Sunday, October 01, 2006

Risk Taking

Survival of the Wisest

"Risks, I like to say, always pay off. You learn what to do or what not to do."

Jonas Salk said that. I like it. It's true. Salk also wrote a book called Survival of the Wisest. Some wiseman I read in all the garbled reading I do broke existence down into two columns: The Natural and The Civilized. "The Natural" is represented by The Jungle and in The Jungle all things no matter how cruel they may be are done with impunity. Right? Anything goes in The Jungle. The Civilized, however, is represented by Civilization, the creation of Artisans. The Jungle is where "Survival of the Fittest" works, the world of predatory decisions; in Civilization it's the "Survival of the Wisest." I dig that. Thinkers survive now. Is that true? My wolfish cynicism casts stones at it, though I myself as a human rather like the concept. [I know, I know, define "civilization"--not a very civil place.]

Like suddenly green tea is the biggest miracle going among the survival of the wisest. I mean, according to its promoters, there ain't nothin' green tea don't cure--Oh, yeah, it is full of caffiene, but it's not the bad caffiene...YOU SEE why I'm wolfishly cynical about every TRUTH with which I'm daily presented?

Since I argue that everything I hear or read is really a pack of LIES, then to me "the survival of the wisest" means the ability to cull out the sand grains of truth that may be smattered within the overall LIE Gestalt. Dig? Like Lies come first; Truth has to be gleaned from lies. Isn't that what Science does? Do I have to get my trusty old Webster's Collegiate out and give you the definition of "science"? Science is the seining for truths amongst huge pools of LIES. One discovers the secret to long life through being wise, not being physically built. If you devote your exercising to steroidal muscle-building then you'll end up looking and talking and thinking like Arnold Swartzenegger--everything that goon believes are LIES. He will look like a freak of nature one day when the cancer that will eventually cut him down will be the only truth to his style of life. God, I'm so hard on Arnie. It's amazing to me how the poor screwed people of California love actors enough to let them run the second largest economy on earth maybe-- but not actresses, you notice--male movie stars make it in politics not the actresses. We never had to worry about Liz Taylor becoming president like Ronnie Raygun; oh, I forgot, Liz was born in London--well then, let's see, how about Demi Moore for president? There ya go; I think I'll start a Demi Moore for president nonprofit organization.

There is a parade organizing right in front of my building as I type this out on my Mac G4, my new machine after I destroyed my wonderful Toshiba laptop. From PC back to Mac. I started out on an IBM. Remember when International Business Machines made computers? The original PCs and desktop publishers. Running on DOS, the operating system Bill Gates, a rather goofus of a Harvard dropout, stumbled onto owned by a little Seattle company, and Bill copped it as his and there ya go folks, Billy Boy took a risk with DOS and here it is 30 years later and Bill's a billionaire and I'm a simple wolfboy.

Who knows whose parade it is; you never know in NYC where there's a parade nearly every weekend--most of them trumpeting some ethnic group--today may be the Poles's turn to blow up their heritage into something magnificent--who the hell knows. The Poles gave us Lawrence Welk and polkas; what else do you want?

The parade has become exceedingly disturbing. It doesn't seem to be a marching parade; some kind of ethnic rock band is playing just in front of my building it seems like and they've been there for hours now; it's getting very disturbing.

Today's the last day of regular-season baseball for all us little wolfers--the Yankees are ending their season losing to Toronto (it's a joke, yes; Bernie Williams is the manager of the Yankees today so they aren't that serious about winning this game) and I can barely hear the ballgame over the noise of the band blaring away in the street out front--even here in the back of the building--and, it's boring the hell out of me--ethnics only know one change dammit--why not try some Amurican changes, man; American music has a hell of a lot more changes, but not this crap. Jesus, I thought parades were supposed to move down Fifth Avenue to somewhere; these bastards seem to be partying strictly in my own street. Shit on them. A group of males now shouting in monotonous unison, I suppose crowing about their powerful malehood, which rock music seems to be a stage for. I ventured out early this morning and knew something was happening, cop cars everywhere, barricades everywhere, my street closed off, 30th blocked off--SO GET THE HELL OFF MY STREETS! Parades aren't showcases for high school bands anymore; now floats have powerful speaker systems and instrument amps and mic set ups promoting commercial bands and recordings and shit. Now some deep voiced motherfucker is singing what sounds like a swami song. Maybe it's the Indians out there babbling their shit. [Turned out it was the Poles--the Saint Stanislav float right square-dab in front of my building.] Hey, Bush, even some of these Polish people look Muslim to me; can we arrest their asses on that simple observation?

"Sure, why not?" comes back the answer loud and clear from Washington, District of Corruption.

I'm headed for the Jungle looking for peace. I don't think I can take this civilization bullshit.


for The Daily Growler

No comments: