ago, we got together semiregularly, to “debate the mysteries of the universe”. They were quick to identify and define my thinking. They were quicker, to condemn or (attempt to) correct it.
    One night, I was bombing on about something, and one of them called me a “determinist”. If you missed out in school on what that is, it’s someone who sees the world as Vonnegut’s Tralfamadorians, i.e. everything happens the way it happens, ‘cause that’s how it’s supposed to happen. “The moment is structured that way.” My friend thought to draw me up short with the label, but I couldn’t deny it to be The Way In Which I See Things.
    So, fine. I’m a determinist. I’m a determinist, because it’s correct. It’s correct because, in a universe programmed for Infinity, your free will, mixed with the free will of Others and that of The Programmer Himself, isn’t as free as you think it is. Infinite cause and effect, eventually results in the predetermination of every leaf fallen. So, when I personally think on how small I am within the “All”, that’s how I define it. I assure you, it’s a much cozier blanket, than that clutched by those who think upon Chaos more purelyÉand it’s much more logical, than the words of those who speak in feelgood generalities.
    Upshot? I am exactly who and what I am, what I was from energy-rich foam or fire of divine mind. No amount of rending the garment, changes I-intrinsic. Not mine, not yours. It’s why there is no mental illness, why human beingness, no matter how horrid or illegal as verb, is never “wrong”. Why secondary behavior is as contrived for some, as the exploits of an action hero. “Human”, comes down to numbers, mathematics, when you get to its motherboards. I learned a long time ago, staring at a parabola on a blackboard, one can’t argue with math. This is no doubt why I was created as one who dreams—dreamers, those unsoft at least, fight. It’s probably a trait held over from Canaanland, a gene of fire and gas. Some number in the mix unsettled in its place, no matter the inability to change. One disgruntled digit.
    I told someone in 1987, “No book, or series of books, can truly define Man.” She disagreed, of course—strongly—and now, what with the WWW, I think I’ve finally been contradicted. I guess. Either the Internet is the totality of Man, or Man is defined by a single word. However, this particular, bloodied warrior of mind, is fading out, nonfriends. And, wipe that smirk. These updates are no cry of “wolf”. My Molly Hatchet album cover-days, are on countdown. I leave it to your brave newness, its requisite speed and zeal, to uncover better conclusions. Perhaps through beginning proof construction, with the Hammurabic Code.
    In my terms, then, Joshua had to do what he didÉor, what he didn’t. Those perverted, hairtrigger mouthbreathers, had to live. As did bits of their numbers, from that day ‘til Now. And, Freud? He had to get his head around their existence, which succeeded only in screwing up so many others. And, their genes are meant to be spread amongst us, today, in exact portions and without mistake. For my part, I had no choice but to tell you this, because I had every choice, making in all, one. And, here you are reading, just like you’re supposed to. What you do next, nonfriend, you’ll just do. You just will. Do it.
    My mother-in-law refers to me as “a tortured genius”. I’ll take it for granted, you by now understand Why.—CEE, 10/2/11

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