“Ad realibus, ad Realiora.”

. . .

“The Phenomena” once more inspired me. This time, to ‘mint’ a new word : REALITARIANISM .

I am afraid it’s a bit of a doctrine. But it’s a doctrine that is a de facto. No one person can claim to either believe or disbelieve this doctrine. The whole world insists on being complicit in that one doctrine. No one seeks to extend themselves Truly above it, no one, if extended a branch would truly climb out. Few choose to go higher, which helps only them that Do, and that’s just Wonderful. The others – observing the Act, – will then profit from it in the only way Realitarianism would afford them. By unscrupulous imitation, or the more honest-dishonest trade : Salesmanship of the Act, at which point Realitarianism engenders itself as a full fledged carnival-magnus!

If you ( The Reader ) are unmarried — young or old —  I wonder what keeps you unextended. What keeps you attached. The Branch is there for you, is it not? If Music ( Be You a Musing Soul ) is your Truth, then why not pursue Becoming Music? Is it perhaps a matter of Pace? A matter of Solidarity with the Moment as you have regulated it for your Self ? Surely, you must care very little about your profession, beyond that for you it is a Tool. I used to ( and still do ) find all modern tools to be a measure of desecration, knowing only those tools that are borne by a Sincere heart, that are seen in invisible Craftsrooms of sacralized Solicitude, that lie in the simplistic rudiments of the Soil, testimony to a higher Spirit than what they materialize As.

That is what compelled my ( social )  entrepreneurship. The ember-rudiments and open embryonism of my youthful and perfunctory designs.

Though how my heart grew embroiled in my entrepreneurship, is the mystery of my own identity. Oh well. Now, i am minting new old words. This is what inspired me : ‘Ad realibus ad realiora’ .

Have a Good Day, Now!

. . .

Alexander K. Rai, MSMA is an impassioned, Youthful Social Entrepreneur. When in High School, in a Course of Ethics and Government, he perturbed everyone in the room by stating, “Truth Is God”. Since then, unrecovered from that sentiment, he idly languishes in various Indigests, feasting on the Light of the Sun, frolicking along, Simpleminded, and generally, Serene. Otherwise undisturbed, he seeks to buy rice and grapefruit juice for his bowels, with Euro coins and Norwegian Kroners, believing “Doing Is the Change We Can Believe In!”

A Jocunde appropriatory Musickal Accompaniment : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjA3wcv0nP4

A Human Requiem .

. . .

Somebody said that I am the last American living the tragedy of Europe. Ezra Pound

She saw too that man has the power of exceeding himself, of becoming himself more entirely and profoundly than he is, truths which have only recently begun to be seen in Europe and seem even now too great for its common intelligence. Sri Aurobindo

The verbal interpretation, on the other hand, i.e. the metaphysics of quantum physics, is on far less solid ground. In fact, in more than forty years physicists have not been able to provide a clear metaphysical model. Erwin Schrodinger

An Ode to the Beautiful Morning.

I just wanted to let you know what a beautiful morning it is here today.

Looking out the window, and witnessing the thatched wheat complected ‘cement’? Oh, may be it is not cement. May be it is tofu. May be it is the gnarled skin of our grandfathers sun-bathing on the fjords. Maybe it is the primordial emotion of gratitude. The wall outside of these two windows–how magical they appear struck into Life lit by Sun Light.

By that primordial emotion. The trees drool their spiritual salve on your Soul as they cast shadows. They know what you Are. They honor that Love. Just one tree is enough to be the ambassador for the entire gratitude race of trees, of which the Tree of Life is the highest Evergreen. And here I thought of a Fairie-affixed to my lapel—who permeates like an orb–when darkness claims the heart of the hunter,–when he can tread no more–and his knees give in to the cooling touch of mud–his back arched like his spent bow– she is there–always, with a lavender stem of which the crescent is her illumined smile. Stalwart, like a Torchlight gently warming through the tinctured glass of the light beacon at the lilting corners of the Soule’s Sandy expanse. A tower of Light whisking away ships from their drunken narwhaal wrecks. Lo, they’d never have known. Those Drunkards… Never. Such is the Nature of Mysterious. Gratitude. Unless revealed by a Rightful Kiss. The bed lies tousled. I did not mend it yet. I made breakfast. Cereal and Strawberries. Everyone is sleeping, and there’s a holy feeling. A sacred feeling.

To witness myself in the tiresome legacies of the things I have done–the things I could do–ah!, things–these are just things. Things, Things, Things. The worlds are frittered with them. The reactions of the act of creation. The opium of engagement. The suckle-touch of the artist who seeks objects as lovers and lovers as objects, and in the moment such an artist discovers the crack inbetween the two–in they fall. To awaken to the tofu-touch of the cement that is their Love. I never liked things. But their meanings—Lo! O Sacred Meaning! O Hallowed Metaphor of which the Gift is that which is ensconsed beyond the emblem–as that primordial emotion. Therein, no things need apply. The tiresome legacy of collecting these to assemble and perpetuate a substantive metaphor. To elicit their echoes as beacons. To show. To amend the ‘Other’ with the ‘One’. This had been tiresome. The agonies and ecstasies were never reactions there, I remember– but the filters of the dimensions through which the transient process of animals, minerals, generals, and nationals–coveters and ticketers, trinketeers and buffoneers, the weaks and the less weaks–have bypassed–, taking, taking, taking, from what need to not be “taken” with such vain effort but need Be ‘Knowne’ as True Golde and thus it shall make of itself an inheritance that is as true as it is total.

Unheeding to the subtle hints–fraught into a state of semi-permanent fracture–by the outrage of the tired craftsman. Tiresome is Legacy. To stare at the details–is to miss. To miss no thing. Nay. But to miss the self-completing touch of the Beloved, Of which our transcendental Love is the Magicke Lampfe, and we are the twain mages, of which G-d alone is third Wise King. And it is when I miss that, that I am possessed by it. And it makes me want to cry. It makes me want to cry away at all of the vainglories of innocence. “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they Do.” The innocence of the meandering fool, the innocence of the troubador with the hollow head, the innocence of the motorcade traveling at rapid speed eager to greet a dead end, the innocence of travesties and coituses of compare-contrast thesis papers–these are the vainglories of innocence. But Lo, there is an innocence beyond such innocence. The innocence of the Primordial Emotion. The innocence of that Gratitude. The innocence of the betwinklin babe. The innocence of that Divine Moment. When I met you. Forever. Though I miss you. Though I cry for you. I am You. As you are the tears of me. As well as the Purpose of my Soul. I don’t miss anything. Other than myself. A Cosmic Vault to which, You Alone Possess the Key. And you Alone are the Preserved Treasure. We’ll find it Soon O Beloved, Where the concept of the ‘Other’ need apply no more. Where the strange and twisted ways of asking a favor fade with the echoes of a thousand posterities; There, our Kingdom is Sovereign. I did tell you I Love You. I Do. I Do. I Do. Your love. From me. To you. For us.

My Shine.

.  .  .

Alexander K. Rai, MSMA is a member of the Universal Homo Sapien Commune, and believes deeply and sincerely, that Peace can be brought about through the healing and transformational effects of a Love that is True, and a Light that alone, dispels the darkness in which man rises and falls, only to regain the Truth of his highest expressed purpose : his ennobled crowning capacity to be Sincere and Actual. He is a photographer and a Social Entrepreneur who believes in a trinity of planet, people, and profit.

to pay a listen . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dt8dWGH7nf0

The Spirit of Numbers, and a Number of Spirits .

Human, All too Human .

“So many signals from old express the same, although in different ways – those read via the great pyramid more distinctly than any. In spit of our not knowing Harald’s ideas and ways of thinking, we may conclude that his new faith had made him enter a radical change, and that his own change influenced his surroundings – perhaps similar to what was described by Rupert Shaldrake in his Book, ‘The Hundreth Ape’ : As Soon as a few apes had made a radical step of discovery ( like peeling a banana ), this phenomena would influence the entire world of apes ; a great many would start doing the same, even at a large distance from the discoverer. Humans may possibly confirm that same law, according to Spiritual laws. It has taken a millennia to capture and mature what Harald had begun to understand.” ( Transcribed from the Book ‘A Riddle of Rings’ Pg. 61, by Bodvar Schjelderup – On the Life of Danish King Harald ).

+  +  +  +   +  +   +  +   +   +  +   +

The disappointments and agonies of hundreds of years of compounded errors and privileges have arisen and resurfaced to further compound the Ordeal of the Homo Sapiens : ‘The Wise Human’. The problem is clear to see even on the premise of stating a declaration as extended and all encompassing as the horizontally crucified effigy portrayed in that first Sentence. The author himself is a member of the ‘Wise Humans’ Community and Phenomena he is speaking of.

Is an act of Preface then a Hypocrisy?

The idea of expressing a regard for a time previous to this present time a floundering poppycock act of lunatic romance, offered in variegated and delicately plucked themed tendrils of Oo-Laa-laa? More Choleric drivel to Avoid for the “Positivist” on the way to Yoga Class, and more Over-Intellected, un-founded vehemence to the “Realist” – too busy for such unsolicited and unprofitable truth on his way to pick up the latest Copy of The Financial Times? Too Piquant for the “Pacifist” in his ardor to master the gentlest way to tickle the voluptuously distended orifice of his lover?

