Possessed Purple (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 233)

If you possessed purple, had found it or it had found you, and you loved purple, knew that you loved it as much as you could ever love anything in your life with every fiber of your awareness and being, could you be content and happy with that possession and such a finality to your supposed greatest desire?

That purple might need some polishing and refinement to achieve the greatest essence and expression of purple that it was meant to be for itself and the rest of the universe, but nonetheless, purple it was and purple it would always be.

Or would you throw that purple away, that purple and its finality, because you desired to strive and chase and pursue and dream of finding purple more than you actually ever wanted to hold it and love it?

Would you need to ignore or banish that purple from your life, so that you might instead take red and focus all of your will and desire on turning it, turning a completely different color, into purple?

Would you spend your irreplaceable and forever lost time choosing to futilly mix blue into red forevermore, claiming that one day, one day far off in the future, that you would obtain the purple you always dreamed of in a fairy tale ending?

And in the meantime, while pursuing this steadfast goal, would you explain away all of the inherent fear and anxiety you keep cradled in your heart by scapegoating red in anger and resentment for its inability to mix and morph catalytically with blue according to your well thought out plan?

Would red become your blame for unhappiness and suffering as a sacrificial lamb of perpetual dissatisfaction even as it is continuously implemented as the essential willful distraction to your denial of the bliss and love that is so easily available to you in the finality of possessed purple?



Bokonon’s Republic (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 159)

Bokonon had written a whole book about Utopias. The Seventh Book, which he called “Bokonon’s Republic.” In that book are these ghastly aphorisms:

The hand that stocks the drug stores rules the world.

Let us start our Republic with a chain of drug stores (prioritizing the protection of our own individual health, aches and pains, on our own demand via corporatism), a chain of grocery stores (our individual gluttony of the gullet supported by corporatism), a chain of gas chambers (prisons, a militarized and bullying police force, and any “indigenous” national scapegoat to take all the blame and be punished for being the enemies of public good and general welfare that they happen to be), and a national game (to obsess over and rewrite as our bullying team tries to destroy every other team in an over-dominating spectacle: the MLB, NFL, NBA, NHL, etc, etc, etc.). After that, we can write our Constitution (any way we want because everyone is too egocentric to care about anyone or anything else other than their own selfish distractions, excuses, and entertainment).

***forgive the added Cribb explanations in parentheses for those who get the original untainted and glorious satire of Vonnegut as it stands in its own succinct purity.

Cat’s Cradle

Kurt Vonnegut          1963

Unnoticing Small Unempathic Acts (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 143)

We should be mindful that unempathetic acts can have long-term consequences. Consider that back in 1542 Martin Luther wrote a pamphlet entitled Against the Jews (calling on Catholics to attack them) in which he advocated burning synagogues and destroying Jewish homes. Four hundred years later the young Adolf Hitler quoted Martin Luther in Mein Kampf to give his own Nazi racist views some respectability, going on to create the concentration camps like the one nine-year-old Thomas Buergenthal was in, with gas chambers that ended up killing 6 million Jews. This shows how dangerous it can be if small unempathic acts go unnoticed. My cousin Sacha (whose comic character Borat exposed contemporary anti-Semitism by posing as an anti-Semite himself) quotes Cambridge historian Ian Kershaw’s chilling phrase: “The path to Auschwitz was paved with indifference.

The Science of Evil

Simon Baron-Cohen          2011

The Majority of Power and the Minority of Not; A Sick Cycle of Blame and Reincarnating Crucifixion (WPMY 128)

The majority of power most often trains the minority of not

to become as foul, overbearing, unbalanced, and oppressive

as they themselves happen to be.


the majority looks back upon their damaged and broken child,

the extrinsic manifestation of their philosophies and behavior,

the Frankenstein that they have brought to life in their own deplorable image,

and they despise the irrefutable evidence reflected so pristinely in a mirror of reaping.

The avoidance of wandering gaze and ignorance impossible,

majority sins must be shed in the undeniable burden they bear.

Upon the minority lamb they fall

in excusing demonization,

to ripen for sacrificial slaughter and bountiful fruiting distraction.

Washed in blood and its pooled reflection,

We slaughter the lamb,

We kill our enemies,

We subjugate our workers,

We destabilize our own children, our own pets, and our own mates.

We even travel to the future to conquer the rebellious robots of our creation.

Our Father who art in heaven,

Hallowed be our delusion.

Our kingdom come,

Our will be done,

In heaven as it is on earth.

Give us this day,

More than our brothers,

More than our need,

And hold us not in account for any of our Debts,

Nor any of our greed,

Forgive us our trespasses,

As we crucify the scapegoat embodiment of our own relentless madness and sin,

And let us not see nor hear nor speak of our own sick and utterly hypocritical behavior,

But deliver us from all awareness and the keeping of our brothers.

