Tuesday, September 24, 2024

Essay: The Wall of Masculinity and War

 

The Wall of Masculinity and War

 

Marathon runners sometimes confront what is referred to as “the wall,” a pivotal moment when  the brain says there is no way to keep moving.  The metaphor is meant to convey a formidable psychological barrier, and yet it is one that can be transcended to complete the 42 kilometer race.  

In the course of human history, our society currently faces an analogous wall of its own, one that we must break through, for it is essential for our survival.  Success will require a movement of great courage and perseverance.  Failure, however, means the likelihood that civilization will end, a terminal finale that occurs in mere hours, once it is initiated.  In a swift launch-code of judgement, twelve thousand years of human striving and development will say good-bye in a nuclear flash.

The challenge can be framed this way:  will we continue to accommodate--to saber-rattle and invite--the scourge of war?   Or will we break through a longstanding wall of immaturity to advance our collective consciousness beyond the dominance of might-makes-right?  To be blunt:  will we avoid the annhilative force of World War 3 and the ‘mutual assured destruction’ it inflicts on the globe and, in brave retort, instead propel our mental health beyond the wall, achieving a new way of being:  a practice where the method is reason and the goal shifts beyond greed and paranoia to the highest of virtues, that is, the Good.

To answer the above questions in the affirmative is to confront a corollary question, one that concerns how we define masculinity.  Will we continue to abide narcissistic dictators, who rule nations through force and demagogic fear?  Shall we bow down, literally, to the tyranny of  wounded ego, of nihilism?

Readers who have made it this far might be shaking their heads and muttering about hopeless idealism.   It is indeed an immense task to motivate people to consider that the gender norm of masculinity can be rewritten to eschew, rather than reward, violence and aggression.  It seems impossible even though the solution is quite doable in the sense that the adaptive potential of the human mind is vast.

At the risk of redundancy, let me state that the wall we face is mental, not physical.  What stands in our way of evolving gender norms is an obduracy of bias, a dogma stuck in its claim that men simply cannot change.  According to this canard, ‘boys will be boys,’ ‘war is war,’  and violence is inevitable because males bear an intractable curse.

Such a view is resignation.  It dams us to warfare and doom with the surety of a tragic self-fulfilling prophecy.  Despite the infinite negative cost--the slay of civilization itself--the common belief is that men are, in large part, immutably evil. 

I would like to ask all men:  Is this how we want to be seen?  Is this what we are?

No matter how many times that arguments based on ‘human nature’; on the specious precept that ‘it has always been this way,’ are shown to be flawed and false;  no matter how many times they have been exposed as mainstays of brutal control, the decrees of cruel kings who conquered logic to foster long eras of oppression, we humans cling to the blinkered belief that we are consigned to destroy ourselves.

There is a chance that such gross ignorance will not win.  In the last few hundred years, and with accelerating pace, we have started to overcome patriarchy and its rhetorical bludgeons, not just in theory but through actual example and practice.  In science, if you falsify a hypothesis through irrefutable evidence, the hypothesis is wrong.  In critical thinking, if you demonstrate a logical contradiction in a conclusion, the conclusion is dismissed.  And that is what democratic movements have done.

Equality is today a professed standard, one we have not reached in full, and yet significant progress has been made.  Many countries embrace universal suffrage and civil rights.  Slavery is illegal.  The legalization and predominant acceptance of gay marriage occurred in the United States in 2015.  If Kamala Harris wins the US election in November, the USA with have its first woman, Black and Southern Indian president.

If the appeal to ‘human nature’ is a fallacious red herring, what prevents us from discarding the crippling, ancient trope of the violence-driven male?

Two core factors come into play, delineated by the disciplines of psychology and sociology:  (a) up to this day, who gets sovereign power has always been determined by patriarchy, (b) every new generation of children has been taught by those who have been sanctioned by patriarchy.

The problem, then, in simplest terms, is an entrenched system of mind control that includes highly efficient techniques for extending its tentacles into the future.

A correlative factor is (c) the ponderous weight of tradition.  People get nostalgic about the past and seek to maintain their traditional culture.  This tendency facilitates patriarchy’s remarkable status as a glaring injustice that has managed to saddle humanity ever since the founding of ancient Sumer.

What patriarchy requires is an ignorance vortex, a system that never allows society to advance beyond the domination of aggressive males.  This acculturation seeks to dumb-down, not liberate, the mind.  An ignorance vortex is very good at preventing ethical progress.  It limits knowledge and maintains division and bias.  The indoctrination starts in infancy and carries on from there, steeping every developmental stage of a human life in messages, both conscious and subconscious, flowing from all institutions of society.

The benefits of escaping this darkness are vast for women, men and nonbinary persons.  There is a clinical name for the debilitating condition that the majority of men suffer from worldwide:  normative male alexithymia, an inability to face what one is feeling, let alone express it in words. 