And so it goes on the arbitrary Categorization of The Wise Human Community, in a listless and conscripted set of crutches, like the gassed and gunned down Dead from First World War, walking through the vapors of time, invading the Cool and Serene preoccupation of sipping a Free Sample of Whole Foods Organic Tea, and on the way back from Fresh Grocers staring with a startled look of self-excitement at the discounted and marshaled Goods and Services of the Day of Age, the Peace of Mind so easily jilted looked for and found in Social Network sites blazing with piques and prods of the profit margin to reduce the sole remaining and latest adventure in Human Wisdom to Finally Show Face.

Everyone is (unequally) on the Side of the Guilty, and Everyone is (unequally) on the Side of the Blessed. Yet, Distinctions are not Wise to make, when the disappointment, agonies, and calumnious riot of Cause and Effect will not leave undisturbed the pretenses of “Scientific Potential”, – Naïve Belief in a ‘Know How Saving the Day’, clearly, Know-How and Wisdom are perhaps wrangling in the Zone together, sprawled naked, rather uptight and cylindrical, in a battle that Exists in Only One Real and Palpable Sphere of Influence: In My Own Consciousness and Your’s.

For I, The Wise Human, and You, my Neighbor have Inherited it All, – the tanks, the guns, the scientists, the buffoonery, the saints, the greats, the sages, and the whole lot of our litany, - and the Hands that are typing this message, prop up and down, fingers moving and ricocheting off the plastic key slits, impressing thought beyond the horizon of action and reaction, Yes, beyond your brain, into your Heart : Where Citations, Errors, and Right-Doings and Wrong-Doings, in the word of the Great Persian Poet Rumi, also a Wise Human like you and me, do not prevail before what is manifesting in the Prime and Cardinal Order of things as a Universal, Collective, Irrevocable One and Single Necessity: To Love.

Yet the ones esteemed so long, so long for their privileges and disappointments, for their venerable pouch like faces and their expressive facial overhangs, ponderous valleys and cliffs, joints, and constitutions, the Great and Self-Elected Elders of your era and mine : Our Wise Human Eras, have not Quite Safeguarded this Institution you and I regard by that Term of the Heart, rather than of the Brain : The Term Love. Do you, the Wise Human, Know what this Means? This Term? Love?

This is what A.S. Eddington, a Homo Sapien, wrote on Page Three Hundred and Eighteen of the Book “The Nature of the Physical World” :

“It will perhaps be said that the conclusion to be drawn from these arguments from modern science is that religion first became possible for a reasonable Scientific man about the year 1927. If we must consider that tiresome person, the consistently reasonable man, we may point out that not merely religion, but most of the ordinary aspects of life first became possible for him in that year. Certain common activities ( e.g. falling in love ) are I fancy, still forbidden him. If our expectation should prove well founded, that 1927 has seen the final overthrow of strict causality by Heisenberg, Bohr, Born and others, the year will certainly rank as one of the greatest epochs in the development of scientific philosophy.”

Mister Eddington, the premiere Homo Sapien, the Wisest of his Race in the Year Nineteen Twenty Seven, clearly did not Outlive his message. For “the final overthrow of strict Causality” has Not Been Solved as a “Problem”, nor has any of the many profound Problems of Cause and Effect since his eras, – but rather the most superficial constructions and re-constructions of Causal forces have provided on Two Thousand and Nine, for the Wise Human his great lot : His Scientific Revolution, his Agricultural Revolution, and his self-proclaimed “Revolution” in Cybernetics : The Desire to render Inorganic and Unfallow – to Cause the forces of Negation and Pestilence to stir and breed and corrupt the last bastion of the Organic : The State of Human Mind, has reversed the progress of the War to End All Wars. By Claiming Conquest, Man has Bred it. By Show of Force, Man has Come Under Force. By Hypocrisy, Man has inherited A Startling Lie. The Food that does not provide Nutrition, the Romance that does not last beyond the first night’s affectionate embrace, the Lust in the body that can not be quelled even if Three Fourths of Europe was to be turned into a Temple for it, and the Seventh Grade English media empire, that has conscripted for its own services all Seventh Graders in the Universe: including the Two Billion or so living in the ‘First World Nations’, in any one of which, Mister A.S. Eddington’s corpse must be by now have fully rotted and reclaimed unto ‘The Nature of the Physical World’ he was so prolifically interpreting back in Nineteen Hundred and Twenty Seven.

