Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 34

Christmas Song – Dave Matthews Band

She was his girl, he was her boyfriend
She’d be his wife and make him her husband
A surprise on the way, any day, any day
One healthy little giggling dribbling baby boy
The wise men came, three made their way
To shower him with love while he lay in the hay

Shower him with love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love, love was all around

Not very much of his childhood was known
Kept his mother Mary worried
Always out on his own
He met another Mary who for a reasonable fee
Less than reputable was known to be

His heart full of love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love love was all around

When Jesus Christ was nailed to his tree
Said, “Oh, daddy-oh, I can see how it all soon will be
I came to shed a little light on this darkening scene
Instead I fear, I’ve spilled the blood of my children all around”

The blood of my children all around
The blood of my children’s all around

So I’m told, so the story goes
The people he knew were
Less than golden hearted
Gamblers and robbers
Drinkers and jokers, all soul searchers

Like you and me
Like you and me

Rumors insisted he soon would be
For his deviations
Taken into custody
By the authorities less informed than he
Drinkers and jokers all soul searchers

Searching for love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love, love was all around

Preparations were made
For his celebration day
He said, “Eat this bread and think of it as me
Drink this wine and dream it will be

The blood of our children all around
The blood of our children’s all around
The blood of our children all around

Father up above, why in all this hatred do you fill
Me up with love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love love was all around

Father up above, why in all this hatred do you fill
Me up with love, fill me love, love
Love, love, love, love
All you need is love

You can’t buy me love, love
Love, love, love, love
And the blood of our children’s all around

Mel Torme; Robert Wells


Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 33

Prelude: This quote sequentially, though not immediately in the narrative sense, follows the quotes present in Love vs Sex 91, 92, and 93. If you are so inclined, you may want to read those passages before the following. Arty is a congenitally deformed human with only flippers for appendages who performs in a carnival. He is a very dark and manipulative person who has essentially begun his own cult or religion through his psychopathic manipulation of the masses. Norval Sanderson is a reporter who met up with Arty and the carnival and his notes of observation follow.


“Arturism was founded,” wrote Sanderson, “on the greed and spite of a transcendental maggot named Arturo Binewski, who used his own genetic defects and the weaknesses of the unemployed and illiterate to create an insanely self-destructive following that fed his maniacal ego…”

…..Suspected earlier that Arturo was being manipulated by someone, probably the father, Al Binewski. I saw Arty as a tool for some functional “norm” who was raking in the cash from the dowries. Spent three hours with Arty today and completely revised my opinion. Arty is in complete control of the cult, of the carnival, of his parents, and apparently of his sisters and brother—though there may be some small spirit of resistance in the twins.

Arty is sporadically self-educated with a wide lacunae in his information. National and international politics are outside his experience and reading. Municipal power relationships, however, are familiar tools to him. He has no real grasp of history—seems to have picked up drifts from his reading—but he is a gifted analyst of personality and motivation, and a complete manipulator. His knowledge of science is primitive. He relies on specialists in his staff to provide him with effective lighting, sound technology, etc. He is a skilled speaker on a one-to-one level as well as in the mass-rhetoric situation of performance. He has a sharp awareness of personal problems in others…professes no ethic or morality except avoidance of pain. Says his awareness is such that he feels the pain of others and is therefore required to alleviate it by offering the sanctuary of Arturism. Obvious horseshit.

His power seems to come from a combination of techniques and personality traits. He seems to have no sympathy for anyone, but total empathy. He is enormously self-centered, proud, vain, disdainful of all who lack the good fortune to be him. This is so evident and so oddly convincing (one finds oneself thinking/agreeing that, yes, Arty is a special person and can’t be judged by normal criteria) that when he turns his interest on an individual (on me) the object (me) suddenly feels elevated to his level (as in—yeah, me and Arty are too special and unique to be judged, etc.).

Just when you feel despicable, and that Arty’s disdain is too great a burden to endure, he offers you the option of becoming his peer…..


Geek Love

Katherine Dunn          1983

The Accused and the Unwitting but oh so Hyper-focused Accuser

If you work so hard to fabricate your existence or even distract your awareness from your true self, so hard to run from whatever is truly inside, whether it be from the oblivion of obsession of whatever sort (chronic illness, children, vocation, depression, drugs, exercise, etc), the compulsive lies of charade and mask and costume (pretending to be who you are not), or the separation and distancing of yourself from others via perpetual alienation and non-forgiveness and/or over-dominance (through the righteous card or the scapegoat card or just extreme introversion), you are clearly and definitively indicting the guilty party who is the ultimate root of your anxiety, madness, and suffering: yourself.

