Caveman Meets Cavewoman

Paranoia

Part 23 of 30

I've got it going on a few days with the caveman, today accompanied by a beautiful blonde cavewoman, thrown in to soften up the place and give her the satisfaction of existence, such as it is. No matter what, I'd say just having her around would definitely make the toughness of life easier to handle. She'd be great to share life with, the ups and downs, conversation, and whatever followed from a quality relationship. She's got it going on.

But -- easy come, easy go. Anything you receive something (or someone) you can just as quickly lose them. I mean, I'd never do it to someone else. And full respect to everyone trying to cope. If you had something, unless you took it from me first, I'd leave it with you. But not everyone's so kind. I was just at the grocery store yesterday and someone stole a sack of groceries from me, true story. Which was weird, because she must've thought I had caught her, so she acted like she wanted to help me if I was missing something. I thought it was kind of weird, but figured she was just being friendly. Then I got home and was missing a sack of groceries, the items, and figured out the whole weird story. I'd never do that to anyone.

I want to examine this situation a little closer. Pretty decent curves, huh? The face, a very friendly look, like 'I'd never do you an ounce of harm!" And "I'll be right by your side, come what may, whatever enemies we might face..." And that's just the dinosaur, the woman would probably mean well for me, too, making the three of us a force to be reckoned with. She seems to be pointing, not quite, to the pile of lumber the Creator stacked up for the caveman, to build a cabin or carve out a cave.

The situation then turns a little sour. This has happened to me. If you think there's the slightest security -- smooth sailing from here on out -- you realize, no matter what, security's shaky. One day of happiness quickly overbalanced by three or four years of misery. There's karma, then there's Super Out-of-Balance Karma, the terror of unmerited discipline every time you think you've gotten a foothold on the future. In reality, it's more like a footHOLE, something to trip over, stumble over, and sooner rather than later fall into. If the hurt doesn't kill you, the embarrassment of it will.

Then you get a few neighbors. They see your weakness and move in. "This guy won't mind if I park my carcass a house or two down." Then he sees my hunting and fishing techniques, steals all my patents on things, the Anti-Pterodactyl radar, etc., and finishes off his victory with a brand new relationship, a certain blonde with a fickle heart.

Evolutionary Line Dancing

Paranoia

Part 22 of 30

After 20,000 years of steadily climbing out of the muck and mire, I regret to say that these current days -- the years since my birth -- have taken a decidedly downhill course. Is this all my fault? My answer to that important question tends to skew toward “No,” then goes for a quick U-turn and says, “Hell, no!,” before reconsidering the possibilities that indeed it could be partially if not wholly my fault.

Which I hate, and damn the luck, that I out of all the generations -- and I hear the 1700s were particularly great, thanks to men wearing wigs -- we had to pick now, my time, to change course so terribly.

It sounds like I’m admitting a lot, but, please, don’t take it that way. I’m trying more to reconcile the situation, that no one generation is responsible for anything unless it’d be to forego breeding all together. Which would have to be across the board, since obviously the current generation is more than me, myself, and I. I have relatives, some of whom I used to see when I was welcome at family reunions. Then, I don’t know who it was that started the rumor that I supposedly said, “This family be damned!” Whatever it was I said wasn’t really all that bad. Everyone has a bad day.

I really wouldn’t mind going back to the dawn of history and having a talk with Ugg or whatever his name was. And to let him know from my point farther down line we believe he had it easy. He had no one really to satisfy, no one to impress. Which is the way it had to work: He was born from someone, but there was a quick break in the line, be it continental drift or the family scattered after bad crops, and he was on his own. Once separated, they never rejoined. So everything he did then was easier. No judgment. Which all of us could use at times.

The eons sped on. And as the social web squeezed tighter and there were no completely obscure places to go, the rest of us had to do our best within an oppressive social environment, and that can be beaucoup pressure. You go to a family reunion and the guys have their "junk" draped out for a little comparison/bragging ritual that for some of them is a lot of fun. One cousin has it especially good, and they were always kidding him about it: “Hope you spool it up at night so no one trips over it!” He pats himself and with a sly grin says something modest, like, “It’s usually too busy for that, if you know what I mean,” before sneaking off with Cousin Agnes to Lord knows where, I guess sharing recipes.

In terms of honoring and shaming then, some guys get all the breaks! But, hey, take another look. I have a decent head on my shoulders -- who am I kidding? We haven’t had a reunion for 10 years, but I still know they’re talking about me, and laughing. They might have set a world’s record for it by now, this constant terrible laughing, leaving me absolutely no break in my imagination. And I’m frankly sick and tired of it.

From Cave to Bungalow

Paranoia

Part 21 of 30

Yesterday had a caveman theme, today too, maybe a few days of it

That’s actually pretty hot, what the caveman’s saying, dressing down modern man, because he can, being a caveman and not one of our modern wimps, which includes me. You tell him, Ug!