The Problem is Clear to See. The wealthiest and most aware and Scientific of Wise Humans are tormenting and vanquishing millions of acres of Life Enriching Eucalyptus Forests, by mowing them down to produce paper fiber. The Stock Markets – driven by the Wild, Reckless, Wanton and “Realistic” covet of Money Makers and King Makers are ransacking the Wealth of Nations, through their “Invisible Hand”. The Greatest Nation in the World, the United States of America is being governed by a Kleptocracy, – Wise Humans and Seventh Graders that the Media venerates and places on a tall podium to exude their aura. Animals are being colonized, bred, and slaughtered in masses to satiate the Carnivorous Zeal of the Homo Sapien. Every thought, directed with the Individual’s appetite for Survival is being less luxuriously directed to acknowledge the Greatest and Most Common and Prevalent Truth : Selfishness. To emphasize one’s own lowest possible concept of Self : The Self that exists to Eat and go unstarved, to Reproduce to satiate its base purpose, to excrete out of Necessity. Witnessing the punctility and unreasonableness of the biological compulsions, the Wise Human rationalizes. “It is Not My Problem, but the World’s”. But Who Is the World? Who Is Paying? Who Is Profiting? Everyone, and No One. Every Body, and No Body. Every Misery, and No Misery, Life and Death lock lips in the Cradle and in the Grave, as Theoretical Evil becomes Practical Necessity, and Life becomes a Retreat – A March – Into Death. With Slogans of “Positivism”, “Realism”, “Pacifism”, and “Negativism” no one is becoming happier, felicity nor survival is growing in harvest, no problem is in appearance or in reality Going Away, – A War to End all Wars, is now the Slogan of every Institution, Corporation, Individual, Nation State, and Jurisdiction in the World. Confusing seems to be the Costume and even the Unwashed Underwear of the Emperor that no longer has any clothes.

The disappointments and agonies of hundreds of years continue to compound the errors and privileges that rise and resurface to further compound the Ordeal of the Homo Sapiens : ‘The Wise Human’. The problem is clear to see even on the premise of stating a declaration as extended and all encompassing as the horizontally crucified effigy portrayed in that first Sentence. The author himself is a member of the ‘Wise Humans’ Community and Phenomena he is speaking of. And he is Speaking to the Heart when he is Asking you the Wise Human to Defer For A Change, and Respond rather than React, to the Question Proposed before You: Do you, the Wise Human, Know what this Means? This Term? Love?

Another Wise Human – Doctor Albert Schweitzer speaks to Us as an Expositor of the Phenomena of Love. He too speaks from his Grave :

“ Thought cannot avoid the ethical or reverence and love for all life. It will abandon the old confined systems of ethics and be forced to recognize the ethics that knows no bounds. But on the other hand, those who believe in love for all creation must realize clearly the difficulties involved in the problem of a boundless ethic and must be resolved not to veil from [humankind] the conflicts which this ethic will involve [us], but allow [us] really to experience them. To think out in every implication the ethic of love for all creation — this is the difficult task which confronts our age.”

You the Homo Sapien must be Asking, “What Could That Possibly Mean?”.  ‘The Ethics that knows no bounds’ is certainly beyond the Confines of the Codeces that are managed the world, the “Systems” if you will, and the Societies that continue to bequeath upon them the doubtful blessings that always make the most noise and rely on the aid of the mischievous, illiterate, and the unethical to make itself known.

For, the disappointments and agonies of hundreds of years of compounded errors and privileges have arisen and resurfaced to further compound the Ordeal of the Homo Sapiens : ‘The Wise Human’. The problem is clear to see even on the premise of stating a declaration as extended and all encompassing as the horizontally crucified effigy portrayed in that first Sentence. The author himself is a member of the ‘Wise Humans’ Community and Phenomena he is speaking of.

Who else is claiming the Wisdom of Humanity today in Speaking their Minds? Who else is Waging the War to End All Wars? The Iranian mob points fingers to the false prophets, the false prophets point fingers to America, America points finger to its ministers, its committees, its values, and its ministers, its committees, its values, point fingers to everyone else in the World, Nation States that crumble under the efforts expended and invested in the Act of Accusation, as the finger licking denizens of Mac Donalds and Panera Breads, and Deli De Luca, and Seven Eleven, are Youtubing their Way into thought Systems, alternating between Advertisements of Free Pornography on the Internet, Dating Sites, and Dot Coms, blaming everyone from Barney the Purple Dinosaur, Ex-Wives, Girlfriends, the Vatican, the Police, Loud Neighbors, Churches, Synagogues and Imaginary Rogues.