Forever and ever,




The Planting of a New Dream (L vs S 226)

He tried to picture himself living in an ideal world with the young woman from the dream. He sees Tereza walking past the open windows of their ideal house. She is alone and stops to look in at him with an infinitely sad expression in her eyes. He cannot with stand her glance. Again, he feels her pain in his heart. Again, he falls prey to compassion and sinks deep into her soul. He leaps out of the window, but she tells him bitterly to stay where he feels happy, making those abrupt, angular movements that so annoyed and displeased him. Her grabs her nervous hands and presses them between his own to calm them. And he knows that time and again he will abandon the house of his happiness, time and again abandon his paradise and the woman from his dream and betray the “Es muss sein!“* of his love to go off with Tereza, the woman born of six laughable fortuities.

All this time he was sitting up in bed and looking at the woman who was lying beside him and holding his hand in her sleep. He felt an ineffable love for her. Her sleep must have been very light at the moment because she opened her eyes and gazed up at him questioningly.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

He knew that instead of waking her he should lull her back to sleep, so he tried to come up with an answer that would plant the image of a new dream in her mind.

“I’m looking at the stars,” he said.

“Don’t say you’re looking at the stars. That’s a lie. You’re looking down.”

“That’s because we’re in an airplane. The stars are below us.”

“Oh, in an airplane,” said Tereza, squeezing his hand even tighter, and falling asleep again. And Tomas knew that Tereza was looking out of the round window of an airplane flying high above the stars.

*It must be

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Milan Kundera          1984

Cribb Comment: The passage above is a convergence of awakenings (from old dreams and to new ones) for both of the characters, Tomas and Tereza. As in all relationships, the catalytic reaction and yield is unavoidably a result of the combined elements or forces of both of the individual variables. Sadly, it seems we most often project all of the responsibility and outcome onto the reaction, understanding, and appreciation of our partner of ourselves. In the first paragraph, Tomas arrives at the epiphany that he has been chasing some sort of false idol or dream all of his life, looking for a distorted perfection of a woman that never was and never will be. His previous focus upon such had remained hidden in the depths of his subconsciousness and this is a common defense mechanism oft utilized by both sexes, to “dream” or live focused in the future, so that he (they) may ignore the reality of the present. Es muss sein further identifies his previous obsessiveness (addiction) towards some false construct of achievement or future existence. Again, an elaborate tool of distraction to withdraw and avoid the present. In this passage, Tomas finally achieves full awareness of this demon which allows him to cast it out of his soul forevermore.

Tereza, suffering in her own right from insecurity tied to her past, has always projected onto to Tomas a condescension in regards to herself. Thus “You’re looking down.” Note the isolated “you” and the “down.”

And finally love beckons love, as both characters escape the past and the future to enter into the present together. With the planting of a new dream (these words coupled with his actions within the novel), confidence within Tereza is birthed and nurtured; Tomas lifts Tereza’s soul out of her perpetual doubt and up above the stars, to be with him, as his chosen equal, forevermore.


Love vs Sex 146

I came quite close to doing it a couple of times, though. One time in particular, I remember. Something went wrong, though—I don’t even remember what any more. The thing is, most of the time when you’re coming pretty close to doing it with a girl—a girl that isn’t a prostitute or anything, I mean—she keeps telling you to stop. The trouble with me is, I stop. Most guys don’t. I can’t help it. You never know whether they really want you to stop, or whether they’re just scared as hell, or whether they’re just telling you to stop so that if you do go through with it, the blame’ll be on you, not them. Anyway, I keep stopping. The trouble is, I get to feeling sorry for them. I mean most girls are so dumb and all. After you neck them for a while, you can really watch them losing their brains. You take a girl when she gets really passionate, she just hasn’t any brains. I don’t know. They tell me to stop, so I stop. I always wish I hadn’t, after I take them home, but I keep doing it anyway.

The Catcher in the Rye

J.D. Salinger          1945

Regretfully, I feel that I must clarify, for some readers, the author’s use of “dumb” and “losing their brains” and “she hasn’t any brains.” It is obvious to me that these are not references of female inferiority or mental compromise, but otherwise describing the overwhelming passionate and empathetic nature of women, including dare I say, their natural sexual drive and desire.

