"We'll take it from here": Dr. Drew exemplifies the tyranny of globalizing ideology(ies)

Dr. Drew of televised fame is the latest exemplar in my purview and I thought a few words addressing a show I saw should be had.

The episode in question concerned child-spanking. The grizzly-bearded Pastor Pearl appeared as the advocate for child-spanking. Thus polarized between Drew's anti-spanking agenda and Pearl's pro-spanking ones, the debate ensued. Pearl retained his composure against the goading Drew, who kept repeating how much it hurt when Pearl demonstrated his wares by tapping Drew across the back of the hand with a tube of some sort. Not only did Pearl retain his composure, but he sure-footedly invoked studies to support his contention that children respond favourably to spanking; that a child who disobeys a parents and thus endangers himself must have if necessary as a final barrier to self-destruction a punitive measure physically doled. Noting Sweden as an example of radical increases in childhood malignant behaviour after the introduction of a no-tolerance spanking law, and adding that of course the law itself is not wholly responsible but part of a series of interrelated cultural factors, he spoke of the multitudes of spanked children who grow to be loving, successful, happy people (he seemed to emphasis entrepreneurism to cite this, which was interesting).

Drew was outraged. Like an idiot savant, he kept repeating this especially telling mantra: "It sounds like you want to raise a warrior class." Drew's contention was that spanking inspired aggression in children, spoke to their "reptilian" brain (he brought out a couple of psychologists who offered a ludicrously simplified support for this); that a child will be--get this--brain damaged if spanked (we're not talking massive beating against the skull; this is taps on the butt and hands). The psychologists ignored Pearl's continued citing of people and of studies where rather than become anti-socially aggressive in adulthood, men and women who had been spanked, including Pearl's own children, were socially well-adjusted. One of the psychologists misspoke and no doubt harmed his career on the show by saying that Pearl didn't know what he was talking about because he had "no eduction." Drew's house psychologist, meant to support Drew's advocacy of non-spanking, ended up like Drew himself to appear far more aggressive, angry, outraged and much closer to physical violence than the peaceable and logical Pearl. The irony abounds but fits.

Drew is part of the media machine and its corportist interests, of which ideology a vital feature is the subjugation of the populace, creating a pliant and docile populace, in order to control them at State-Corporate levels. Drew baulks at the idea of parents physically disciplining their children, a routine that would preempt the child from becoming an undisciplined adult. An undisciplined adult does in fact get disciplined, finally by the legal system which will physically violate the adult through the penal system and its fashioned violence, itself ensured by the coercive threat of violence by the state (e.g, police, army). To this, Drew has no complaints; this does not solicit any outrage from him; and precisely because his agenda, conscious or not, in denying a parent the right to prepare and guide his/her child is to allow the state to do it--the Corporate State is to control people, "nurture" them, plow the metaphorical fields for them in their old age, not their biological parents. By ommission, hypocrisy and prosyletization, Drew petitions mightily and to millions who imagine him enlightened, mantled by his brutalizing authority as a doctor for the absolute, inescapable exploitation of children (humanity), on a scale Ceausescu dreamt of in his headiest moments of grandiosity.

Drew and his tiny but through television and state (educational) sanctified, powerful clique, claims that a child who is spanked will hate his parent; he believes (?) this a psychological inevitability. The absurdity of the belief that a spanked child will hate her/his parent is axiomatically and in observable truth denied: the parent is the guide, the life-giver and maintainer, the teacher, the beloved. A child even in the face of the most egregious abuses of parenting will suffer acute pyschological torment rather than actively despise the parent; and in situations of corrective spanking, of hindering the child from hurting itself, the child will be able to grow and adjust favourable in its social climate and thereby appreciate all the parent did (for spanking is, after all, a small portion of the parenting). In like manner, a child unmoored from his/her parent; a child who life-giver, corrector, sustainer, becomes the corporate state, will love that state, which is far more repressive. The child in loving the corporate state will give its allegiance to it, will freely and with love offer his/her labour-energy to it as a farmer's child will labour for his/her parents when they're age precludes them from sustaining the farm.

Drew claims that spanking would create a warrior class and in one way he's right; for as Pearl notes, politicians from top (presidents/prime ministers) to the bottom rank very highly in the incidence of spanking when children; that is, many were. They indeed became warriors, not "street criminals" but grand ones. What frightens Drew, on his own behalf and those to whom he prostitutes himself, is that the spanking will occur within a context of parental love, understanding and involvement; for how could a small group own so much of so many if all thought and acted alike?

Drew indeed believes in spanking; however, he's a globalizer and wants that spanking and its consequentially-won allegiance given to relatively small number of people who own most of the world's wealth, creates its laws to sustain that wealth, and with self-generating greed wants more. Like the former Romanian leader, he would take a child and place it directly in the hands of a centralized authorit(arian)y immediately after birth. He would have it raised by that authority's apparatus of control: the television, video games, psychologists, malls (food, clothing, drugs, entertainment), and public education (which mandate has increasingly become caring for students beyond teaching; they are to parent them). Children who defy their parents blatantly, routinely, are said by these same venues--movies, television, psychologists, psychiatrists--to be undergoing a "natural" phase in their development; that is, we are told that a biological and universal principle of human life is responsible for their defiance; that it is to be understood and even embraced while ameliorating its most painful side-effects and affects by--guess who and what-- a doctor who will dispense pills and render counterproductive advice (if happiness is the sought product). The cycle ensures a front-to-end containment and control of human energy whose continuity, made possible by organs like the media, the education system, the legal system and the medical system, almost precludes the ability of an average man or woman to circumvent it and raise children outside of the tentacled vortex of global human exploitation before imagined and now seen.

