What silliness we mortals manifest when we continually deny our deaths with our clever distraction techniques.

I was reading someone else's blog this morning, out of curiosity, since I like her books, and am in a recurring unrequited sea of sloppy love (if only on a fantasy level, sigh...) with her piano playing protagonist (Chopin's Nocturnes being probably enough reason for a person to live in order to hear in all possible forms available as anything else on the planet, me thinks).

It set me on a thinking tangent all about psychology, psychologizing and psycholofoolery of all sorts.


Now, see, I spent my youth being unafraid of the word crazy since I come from a family each of whom believed to their boots that the rest of us were/are all nuts...and the prevailing attitude attendant to that was: so, who isn't? and so what?

Then in later years, the last one of high school, to be specific, a psychology class was offered for the half of the school year left over from the other half which was being devoted to the study of our system of Govermentation by the State of Michigan who did require us all to have at least one semester of American Government crammed into our youthful open minds. (I was later much amazed to discover that legally, in this state, the only requirement for graduation is that half a year class, the one about American government. Can you believe it? Think about it. All that other stuff? Who gave the system all this power? In this time of cyber everything, that system can't possibly last, you know?

Both classes were taught by Mr Donley, the school coach. Basketball coach, baseball coach, football coach...he was the coach. It was a small school (South Lyon H.S. nine miles from Ann Arbor and heavily laced with U of M proclivities), what can I tell you.

Good ol' Mr Donley. He spoke in an unidentifiable drawl of some kind that may have been caused by living somewhere outside of Michigan in his formative years but I suspect that there was something about how his jaw functioned that influenced it even more, or maybe it was something to do with how a man develops his vocal habits from the side lines of a sports arena trying to speak over hysterical cheer leaders and hormone charged screaming teen kids about to enter the real world sooner than they might otherwise choose if they knew what they were in for...be that as it may...,

he, Mr D, introduced us to the psychological mazes constructed by people, many of whom I later found, are just about as screwed up as any as can be found on the planet. What little sanity there is that seems to emanate from that psychology crowd of time-filling non-believers in the concept of the soul, I later discovered:

They are the ones who wave words around once upon a time being invented by what one might label the Biggest Axis of Intellectual Evil Psychologizer of them all, Siggy Freud... said sanity might fill a demitass cup, or a thimble, perhaps if you drew several of them together and managed to gather it (said sanity) with some ephemeral and or gossomer collection devices as yet might be discovered. Anyway....

The flashiest concept extant when I was first introduced to the convoluted thinkers nooks created by them folks was the Theory of the Unconscious.

Man. What a boon doggle that one is.
You are thinking, the concept goes, or the theory goes, you are thinking of things that you are unaware of...
so, watch out. There's more to things of this world than are known in yer philosophy, goes the warning. So...
So.
Following on this basic construct whole colleges of soft scientists sat and mulled about it, (them)self(ves) and each other until some mathematicians entered the frayed nets cast about by the bunch of em...them who delved into the workings of the human brain while undergoing some kind of average human experience (you know, what most of us call "life.")
Behavior was measured, statistically analyzed and certain 'facts' began to pile up.

This led off in many directions one of em being to an eventual army of humanity cueing up to be seen by those who hung a shingle with letters after their names, and others who were gathered up into the military and the medical community...etc..
We became a world of or a nation of those being seen and those who see us. Let us not get into what's what since the chemists entered the scene. Uproarious good fun wasn't to be had by any, and isn't even now, so let's put that alchemical lack of a sense of humor completely aside, whaddya say.

What is it about human nature that gives us to look outside of ourselves for authorities to tell us what is fair, decent, not to say normal or not... plus.: if normal normal does not pertain then what kind of not normal exists in said human specimen, is their daily labor.. what kind of wierd is this..? And to pay up dearly for the privelege? Sheesh. Psychoanalysis, it is said, only holds up in the cases of males between the ages of 24 and 36 or so...what is it that dulls our brains such that we do not begin to question the foundations of such thinking patterns?

I suspect it is related to that aspect of human nature that gets all giggly at the notion of seeing Tom Cruise up close and personal. You know, Tom "I know what is real and true and you don't" Cruise.

You know what I am talking about, I am talking about the matter of Celebrities and How We Love and Honor Them.

It might just be connected. You think? Lemme think on it.
Sprtcs