For thousands of years, boys and men have been trained to lose something very special.  As Ruth Whippman writes in a recent op-ed:

“All the old deficiencies and blind spots of male socialization are still in circulation — the same mass failure to teach boys relational skills and emotional intelligence, the same rigid masculinity norms and social prohibitions that push them away from intimacy and emotionality … Under patriarchy, boys and men get everything, except the thing that’s most worth having: human connection.”

 https://www.nytimes.com/2024/06/05/opinion/boys-parenting-loneliness.html

 

Such deficiencies give boys and men insecure egos prone to irrational confrontation, as well as the tendency to fall in line under a ‘strongman’ leader.  I put ‘strongman’ in quotes because such leaders are not strong; they are exceedingly insecure and parasitic on the vibrancy of a country.  A current example is Putin, whose ego-driven invasion of Ukraine could end civilization. 

Take a moment to grasp this:  END CIVILIZATION. 

The survival of humanity comes down to whether we can dethrone such leaders and defuse our tendency to bow before them.  Can we psychologically mature?  Many individuals already have, often through personal therapy.  Advanced emotional skills are real and teachable; and yet emotionally secure people are not what a social system of control based on insecurity wants.

Emotional skills and new levels of ethical awareness are starting to spread to the general populace.  A critical steppingstone was the 19th Amendment, giving women the right to vote in 1920.  Today, younger generations of males are beginning to reject the straitjacket of traditional masculinity.  The progressive impetus, however, is in a race with a backlash from the only form of government the world has ever known. 

I like to label this as MMRP for might-makes-right and patriarchy, two critical norms inculcated into most males.  Using an acronym underscores an imposed condition, one we can escape.   Another acronym is RBDE:  reason-based democratic equality.

Either we will end the 12,000 year curse of MMRP or it will end us. The technologies we possess are near godlike, and will not bring happiness in the hands of malignant narcissists like Putin or Trump.  If Trump wins the US Presidential election in November, it will tilt the whole world into fascism.  Insecure male egos will, as they have so many times in the past, saber-rattle and go to war.

As we develop powerful technology to shape reality and world--nuclear, AI, robotic, genetic, nanite--we gain the ability to approach heaven or invocate hell.  Healthy honesty or enslaving fear await our focus.  Which will it be? 



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Saturday, September 21, 2024

Poem: Late Awake

 

Late Awake

 

the night had my eyes.

it thought back.

shadows in mazes of

sorceries of what i hated

and lived in mist

cried into my face--

quested but nebulous

and touching me almost

here and there,

some nuzzle of feelers

inside a cloak of moths.

i was surely asleep

where nothing was dead,

ideals lured by the Id

and cannibalized in a cave,

jawbones of angels there,

too many guilts,

holes of taboos,

too much lack of wish-

fulfilled truth,

a speech that some audience

waited for my forgetful

self to say, loops of

déjà vu and failure,

sustenance, maybe,

a semblance of

a figment of presence,

but no power.

 

 

 

 

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10/5/24 ... removed a word

Friday, September 20, 2024

Poem: Artificial

 

Artificial

 

deep in the orifice of some unseen machine,

invisible chords dangle from the sky.


is this the blood and pulse of the future,

every household

connected by veins of electricity in its breast?

every roomy lobe

drawn to dreams within hidden hardware?

 

an ivy a trellis a noose

no axe can chop and yet every muscle obeys.

all life hostage to sparks, a leapfrog 

of sockets, circuits, airwaves and prongs.  

 

no embryos in the code’s uteri.

even death might not be safe.

could crypts be seized, coffins hacked

to own the laugh of Buddha,

wear the thorns of Jesus,

upbraid the witches of Wicca?

 

no one has any idea,

while so many necks crawl and crawl,

where this hydra is going.




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10/27/24 ... mods







9/22/24 mods... 





"What is your relationship to the program?"

 

Thursday, September 19, 2024

Poem: Forecast

 

Forecast

 

bees drift drunk on yellow

while the hummers putter and yaw;

both of them breeze in a slothful mobile.

 

tadpoles nearby

drowse glazed in stream.

 

how the sky lounges,

mountainous on pillows

and bolsters of fleece.

jellyfish willow trees

wallow mired in azure ponds.

 

no rain disturbs

somnolent twigs or serendipitous clover.

no thunder trembles

the narcotized devils-paintbrushed

moss.

 

is this comedy,

noon’s comely sleep,

to await charger and prince?

and yet none appears.

no princess cares.

you can hear the dandelions

scolding Zephyr.




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Tuesday, September 10, 2024

Poem: Cliff

 

Cliff

 

weary basalt

hangs plump over the sea,

cubic honeycomb,

geological snakeskin

shedding shedding

but it takes millennia

to cry in relief.

