short
version
Our random bits may learn
their only hope
of going on is to effect
complex complicity.
The myth they do not labor
under is Simplicity.
======================
long
version
Pinocchio and Cyrano de
Bergerac attempt to teach
the nose’s uses in a moral
fable, one supposes. One,
you don’t lose worth if
you’ve a long one. Two, your worth
diminishes
as it grows long. Hard to grasp from that what’s
right
and wrong. But I shall raise the cry: it’s not impertinent
to praise appurtenances which proceed from what
we are,
whatever they and that may
be. Indeed, the psychic aids
we breed to feed our sense
of pleasure and inspire
the wherewithal to measure,
treasure and enact it can be just
as complicated and
protracted as they need to be without
becoming an occasion for
alarm. They may or may not cause
horrific consequences we
can see, but their complex anatomy
won’t necessarily cause
harm, indeed may conjure up
what charms. William James
described his brother Henry’s
“encrustations” – how Henry
spoke and dressed and lived –
as equivalent to barnacles
and sea growths which throughout
the years accrued to him,
amassing to create the ornate
flask of his appearance and
his manner – so they’d be up
to the considerable task of
storing and then pouring
who he was into appropriate
receptacles. That this made him
something of a spectacle,
and not one everybody liked
(though I’d have loved it),
didn’t matter. It would seem our
beings don’t like splatter,
unless their mission is to make
a mess. But most of us must
coalesce. We’re each a sort of
oddly dressed and stuffed
and basted turkey we re-grease
and we re-heat to offer on
a platter to display the whole array
of us: our most, our least.
Some will choke on it, some feast.
Our random bits may learn
their only hope
of going on is to effect
complex complicity.
The myth they do not labor
under is Simplicity.
.
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