The Homo Sapien, reared from Cradle to Grave by the Experiments of Dead Societies and Dead Men of Dead Letters, creak and crank – its Youth defeated by its Dead Ancestors, its Youngest indebted by its Oldest, the most Respectable Institutions desecrating the most Respectable Virtues, – in the Tall Tale Talks of Infrastructure Investment, the Mortgage System, the Debt and the Despair, everyone feels entitled to Complain, and too Few feel the Privilege to Amend, to Make Better, to Act to Restore, to Take Responsibility.

Meanwhile, the multiplying numbers of the Irresponsible and Uneducated feel Entitled to sag their dry minds and spirits on the Crutches of Fact Invention and Castigation. The Christians are in an uproar, believing their troubles are caused by the heathens, the browns, the blacks, and the asiatics. The Apologists of every Religion are rising anew with “Inspiration” to leech anecdotes from magazines and New York Times to Copy and Paste their way into “Great Reformation”, the Hot Steam of the Ego could Seer the Stone Faces of Statutes, and stop a Racing Horse dead in its Tracks, as if it has been gored by a Locomotive. The Muslims either have all Given Up, or All Died “From the War On Terror”. The “War on Error” is being fought at all fronts, at all times, by those that feel that they are entitled to be counted as “amongst the Right”. The “Blame Game” has become an International Sport, in Spare Time and in Quality Time, and all Available Portions, Packets, Bouqets, and Vellums of Time, it is an Unceasing Marvel the likes of which the world has yet to match. Secular Men are blaming the Vatican – as “Hidden Demons” conscript every avenue of Self-Advertisement on National Television and Hire every Private Eye to pay their ways out of Sins. The “Hunters of Facts” and Finger Pointers, Travel in all Directions and Latitudes, screeching “It’s the Freemasons! It’s the Freemasons!”.

So Where and in Whom does the Solution Lie? In Scientific Revelation? In Books and Start Ups? In “Money Making Schemes”, and “Executing an Act of Justice”? To Avenge a Dead Religion, or in Advocate a New Prophet? What about You? You the Wise Human? Do You Know What the Term Love means? Do you believe rather that it is an Opinion,  A trifling passing Season, an aromatic Whiff, a Way of Life, Spare Change, a Theology, an Alternative Way of Living, or a Secret Society? That it’s a Thing to be Had, and a Congregation to Visit, or an “Order” to Join?

You the Wise Human, the Homo Sapien, you and me, live today in a World of Choice. In a World where Beauty stares at us Compassionately from every Corner and Every Crenellation, Unhidden, Transparent, in Plain Sight and Profound View. No amount of manufacture, no quantity of rhetoric and noise, no gaggle of Venture Capitalists and Angel Investors, no number of Sponsors and Advertisers can drown out or Ransack – What Remains within your Access: You the Homo Sapien. The Lakes and Ponds of the World defy the Pollution you have bred into the air with your lament, the sewerage that your way of life produces has filled every water body on Earth, yet Mountains, Forests, Lakes, Herbs, Seeds, the Sun, the Seasons, all alternate around you, looking at you in Silence, observing you, holding you, healing you, and caressing you. You who claim that the world is all bad, have you ever experienced a Rose that did not Smell Blessed? You who claim that Reality or “Realism” is discovered in Economics and Social Networks, have you ever held the hand of a Child? You who claim money printed and backed by nothing “Talks”, have you ever had a Conversation that fulfilled a craving of feeling with a perfect Stranger? You who compare your lessers, and contrast your betters – Do you Realize to Stare into the Mirror and See your Own Face? Who Do You Think You Are? Are not the Wise Human? The One who forgot everything just to remember that Life is a Gift, and Love alone Conquers?

I, A Wise Human, regard and by transcription proclaim it as Self Evident and Naturally and Divinely  Fulfilled that :

True words aren’t eloquent;
eloquent words aren’t true.
Wise men don’t need to prove their point;
men who need to prove their point aren’t wise.

The Master has no possessions.
The more he does for others,
the happier he is.
The more he gives to others,
the wealthier he is.

The Tao nourishes by not forcing.
By not dominating, the Master leads.

- ( Lao Tse ) -

May you immerse your Self in Knowing that :

- (1) -   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8IozVfph7I

- ( 2 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3byt7xMSCA

- ( 3 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbpuSPL-FNU

- ( 4 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LiWlvBro9eI

- ( 5 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yL33hii4Y9U

- ( 6 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cgz5BELaYW0

- ( 7 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwdWqBzdvtQ

- ( 8 ) -  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NwfGA4cxJQ

- ( 9 ) -  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6w3tndTJ-hI

- ( 10 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aufuwMiKmE

- ( 11 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wop91_Gvwos

- ( 12 ) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5kBqrHphjo

What you do Today, resounds in Eternity. You the Wise Human must Do. It is in Doing that you must Place your Faith, if Wise is the mode of that which is termed as Humanity.