You, all by your lonesome, are presenting the irrefutable evidence. You are pointing the finger at the accused. No one else should even enter your equation of possible (I would say more accurately, projected) blame or responsibility. The root is what must be dealt with. Anything else is avoidance and an excuse to thrash about ineffectively and perhaps become infectiously destructive and destabilizing.

Excuses do abound for anything you want to feel, preach, proclaim, or justify, but the excuses lose relevance when your focus is not hyper-focused insidiously and blindingly and pathologically upon your own egocentric fear.

Once the self chosen (no matter even if at one time it was a survival mechanism) hyper-focus on egocentric fear is acknowledged fully and completely as the willing choice it is, it can be overcome and balanced forevermore by allowing that focus to disperse diffusely and eccentrically.

If a person refuses or is unable to acknowledge this self-chosen egocentric fear present within the core of their soul, they will never ever attain balance and peace. They may fake such states and fake them well to themselves and to others, but this pseudo-behavior will only become part of an infinite cycle riddled with underlying anxiety and instability. Such a faking person will continue to cycle and crash perpetually. They will continue to ignore the root of the problem and continue to always seek out other excuses to justify their plight.


Cribb          2014

Theories and Pedestals 1

I saw my mom start a fight with my dad almost every day of his life.

And as with almost anything in this world, if you look hard enough, you can always find a reason, even if it is almost truly irrelevant, to pick a person apart or find a fault within their actions or their words. The nature of existence provides us with an infinite array of excuses to attack, destroy, or deconstruct anything or anyone that we so chose to.

I have had many theories of this behavior over time and most of those theories connect or sum-mate in one way or another. I have also seen this pattern over and over in slight or moderate variations within myself and those of who I have dated. I have written about this phenomena extensively.

My mom attacked and destroyed my dad daily because of her overwhelming insecurity. That is the bottom line….period. My dad wasn’t perfect and he may have made a lot of mistakes…he isn’t a rocket scientist and perhaps he isn’t or wasn’t the most emotionally available person in the world for my mother, but after many years of contemplation and observation of other women’s behavior in relationships, I have begun to even doubt my speculation of the lack of my dad’s availability to my mother.

You see, my primary theory has been that my mom married my dad because of timing and as an escape route to get her away from her family. Then, I have felt as though she destroyed him and blamed him forevermore, again on a daily basis, for not being her true Prince Charming or the one that she could truly love beyond any shadow of a doubt. In other words, it has seemed to me that she was too insecure to seek out a man she could really love and form an appropriate balancing union with, so she settled for a weaker man….a man that would never leave her, a man that would never call her out on her own bratish and selfish egocentric behavior, and a man who would also serve as her punching bag to absorb the force and release of all of the frustration and hate and doubt and paranoia and insecurity that she chose to hyper-focus upon in her life. It is tragic and more than plausible and in many ways. I still feel it to be a fairly accurate portrait of the actual cycle of general madness that encompassed my mother’s entire life. It is also an accurate portrayal of a very similar cycle that I fell into early in life even as I did my damnest to avoid it. The programming and indoctrination from these family dynamics is a possessive demon of the worst sort and it requires enormous effort and awareness and will to expose the beast and finally shake it from your back forevermore. And yes, even after you do so, it still will always remain there in the shadows and require constant acknowledgement and vigilance in some form or fashion.

But there is something else. Something else that seems to extend out of or beyond this observation. It is something that goes further into the darkness and deconstruction of relationships and it saddens me more than you will probably realize.

I have long held than men in general were essentially very basic creatures, lacking emotionally availability, empathy, and awareness…..and that women were essentially the victims of their own hyper-awareness, empathy, and a lack of understanding and support and nurturing from the opposite sex; the man an unempathetic sex machine of duh’s and der’s and lies to bed a woman only for his own pursuits, absent of uplifting union, and the woman an angelic creature worthy of the utmost worship and adoration due to her romantic awareness and empathy…her capability of oozing or radiating love throughout existence for all and essentially carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, while the naive or ignorant or much more basic man simply sits idly by and scratches his balls; the women suffer with their beauty and awareness and thoughts of responsibility and burden and the men sit around too peacefully, wondering what all the commotion and fuss is about.