Cribb Comment          2015

Running into a Brick Wall – 3


Soon, another woman drives up and gets out of her car. She waves energetically and says “Hi! Hi there!” She clip-clops towards the man and woman in noteworthy, high heeled shoes, moving her body in ways that have surely been refined and perfected to draw the attention of anyone within eyesight. She speaks again as she draws closer to them. “I’m sorry I took a little while to get here. I have been shopping and they were having a great sale. You know how I love to shop. Fun, fun, fun! The best therapy in the world if you ask me. I haven’t found a problem yet that I couldn’t cure with a credit card and some fabulous retail. They had a sale on…….oh nevermind, it doesn’t really matter.” She silences her words for a second and stops her clip-clopping. Her stance strikes the form of a relaxed, but yet fairly provocative pose. Then, she glances with pursed lips ever so momentarily at the man, before looking at the bruised and battered woman. Her expression changes immediately from sultry to cute-pouty-concerned. Still however, she somehow retains a glow of polished advertising that radiates about her. “Let’s go shopping babydoll. Let’s go have some fun. You me and some sexy ass attire. We can find some clothes and shoes that will make everyone…EVERYONE want us. We will be the talk of the town. Maybe a little shorty short skirt for you…to get all the men salivating and chasing all after you? What do you think?”

Bruised and battered replies “I’m not really up for shopping right now. I was kinda thinking of something more low key. Maybe just some one on one time with some good conversation. I could really use some good friend time.”

“I hear you. That sounds great to me too. It really does….but, why not do it in style and have fun with a few men chasing after us in our new sexy clothes? We can just play with them….it doesn’t have to lead anywhere or to anything serious…..just some hungry looks, some pickup lines that will hopefully be charming, and a free bar tab for both of us all night long. Doesn’t that sound fun. You know it does. Come on! Let’s be the sexy bitches we are and knock ’em dead.” She directs the overwhelming majority of her gaze directly at the brick wall collider as she tries to persuade her, but in between some of her words, she not-so-subtly glances at the man and gently teases a little lock of her hair whenever she happens to do so.

“I don’t feel like shopping and I really don’t want to be eye candy…..or feel like I’m being hunted tonight. I can’t play that game right now and I don’t want to worry about trying to look sexy or hot. I just want to relax and be myself. Could we maybe just…”

“I understand babydoll, I do, but this lady is on a mission today. I have to hit a few more of my favorite stores before it gets too late. I need to find the perfect attire. I am meeting some of my girlfriends tonight at the bar….my thought was that you could join the group……but anyway, it is imperative that I be the sexiest bitch there. I don’t want there to even be the slightest question of it. They all have to know who is the sexiest of all.” And her own mischievous laughter, full of dark intent, becomes an exclamation point for these words. After a moment, she continues smiling like a predator might “I wish you would join me and all of my future victims, but we all gotta do what we gotta do. It looks like you gotta just do nothing…..and I gotta go titillate both the boys and the ladies with my marvelous and minimally flesh covered fashion sense. I hope you feel better. I really do. Now, wish me luck!” She steps closer and gently kisses the bruised and battered woman on the cheek of the unswollen side of her face. The kiss looks more choreographed than heartfelt in its posture and delivery. “Kisses!” She slowly turns away from the woman, and as she does, she also deliberately catches the eyes of the man once more and twerks her ass ever, ever so slightly. She tries to tease him with her eyes, saying it could be fun for you…..you are just like all men…you know you want to play in my secret garden, but the only reflection found within his eyes is of disinterest, perplexion, and disappointment. Clip-cloppity looks terrified for a millisecond, but then her made-up face snaps back to condescending-runway-model-mode. “She smiles again, this time at both of them. “Have fun doing nothing! Enjoy! I’m off to conquer the world. You know how they love me” and her gait of an advertisement slumbers to her car. She climbs in, closes the door, and drives away.

The man feels like running into the brick wall himself and he isn’t really sure why. It might be to give himself brain trauma or it might be to try and take the pain of insanity and madness away from the woman he has been standing alongside. Can he somehow take it, so she doesn’t have to? It all seems too much to bear for her, maybe for anyone. But he tries to stay strong……..for her. He tries to hold on to himself, so he can hold on for her. The man has sincere feelings for her and he would really like for both of them to just sit down alone and talk…….maybe even just hold one another, but unfortunately, he makes another mistake. “Did she even realize that you were hurt? High heel lady? She didn’t even ask you if you were okay?”

Bruised and battered returns to the attack. “Are you stupid? Of course she knew I was hurt. Of course she did. She was just trying to distract me from my pain and worries. She just didn’t want me to dwell on it. She wanted me to be HAPPY! HAPPY! Something you don’t seem to care about…..”

“How can you say that? How?” The man’s head has fallen. The direction of the fall is unclear, but it has definitely fallen. “I am just trying to hel….”

Almost yelling, bruised and battered counters “I don’t NEED your help! STOP trying to help me. STOP trying to control me. You don’t know me like my friends do. They understand me and YOU don’t.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I should not have said anything about your friend. I’m just worried about you. I’m not trying to control you.” His tone is sincere. A underlying plea is evident in the cadence and rhythm of his words. 

“Words don’t mean anything. They don’t. Just be quiet, please. Just be quiet and sit next to me for a few more minutes. I’m sure one of my other friends will stop by in a minute to pick me up and then you can go criticise someone else.”


To be continued…

Cribb          2015