hairspraying love

--says she is a mistake

--didn't get a video message

--she makes me laugh (dead bird) turky comment

--how I slept on the couch

--Frohe Weihnachten

--stuffing: butter, eggs, two loaves of cubes wheat bread, celery, salt, pepper, pears, pecans, apple, rosemary, parsely, poutry seasoning; mashed potatoes with garlic, roasted carrots, boiled peas,

I was admonished for using Jessy's deodorant spray. She said it was hers. Marjorie the bloodless, hypocritical landlady concurred. I assented to her concurrence like a whipped son. What I should have said is this: if you sink yourself into a woman, smear you body and soul into her with all the grief of dreams fulfilled and forgotten; if you devote the fundament of your passion to hers, your very spit sheathing her tongue; if the cry of your ancestors burst through your lungs when you bury your seed into her; and if she gives you the very same, her everything, her mournful and hungry womanhood, with abandon and lust; if two people thrust with the will of God themselves unto another in the oldest dance, sopping and smeared and always right; if you've given everything worth anything, your spirited anguish and love, how can you baulk at the person to whom you've relinquished your all for using a bit of spray. The absurdity is a modern/post-modern one: we are told that we're individuals, unrelated to each other except through economic exchange. We're told that we are or if not should be isolate units; that is "natural." That, I say, has nothing to do with nature and everything with prescriptive bullshit designed to enslave us by divorcing us from the strength we gain by doing the natural; that is, recognizing and fully immersing ourselves in our humanity through others, a biological directive sung since time began, in our very genes.

Packing abs properly

Following a slew of irate responses to an article somewhere about six-pack abs. The author conveyed that as a goal in life it's an unworthy one, though he agreed that trying to have them is fine (his ambivalence bothered me a little).

Agreeing that a life led by the wonky want of capitalist-construed imagery the better to sell sell sell and distract distract distract proves unheroic from every perspective I care to have. And having many, I'll approach six-packing thusly:

Assign each of those potential units of six to another aspect of your existence: An ab for sexual prowess; an ab for a spectrum of personality traits whose constellated form paves the path towards enlightenment or depth or joy or all or nothing but sits better as a testament to life when life's about other than putting all of your doubly metaphorical abdominal eggs in one basket. Another ab--kids and bunnies. Ab four clearly bangs hammer to iron in efforts to extract enough material from this o so generous earth to feed kin and self and future generations thereof sprung. The fifth ab is all about you in some way that's uniquely forged; the originality ab. Splinter the remaining ab, post it to the four winds of your body, stay healthy but never in subjugation to the other five abs, which must certainly labour for the sixth as much as each other.

To Her, And to the Reader

Struck down, we're able to rise; arisen, we can relax. Every horror has its countermanding and reflexive beauty. The only sorrow is mental inertia. Our only clothing, the Arts. We hold hunger at abeyance with thought while thought creates an ever-increasing appetite for itself never gratified and always so, like the Ouroborous. And that's what these counter-impuslive instincts mean, the whole dichotomous thought of dichotomy, Hegelian dialecticism, a dutchman's movie about welding together several people surgicially: the need for an acceptance of the self by whatever is not known to us, by something outside the physical confines of our bodies and the limitations of the mind held within them. It is a need to contact the source of us and our purpose, "nature without check with original energy"  (Whitman).  Humanisim, egocentrism, solipsism and its functionaries (humanists for example), the Cartesian division between spirit and matter, scientism--these are some of the terms used to describe the shape this need has taken, which is to say that our "original energy" is us and not to be found in commune with something not us, not individual, not just you and not just me. "Centipede" is actually an apt expression of this need for communion when it's shorn of any abstract or metaphysical and true kernel of vital, original energy...it's like mechanically having two dead otters (pick a creature) mate: nothing will be produced, no new life. The films talks about futility. It's the logical conclusion of the philosophies that have become in the last few centuries entrenched guides to our worldview: the attempt to reconcile the need for an Other who is the Self but not the Self, with the belief that there is only the Self. Do you not feel these competing energies inside of you? I know I do. I know the bewildering love of all whilst drawing from life life, and the sense of power in replenishing the gift with a smile or a story or a treatsie. I know at the same contrasting time the antithetical belief that I am in all ways alone, and that all else is but an illusion...you have dispelled that illusion for me. I am not alone. In your difference and in your likeness I find myself in love again and like only love can mean: for the first time. Your being purges all of my inertia. You make me want everything all the time, and everything is that thing that makes me want: you. There's not a gesture or glance or inflection or thought or moment between us where I am not happy or aroused or anxious or amused and prompted to exist. I feel myself fully with you. Excited, curious, grand, hopeful. I can feel our lips as one, our eyes closed as the world gutters into oblivion and is replaced by ours.

I have and always will favour creation, whatever its nature or guise. And I will always acknowledge the fundamentally corroborative :) nature of that creation. Because what comes through me is a new form but not a new essence. I participate in essence and create in form. The form does not essence alter; for the essence is to me itself the process of endless reformulation. Therein my personal dichotomies are reconciled on an artisitc and mental plane: being independent in the profoundest way, by making myself from myself and issuing it back out into the world to feed from again. I grow my own crops. 

I only want to eat with and you.

You asked me to love you boldly, Reader. Or you parents did (some animal outside my door did call, I remember). I do, will:  ardency razes all deterrence, all trifling indecision, with a want no other singularity could in energy and in determination compare. Alone not subject to the artifices of analysis and recommendations of carnal or imagined fear; alone my only song sung before I could speak; alone a primordial need I race towards, atop of Time, pestering and whipping its back, you are for me, and for me unique.

Your Servant,

Iphurthen