Well, this was my Fairy Tale and I had it worked out so well and so completely in my mind forever and ever, but now I know it’s fictional…..just another one of my lost dreams…..and though it will lift some higher in its loss, it will also knock some off of a pedestal that I truly used to love…..not your type of love, but my fucking love…my non-double speaking and non-hypocritical love of pure untainted emotion. I have looked up at that pedestal, worshipping what I thought was there….what I refused to believe was not there….what I never ever gave up on….and I guess I have finally just seen too much objective evidence, too many times now, even as I tried to deny it all, not to realize that what I have seen up on that pedestal wasn’t what was really ever there, but simply just the projected image and ideal of a fusion of reality and my dreams to create the illusion of what I desired to actually be there….of what I could worship without compromise or loss of hope…even when in actuality it failed miserably to rise to the standards and graces and beauty and awareness that I had magically bestowed upon it.

To be continued…

Cribb          2014

Love vs Sex 93 (Part 3 of 3…and maybe more)

***Read Love vs Sex 91 and 92 sequentially prior to moving forward with this passage.



The setting: Our fat woman from the stands at Arty’s show has returned the next day and is waiting in his tent, prior to his show, in hopes that he will help her as he had previously stated he would. Arty’s sister (the narrator) finds her sitting in the tent waiting for the next show.

I sat down next to her and watched the heat rash on the insides of her elbows and the backs of her knees and in the folds of her chins as she talked. She had got herself into a terrible jam, she said, and it had made her realize…..She was from Warren, Ohio, and her mother was a schoolteacher but had died last year. She took a photo out of the shopping bag and showed me a picture of a fat old woman.

“What kind of a jam are you in?” I pushed. If she had strangled her old mother I was going to have her escorted to the gate, heat rash and all.

“It’s a man,” she said coyly. I couldn’t help looking at her with suspicion. She bubbled into tears right away. I looked at the photo album in her lap. She had drawn pink daisies on the cover. I figured she was the type who would doodle LOVE in big, loopy letters and dot her i’s with hearts. Her name was Alma Witherspoon. She was twenty-two riding hard on fifty-five. It seems she was a pen pal. She’d always been a pen pal. Seem’s she’d got the address of a twenty-to-life bank blaster a year or so before. He was up the road in the Earlville Federal Pen. She’d sent him a photo of one of the cheerleaders in school. After her mother died she moved down here so she could send him fresh cakes and cookies.

“We’re in love,” she said. It sounded like L♥ve. “He wants to marry me!” she moaned. “And the warden has agreed! But I thought we’d do it by telephone and now the warden says I have to go out there and do it in his office and Gregory will see how I really look!” So she needed to see the Aqua Man. She didn’t know anybody in this town. She had no relatives left to turn to. Her heat rash looked contagious. I gave her a show ticket and got away from her. “You just wait here for the show. Nobody will bother you.”

I took the cash bag to the safe and went over to help Arty get ready. I told him about Alma Witherspoon while I greased him. He lay on the massage bench and nodded. His eyes were eager. He had a funny half smile the whole time.

“She’s probably been spinning whoppers to her pen pals for years about being beautiful and popular.”

“No relatives? No friends?” he asked.

“So she says.”

“Good,” grinned Arty. He stretched and rolled his back under my kneading fingers.


(possibly continued)

Geek Love

Katherine Dunn          1983

Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 32

The bipartisan warfare state of the USA and an exemplified historical account of such, clearly seen under the Nixon administration and the “technique” chosen for his impeachment (article exert).


Another reason is the bipartisan consensus in support of the warfare state. Many politicians and intellectuals in both parties support an imperial presidency because they recognize that the Founders’ vision of a limited executive branch is incompatible with an aggressive foreign policy. When Republicans are in power “neoconservatives” take the lead, while when Democrats are in power “humanitarian interventionists” take the lead. Regardless of party or ideological label, they share the same goal — to protect the executive branch from being constrained by the constitutional requirement that the president seek congressional approval before waging war.

Cribb Note: The USA has only declared war on 11 occasions in 5 encompassing events, the first in 1812 against Great Britain and the last group being in WWII. Truman essentially began the current approach of using the military in a “police action” as opposed to a war deployment (declared by congress first) in 1947 associated with the Korean “non-war”. In a continued effort to combat the threat of Communism, Kennedy followed this approach in Vietnam as did Johnson and Nixon in successive turns. This adaptation of imperial presidential action appeared to climax when Nixon’s secret bombing of Cambodia and other evidence of egregious USA war “crimes” during the Vietnam “non-war” became known to the public at large. The War Powers Resolution, aka the War Powers Act, was then supposedly passed/enacted over the veto of Nixon, to check presidential power via congressional oversight. The War Powers Act is a joint resolution carrying the weight of a bill or law. It states that the presidents use of force in deployment must be related to 1) a declaration of war, 2) specific statutory authorization, or 3) a national emergency created by an attack on the USA or its forces. Could that excuse or provocation be any broader and ambiguous in context? Congress must then approve such action in 60-90 days for the effort to continue. The problem, like a lot of other US policy, is total intentional misdirection and slight of hand by the US government to appear to the people like this War Powers Act reigns in presidential power, when in fact it allows for the easy circumvention of congress from actually and definitively enacting a Declaration of War. Again, such an antic only helps remove checks, balances, and accountability from the entire system and most importantly trivializes the act of war in its enactment and in the perception of such by the american people. It is vile and its overreach is obviously intended.