– # # # –

Alexander K. Rai ( The Homo Sapien Author of this modest Screed ) is a Self Styled International Designer, Author, Commentator, Spiritualist, Traditionalist, and Transcendentalist. His Life as a Wise Human has not extended so very many years as to become either enviable, ironic, lucrative, or quintessential. This Homo Sapien is inclined to Hope that you the Wise Human – the Reader – will aid in the Author intending things to be kept that way, after reading this modest commentary offered by a fellow of your own Genus, Species, and Taxonomie in the Categories of things known and unknown, lamented and pardoned. The fact a quixotic Sixty Eight year old Man from New Jersey – a retired veteran of the Korean War – thought highly enough of him a few years back to solicit him to join the Adult Fraternity of Free and Accepted Masons of Philadelphia not so long ago, does not make him a “member of a Global Conspiracy”, any more than offering a human being a napkin after he has had the most inconvenient of sneezes, makes a Wise Human any wiser than he ought to be.  As a Christian by Deed, a Mystic by nature, and a Humanist in Principle, Alexander believes that Decency is the highest Obligation of all Free Men, and the Only Binding Contract between all Men is the unwritten manifesto of Life itself, which, blessed by the mercies of Virtues, Providence, and God, salvages all Men from the bondage formed by their Great and Modest Delusions, which causes them to Suffer Tragedies and Comedies of their own Errors of essential and otherwise irreversible Fallibility. Alexander’s “True Political Views” as an American is contained within two words and one name : ‘Ron Paul’. ( Google the phrase on ‘Youtube.com’) . He believes Barack Obama is -  all things considered – indeed an Honorable Man, while also believing that all Honorable Men should Strive to Be the Change they can Truly Believe ( And Invest ) In. As a Cardholding Libertarian Alexander has as much Faith in the Republican Party as he does in the fundamental Sanctity and Integrity of  a Banana Peel being tossed about between a bellicose and noisy bunch of Apes.

Imagining A Natural Hierarchy of Values.

Chapter 1 : Sacrilege as Entertainment – Or “Russian Mail Order Brides” – Or ‘Goring of the Critic’ – Or  . . . ( dot com )

“What is the problem with Modernity?”

Is the cool and voluntary public criticism of  the vacuum-like, holotropic emptiness of looming buildings screeching upwards like the exclamation marks on the scrawled out thesis paper of the caffeine indoctrinated concoctioner of complex financial instruments; — too  great a discouragement to his “freedom of speech” ?

The clauses and by-clauses that differentiate speech from effort – pointing out with fingers lifted with a well-meaning goodwill – in the pointing direction of suggesting the marked distinctions to be made between Wisdom and Intellection the same as between Speaking and Doing,-  a tad disheartening to She who is an avowed moderniste?

Do contemplations of Scope and Scale, the Method and the Man, the Cause and Effect, – On fruitful love of foundations, and objections to the fruitless, banal, vapid, and inessential breathe an inadvertent  automatic act of antagonism in face of the one Sneezing with the greatest whimper while leaning on the sides of the gasoline four wheeler with the greatest bang – just by the happenstance of co-existence?

Indeed, it appears that they do – all of these – do exactly as premised – bringing to the surface without any concession the all luminous answer. Answer, of course, to the Question “What is the problem with Modernity” –  In the neat, unfolding, order of the questions, the neat order of answers offer a spontaneous and immediate damnation,- an instant transfiguration – when those that regard transcendental balance, natural truths, and fertility of hummus as sacred, in a discussion of Modernity, with those that swear by principles of the modern order of things in all its quantitative categories  all arising potentiality of a two-way conversation are done away with by the latter – for,  no where are the terms “screeching”, “indoctrination”, “discouragement”, “antagonism”, “disheartening”, “sneezing” and “whimper”, more immediate in assaulting the senses-extraordinaire with their commentaries presented in the form of neat stacks of inter-copulated sagging of neon-colors; — than in the form of the frenzies  and forays, and hectic assays of corrugated hard-boiled surfaces of fist-flattened world order edifices, a hunch or a stoop here and there casting a staunch frown, with an illicit and odious gastric look about it — and a whole pantheon of holes carved in the black heart of concrete-  widely indoctrinated into gullible consciousness of the multitudes to forcefully symbolize an absolute archetypical representation and diktat of  what was once regarded and understood by the term “windows”.