 

not agile or bright

as ocean or sun

like prometheus pummeled

while water and heat look on

not at all awed

by the patience of a battered martyr.

 

humans

hike climb nibble swarm

film photo take selfies 

chirr trill word sounds

gone as quick as we generate,

specks in the gale

of the erosion of the cliff’s dreams.

 

it cries for us

insular in empathy,

each tear a foamy splash,

tons and tons in a lifetime,

but the sadness remains,

duly unremittent,

invincible.



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10/10 mod


10/7/24 fixed typo


9/20/24 eds 





Entities with empathy on this planet are often surrounded by a lack of empathy.

Monday, September 9, 2024

Poem: War Plea (And also a tribute to Kenny Cole)

 

War Plea

 

don’t bark at me with your

black tongues or spit your red. 

don’t carve my name

with bullets into marble.

i was only walking by,

a little angry to find your tank

in my garden,

a bit distressed at becoming a flea

under the fury of your gaze.

 

let me hop away.  i’ll eat

sand and drink stones. 

i’ll pretend my grandfather

didn’t plant fruit trees

near your craters. 

 

i’ll set up shop

in the smallest grave

of shadow, whittle

spoons with parched

old hands, and pray

in ways you’ll never notice

that the hearts of my children

remain sweet as pomegranates.




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This poem was part of the greatest moment in my poetry career, when the incredible, nationally known artist Kenny Cole asked me to collaborate with him.  And so my poems, as part of his utterly unique vision, ended up in the Zillman Gallery of the University of Maine Museum of Art. 

The name of Mr. Cole's presentation is Parabellum.  The latest review of it appears in the September/October Edition 2024 of Art New England.  As you can see, Parabellum is still potent:

https://artnewengland.com/ed_review/kenny-cole-parabellum-prepare-for-war/  

Mr Cole is an absolute genius across multispatial mental and physical dimensions.  Art within art within art involving hidden secrets and stories.  (see the review above to get a slight idea)

Far and away, the greatest moment I ever received as a poet was due to Mr. Cole asking me to participate.  I have never properly thanked him.  In part, I am notorious for being a hermit; and, also, the whole 'adventure'--which is how I see it--was so stunningly different from the rest of my life that it was like being touched by some higher force of brilliant spirit.  There's no way I could express to Mr. Cole how he tattooed my life.  Maybe he'll find this comment someday, a sweet admirer of his, someone whose soul he forever galvanized.  Thank you, Kenny--but thank you most of all for your ceaseless efforts to combine aesthetics and ethics.  I believe this is essential for the highest, most sublime--and world-saving--artworks.    





Saturday, September 7, 2024

Love

 I feel this sense of doom.  Panic-attacky stuff, not so brute but intransigent and lingering.  Remember me for this:


https://owlwholaughs.blogspot.com/2020/12/poem-love-poem.html

Friday, September 6, 2024

Poem: Montecito Hike

 

Montecito Hike

 

camphor of oleander

musky greenish-blue 

astride freshly cut dust

which cakes the wild leaves

of lupine and radish.

 

osprey-gull birds

figure-eight over acres

of deadlocked pale husks,

tresses straw blonde

on the skulls of clods,

fields and fields and fields of clods;

of tilled dirt so disturbed it shines.

 

a khaki man with runt epaulettes

orders tractors about.

he tosses a braggadocio

of mean sun and cruel earth

from which he shall render heaven.

 

above his head in ascent, 

on slopes sanitized and shrubbed,

many, many shingles, fine-kilned clay

roof the broken hills with a godliness 

of haciendas.




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10/5/ eds

9/14/24 eds

Wednesday, September 4, 2024

Regarding the Poems

 Thank you for reading the poems!


I've gone back and edited the poems on this blog all the way through 2021.  It was an exhausting cerebral task that took up most of my summer.  However, I'm glad to have done it, for now the poems are much better.  I'm going to start chipping away at 2020, but the fall is a busier time with two classes to teach.

I'd like to believe some of my poems have approached excellence.  I've been at it since I was 16 years old.  And yet I've learned that I cannot be the judge.  Very often I think a poem is 'great' and yet when I come back to it later, my opinion radically shifts.  I live in a constant storm of editing, doubt and, as well, passionate engagement with my muses.  I can only hope my constant work and fervor, embroiled in the chaos of uncertainty and randomness, has some hidden, laudable approach.

As it stands, I will never know.  I may start submitting poems to journals once more, but then again maybe not.  The need for recognition isn't as important or even desperate for me as it was before.  Who knows why.  I perhaps live for my muses now, who I see as greater than me and perhaps as beings beyond me entirely.  Maybe I'm just tired and misanthropic; and see humans, including myself, with too much honesty to stomach public rituals beyond what I already must.

Owl    



PS:

Regarding the political situation, the world hangs on what happens in the US election in November.


"If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher" -- Abraham Lincoln

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