The Vietnam “non-war” lasted for 10 years and 7 months. The Afghanistan “non-war” is now the longest “non-war” in US history, having lasted 13 years and 2 months.

The strength of the bipartisan consensus that the president should have limitless discretion in committing troops to war is illustrated by the failure of an attempt to add an article dealing with Nixon’s “secret bombing” of Cambodia to the articles of impeachment. Even at the low point of support for the imperial presidency, Congress still refused to rein in the president’s war-making powers.

The failure to include the Cambodia invasion in the articles of impeachment may well be the main reason Watergate had little to do with reining in the imperial presidency. Because the imperial presidency is rooted in the war power, attempts to rein in the imperial presidency that do not work to restore Congress’ constitutional authority to declare war are doomed to fail.

Repealing Nixon’s legacy requires building a new bipartisan coalition in favor of peace and civil liberties, rejecting what writer Gene Healy calls “the cult of the presidency,” and placing loyalty to the Constitution above partisanship. An important step must be restoring congressional supremacy in matters of war and peace.

Ron Paul          9-7-14

Love vs Sex 92 (Part 2 of 3)

*****Read the precursor Love vs Sex 91 before moving forward.


“You just want to know you’re all right. You just want to feel all right.”

And now he dives into a sneer. Arty’s sneer could flay a rhino.

“That’s all you need other people’s love for!”

The crowd is shocked into stillness. Arty grabs their throats while they’re down and starts pumping the tempo.

“So, let’s get the truth here! You don’t want to stop eating! You love to eat! You don’t want to be thin! You don’t want to be beautiful! You don’t want people to love you! All you really want is to know that you’re all right! That’s what can give you peace!

“If I had arms and legs and hair like everybody else, do you think I’d be happy? NO! I would not! Because then I’d worry did somebody love me! I’d have to look outside myself to find out what to think of myself!

“And you! You aren’t ever going to look like a fashion queen! Does that mean you have to be miserable all your life? Does it?

“Can you be happy with the movies and the ads and the clothes in the stores and the doctors and the eyes as you walk down the street all telling you there is something wrong with you? No. You can’t. You cannot be happy. Because, you poor darling baby, you believe them…..Now, girl, I want you to look at me and tell me, what do you want?”

Arty expected her to stay tongue-tied and blubbering so he could say the next line. That’s the way it always worked. But this fat woman was so used to blubbering that it didn’t slow her down. She opened her mouth wide and, though I’ve never really stopped hating her for it, I have to admit she was just saying what all of the rest of the damp, wheezing crowd was thinking. She screamed, “I want to be like you are!”

Arty stopped dead still. His flippers froze and he began to sink slowly with his face pressed into the speaking mask and his eyes close to the glass staring out. There was sobbing in the crowd. Soft voices murmured, “Yes, yes.” Arty was silent for far too long. Had he had a stroke? Was it a cramp? I started forward, ready to run around behind the tank and up the ladder. Then his voice came.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s what you want.” And I could hear his breath go in, Arty’s breath. Arty could control a mike and he never breathed so you could hear it.

“And that’s what I want for you.”

He didn’t go on with his usual talk. He said that he’d have to think how to give this gift to her. He said they should all come back the next day—though he knew few of them would—because he would have something to say to them.

McGurk didn’t know what to do with the lights. He was flickering a rainbow that made Arty almost invisible in the water. Finally Arty himself hit the switch that blacked out the tank.

The crowd started to trickle away as I ran to the back of the tank. Arty was already out on his platform and rolling in his towel.

“Arty, what’s wrong?” I whispered as I scrambled up the ladder.

“Not a thing,” he said. His face popped out of the towel and he grinned hugely, excited.

“Let’s get over to the shower quick. I want to see Doc P. right away.”


Geek Love

Katherine Dunn          1983