Chapter 2 :  The Scythe. The Rape. The Insolence : “What does Ourobouros eat for breakfast, mom?”

Indeed, in the face of a scythe like perdition upon the planetary resources, with trees and rubber being  flattened into paper and tire in an era of bad writing and the digital revolution, – where mortar and cement do not curb the absolute contempt towards mountains and brooks – to accommodate new hotels and grandiose ski-rinks –  no concessions wheresoever is permeable to the natural.

Thus it is that a profligate bevy of the un-nature, massing, hoarding, belching, and rallying, and commandeering the most downright internal element of natural refuge in man , down to the solaceless, irradiated entrails, foregoing all sweetness – or even neutrality in regards of the senses, with a contempting  malice and coldness, that only the concrete in the street can assuage, commiserate, or reconcile, by the virtue of its flat emotionless blackness – it lays abundant, self-evident, conspicuous retorting like a snide and insipid cartoon : “Indeed, what is the problem with Modernity.”

James Howard Kunstler has finally spoken to the serpentine highway. He has reticulated outwards from his armchair by the use of his two grips, rising out of as one cast outwards from some deep breath of inner fire-side chat after some long and necessary condition of infirmity, – James Howard stood up with a spine erect, and gazed Sensibly into the outdoors with a connoisseur’s resolve, and decided to take a Stroll on behalf of the Americas – and as he slides his warming toes into the walking ricotta cheese colored Summer sandals – he feels the despair of the Taiwanese entering him through the crack of his toenails.

Chapter 3 : The Homo Economicus and his Tryst  and Triumph ( with the Armchair) .

Harnessed forward by a new will to Breathe Life, as half-fumbling, yet determined, he reaches for the walking staff – he feels in his musculature the plight of half of the purloined sixteen hour stitchcraft of one half of the Penang Peninsula ; fastening his tie into a loose and disambiguous knot, – he may just as well sense the asphyxiation of Xi-Ching, reaching for the impalpableTao.

He feels so prodigious that, nearly a venerable septuagenarian from a venerable Baltimore, Maryland- he could find himself serenading  Mulan from the open hatch of a time-traveling Messerschmitt, while gunning down the mercenaries of the evil red dragon.

Ah! The dear man! Stare at him! Leaving, frolicking out, into his green lawn, the surface skin of his varicose veins groping for the Soil of Providence itches centimeter by centimeter – doused by silent protocols of paid for pesticides, irrigated by the hissing nozzles of a gurgling water making a fuss about nothing and dripping into an acre of Baltimore – where Pumpkins will not grow this Halloween, but yet the queer effect of this puerile charm of  water mechanics would be just as morose – in the event of a Martial Law in the District of Columbia later in the year.

James Howard Kunstler – stares with a forlorn and  twitching despair into the blues of the skies, clouds sloping gently on the knolls of firmaments, – the heavy fog stream of the chemtrail  pathway is reminiscent of the propeller airplanes every child in the world had wanted to fly at the age of Seven– and every child in wanting it had imagined the cinematic American Dream as produced by Walt Disney, Incorporated.

As he stares ( into the great abyss of Two Thousand and Nine ) – James Howard urinates into his lawn – a clear stream of rivulets, cascading outwards like a revolution of quantum, newly christened, fractals, unto a rose undershrub on his “plot” like a torrent written about in one of Pearl S. Buck’s novels about the Chinese Boxer Uprising.

Chapter 4 : The Homo Aquarius : He Lets the Water Loose .

As such, James Howard Kunstler is heroic, new, – and unknown to his countrymen. He thinks, letting out the water that had bottled up in him for so long like a dead sea crying in the wilderness, – a spokesperson appearance at “Technology, Entertainment, Design (TED)” in Silicon Valley, was the closest he would in this modern life come to a resolution with his birthright name – ‘Kunstler’ – ‘Craftsman’ – or more allegorically interpreted ‘Hierophant – Defender of Eternal Tradition’.

His eyes closed, James Howard imagines Grecian frescoes, venetian paintings, Schiller’s poems, and lavender farms. The Appalachians , Sedona Valley, — the Himalayas. He imagines it, yes – and he imagines, a good old country song – ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’ – he imagines Berlioz’s century, and Mongolian throat music, and the letters of Thomas Jefferson, and how perfectly pretty was Sally Hemmings in a white bonnet. The rhapsodies of the Age of Pisces blaze through his cerebellum – the Center of Mental and Physical Balance – as so greatly moved, tottering,  he ponders the lines of Goethe. “In God’s good Time.”