But watch me bait Ug: “You wouldn’t say that to my face!” Then he starts to slow-speak it, the intensity of his eyes becoming enormous. Enough fire to consume a vein of coal. “Turn -- around -- wimp -- and…” By this point with his slow-speaking, I’ve gathered up every ounce of precious paranoia I have -- and I’m stoved up with it most of the time -- and I’m burning a hole in his forehead with the hot gaze of my suddenly glowing head.

Suddenly the caveman goes silent and drops to his knees. With my glare cooling off not one single degree. Then I’m taunting him: “Did you have something to say about spitting in my face? Didn’t I hear a hurtful spiel about you whimpering to Mommy?” His spear has fallen to the ground. And I burn my fury home, as only I can do: “You know my Mommy’s dead!” Suddenly he sees the real grudge I have. “You filthy caveman! You will not even THINK of my mother, let alone SPEAK of her! She was better than you'll ever be, in every respect…” He’s clutching his neck as I amp up the watts.

And launch into My Soliloquy:

“This vulgarity you spout from your filthy tongue -- what is that, a never-laundered skin of a bear that died of natural causes? -- about ‘my Mommy,’ I called her Mom, and goddammit, I oughta pull that cursed tongue out of your vile mouth and throw it to the jackals! But one thing I hate worse than any insult against my mother is the thought that jackals are even in the picture!” He’s then begging for one drop of cool water.

“My mother was a tougher woman than you can even dream of. With more fight in her little finger than you have in this whole mess you call a body. O the big tough animal-skin man! If I’d’ve been here the animal would’ve won, and he’d have your naked skin as a coat around his whole fur and thankful for respite against the rain. Although I don’t know, your skin’s pretty thin, and yet you’re the last to know it!” He seeks mercy.

“No, no, no, Ug, there’s no mercy for one as vile as you, not yet! Grovel, you half-baked monkey. You might not know this but I embody my mother! Can you conceive of that? Wherever I go, she goes! And my many brothers and sisters feel the same way. When she died, she didn’t really die, she was transfigured, and each one of us received of her strength. I used to be paranoid about my own shadow. Because I was a 98-pound weakling and I knew the kids were looking for every edge against me: ‘Hey, everybody, look how skinny his shadow is!” But you know where I got strength? Hell, you don’t know yet!? From my mother.” I suddenly feel like kicking him to death, but -- wouldn’t you know it? -- the spirit of my mother descends and my leg is calmed.

As Ug crawls away, I ask my mother why I’m so paranoid, and her answer was --- Aww, who am I fooling? None of this happened, Mom hasn’t been back forever. I slink away, again myself paranoid as crap.

When We Invented Rationality

Paranoia

Part 20 of 30

Here’s my best guess on the nature of consciousness. Not in the sense of being not passed out or awake, but in the sense of a mindset above the jungle, being uniquely human as opposed to our former animal nature: Man was ranging the veldt everyday for centuries. After a time, centuries, he realized he’d been watching nothing but gazelles leapfrogging everywhere, then put two and two together and thought [I’ll spell out what were only caveman grunts]: “Without the veldt in my way I’d be able to see farther than ever.” Up till then he had the view of tall grass in his line of sight to the point of distraction: “I missed the last gazelle being slaughtered when I was no more than 10 yards away.”

See that? The consciousness bug bit him! And he never looked back, but instead took upon himself the first task, to father as many children as he possibly could and teach them the new science. That happened, and 500 years later the veldt was as transparent to the eyes of man as if it’d been glass. Clear glass, no runs, no tears, no ripples, clear as a bell. And once you make that kind of progress, forget about it! You don’t go back. Just as the clear-eyed gazelle traverses the surroundings in leaps and bounds, so it was with consciousness. Man put his finger to his temple and recited: “I’m smarter now, I’m wiser now, I have the wherewithal to see for miles, and it has heightened my other sensibilities, giving me the ability to tell the future, learn about mapping, stow food away for the winter, fish with dynamite, fit saddles for horses, and take coffee breaks.

I'm kind of feeling for our friend the elephant or mammoth there. And not for the usual reason, their inability to slip inconspicuously out of parties. That’s a talent I have, although it’s usually overridden by my ability not to show up in the first place. My feeling for the largely-challenged animal has more to do with having to exert so much energy on their tasks that they truly feel used. We foolishly think,"They don’t care. They’re big lummoxes anyway, they’d feel bad if we didn’t have them working like the devil all day.” But look into the eyes sometime of these gentle giants -- and you about have to look into their eyes one at a time, that’s how big a head they have -- and you’ll see a lot of sorrow. For what, we may never know. My advice, give them a peanut and pleasantly point them toward their work, “There, there, work hard and there will be another peanut in it for you.” They don’t actually care.

And maybe they’re better off. Look how miserable we always are with our great consciousness. Because paranoia is everywhere! Which could be a part of the evolution into consciousness. We’re not quite through evolving. The next step being to overcome our paranoia with even greater consciousness. That’s what I’m looking for, and hoping (maybe against hope) that the paranoia won’t be even greater yet, with bigger and more horrible levels/types of consciousness, say, over the next 4 million years, leading to ever more virulent, unending, horrible paranoia. In that case, Lord, thanks for nothing...