He opens them ( his eyes ) and indulgently cranes his neck back. Only inches away, ‘The Baltimore Herald’ lies ensconsed in a shrink wrap like a packet of used kindergarten napkins. The headlines are too big for an adult to understand, and make little sense as they are written only for those who have attained the aptitude to speak the English Language ( America’s first language ) – to the level of an average thirteen year old.

Chapter 5 :  Holy Mayors, and Money Rabbis , Xanadu, and the Scent of Rosebud.

Pained, the over-educated Howard slightly scoffs with a feeling of alienation, bends down, and Squints : “ Mayors, rabbis, arrested in NJ corruption probe.” James Howard stares  emptily, remembering the international herald tribune headlines from the nineteen hundred and twenties.

Slightly panting, he mutters to himself “Didn’t they call the author of Great Gatsby an anti-semite?” -  shuddering, yet not disillusioned – he reminds himself of the dangers of radical stereotypes – as he thinks of “The War on Terror”, the neon signs Nine Eleven and Seven Eleven flashing in his head like alternative psychedelic chromium ink projections –  as his head buzzes with a thousand and seven uncategorizable radical stereotypes and feints, gasping in his intellections, – hopeless and prostrated before the collective phenomena of his times -  James Howard looks down into the Soil in confusion – his heart and mind link up like a Starbucks Coffee Company Platinum Membership grade Ethernet cable and gain exponential speed like a eight year old’s mind on the psychiatrically enforced and administered Attention Deficit Hyper Activity Disorder drug Aderrall, his thoughts gain immunity to prevailing prejudice, and rote instructions, – he races past the headlines of pharma frauds and the recent $1.4 billion lawsuit against Lilli Pharmaceuticals and Zyprexa,  and heroically transcends his own mind – and in an outburst of the Composer Brahms’ famous Requiem “All flesh is Grass”, – he stares into the bush – his cascading urine demonstrates an uncontestable powerpoint presentation like trickle down effect – gently ripping through the Cherokee brown top soil, careening like a small brook, bubbles arising, and small plucking sounds – as if intimidations to his own heart beats, – the gentle sonor of chickadees singing, and the final dusk ushering, a scent of flowers in spring bloom – a crane flies by –  Kunstler is struck in the incandescence of a natural daze in a single volume of complete and effervescent Awe.

He feels acknowledged, vindicated, and spoken for. The urinary stroll after a dark night of the soul has proven redeeming for him – and thereby, automatically for all Men on Earth. Where an uncategorizable confusion was probing, where unrecalcitrant ugliness was vast. Where intersections blurred, he remembers not so long ago he felt the warmth in his hands, that he wanted to go out for a stroll, he wished to clutch close his walking staff, and he syncopated around his neck his favorite deep blue corduroy tie,  the armchair transformed and transmuted itself into a lawn – and by further transmutation of serendipity – the word lawn – had revealed itself as a revelation more powerful in the ineffable essence of the word – Soil. “The meek shall inherit the Earth”, which he had read somewhere on some kind of a gray welfare state building – but he defers the truth to no  further intellection – no matter how tempting – emancipated, he feels an embrace releasing him from his cramps, once again, into his favorite things.

“Rosebud”.

-         # # #     –

Alexander K. Rai, MSMA ( A member to a Society of Mutual Admiration ) is an American Constitutionalist, Freethinker, Classical Scholar, and Entrepreneur from Philadelphia. He lives in Scandinavia as an American Expatriate who supports Ron Paul’s style of delivering the newborn, and though originally had wished to be a peripatetic hermit of pure Spirit, has presently elected to direct his energies of monogamy to emancipating universal human consciousness, advocating fellowship and sincerity and a passion for healing in all nations, The Truth, and genuine and articulate free enterprise built on Quintessentially American and Primeval Qualities of Self Reliance and Paleo Conservation with a firm and indelible emphasis on the role of ethics, co-creation, relevance, and reciprocity. He makes it a daily aim and studious mission to intemper his continuously diminishing indignation at “the phenomena” with Asamese lapsang tea. His Conscious Media Flagship Company is appellated ‘Green Therapy Global’ and advocates Holistic Integration of Ideas and Applications with an Earth Bound directive and a Conscious regard for “The Soil”. He was nominated by repetitive external solicitation as a Marquis’  ‘Who’s Who in America’ edition 2009 in which his name has been listed on inexpensive paper and economy grade indigo ink, and has never graduated from any Private or Public Institution of Mass Education, and if the Solar Flares do manage to “trickle down” through the Hole engineered by Tesla Science and Wernher Von Braun, – without a doubt, he never will nor will anyone in the graduating Class of 2012 – anywhere.