There is 7 minutes of Kyroots being read in the beginning of the audio that is not on the video. If you open the Gallery below in a new browser window, you can read along while you listen.
AKS/News Item Gallery = jcap 1987-10-15 (0286)
Condensed AKS/News Items = See Below
Summary = See Below
Diagrams = none
Transcript = See Below
#286 ** Oct 15, 1987 ** 1:54
Notes by TK
Reading of Kyroot to :07.]
More on the lack of energy for the Revolution in the City. All change is good. All ordinary events and fuel are too two-D related to be of use. Ordinary change, while verging on the out-of-control–too fast, for city dwellers–is too slow from the Real Revolutionist view. The City dweller always wants change to be conservative change: gradual and orderly; ‘all things should happen in good time’–but this is laughable: time is the quintessence of change.
The Revolution requires both force and planning: action and talk-of-action. Yet, the Real Revolutionist knows that planning really has almost no real effect on the final action or force, while paradoxically being necessary for same.
“The MEs”. There seems to be an “I” spokesman in everybody–but all the institutional actions of man are performed/operated by the two MEs: binary man. The two MEs consist of: the better/good me that is civil and educated vs. the bad/degenerate me that is inherited genetically and about which the good-me feels guilty. While everybody struggles with this division they are unaware of it; the Few must re-discover this division and learn from it.
The division is in effect an attempted ‘dual monarchy’–the king and his brother-in-law both trying to rule. Something to note: the word ‘me’ is a past tense form of the language; it is not appropriate to either present or future use. This should tell you something. The Real Revolutionist has got to drag another force–another pretender to the throne–in to disrupt the ordinary function of the dual monarchy stalemate.
All men are born in uniform and into a team position. After majority everybody finds themselves on a minor league baseball team. They are mediocre to the point of barely worth keeping on the team, yet are assured of their position because of this: nobody could be brought in that would be any better; it would be just another ‘bum’. Thus nobody has any motivation to get out and practice; all are bored with the game. Everyone must either rest content with this state of affairs or seek to be a ‘superstar’ a ‘charlie hustle’. Those who do such are forgiven for a major flaw they seem to exhibit: egomania.
To become a superstar you have got to look out for ol’ #1 (or #2–for the two MEs). Ultimately The Few have got to come to understand this: they have got to be egocentric–‘me first’–to a shocking degree. It is extremely unnatural, especially to those who seek This Thing. But in the final analysis you cannot look out for others w/o first looking out for yourself.
The chase is the profitable–not the capture. The Revolutionary I in you has got to be protected at any and all cost. The Few must engage in a kind of willful chemical self-defense; a defensive aggression.
1:46 Epilogue comments on expansion. Once a week is not enough; better ‘too bold than too cold.’
And Kyroot Said…
An upright, two legged philosopher once said, “The love of
wisdom comes to no one by chance,” and how about that, he was
only one word off being correct…oh, that’s right, “no one” is
two words…o.k., two words off.
The Real Revolutionist should remind the recruits to never
accept anything from anyone you don’t like. Sounds simple enough
if you don’t start analyzing words such as “accept,” “anything,”
and “don’t like.”
Yesterday I read in one of your little human books the
following statement: “The greatest obstacle to progress is
prejudice.” But to that I think I’ll add, “epigram makers” and
Prevention may be “cheaper than a cure,” but only so long as
latex costs less than mold. (Think about it.)
Everything seems better when new, but people.
The more powerful and feared the man the less profit there
is in questioning him regarding his humility. (Trust me on
It may well be better to “bend than break,” but if you got a
bad back it may be better to just avoid this whole axiomatic
Don’t ever excuse yourself until you see their fingers go
for their nose.
The greater the sight the smaller should be the tongue.
Tis said, “When knowledge arrives sorrow lingers,” but hell,
so does an unemployed uncle.
The one singing so buoyantly in the street below is either
bearing good news, or is drunk…(or is bearing the good news
that he’s drunk).
Yeah, Tell-Me-All-About-It-Department, continued: Why is a
good humor truck never as punctual as a dentist?
Who never ran, never tripped: who never swam, never sank:
who never climbed, never fell, and thus the armchair nerds DO
have the final laugh.
Tis noted that “It is not good to have everything that one
wants,” but this is actually only true on alternate days. (Don’t
ever forget this while you’re on a trip.)
There are lessons to be learned at the feet of so-called
holy men, such as to recognize the smell of toe sweat.
Just because you never found anything there before is no
reason not to look again.
A puffy looking general once remarked, “They conquer who
believe they can conquer.” and especially so, I might add, in
regards to those who believe they are to BE conquered. (And
those who see the first type coming and say to themselves, “Boy,
they sure look like conquerors to me.”)
Hats-off to the past: Coats-off to the future, and
pants-off to the erotic present tense.
Second Verse: Roll out your respect for the past: Roll up
your sleeves for the future, and roll up your trousers for the
rising tide of epigrammatic slush and shit.
At one time I thought some religiously inclined men were
going to get close to something when they speculated on a kind of
“transcendental knowledge arising from the deep-silence-of-god,”
but then as usual, they soon talked it into oblivion.
The People have for consolation the remembrance of the “Two
Passing Graces”, what might-have-been and what might-have-been.
After too long in the Bushes, the Real Revolutionist can
taste the terror of the tepid.
When you get right down to it, the only real difference
between the Many and the Few is that the Many don’t realize it.
The real Revolutionist STAYS pregnant.
AND LOOKING OUT FOR NUMBER ONE
Document: 286, October 15, 1987
Subject: lack of revolutionary intent and energy in city affairs and local matters.
On the 3-D level, that which may appear to be unquestionably good and progressive is still “2-D related” to be of any real use to the revolution. There do appear to be in life, things which seem to be good — the building of hospitals; the doing of charitable deeds. But everything at the 3-D level is “2-D related” to meet a definition of creative power for your use.
Back in the city, you can attempt to do charitable deeds to achieve beneficial effects, but it is never that simple, to say the very least. Because when you are dealing with the triaxial dance, the forces are arranged in such a way that they are helping to support the status quo. The hard part to see is the fact that visible, discussable change is always too slow to frighten the people. From a revolutionary viewpoint, back in the city, “too slow” is synonymous with “change.” To the people, change is always right on the verge of being completely out of control.
What is the heart of social commentary? “Things are changing too quickly. Change may be well and good, but…” Of course, it is always more elaborate. A social critic cannot simply say, “It’s going too fast. End of article. Thank you, thank you.” I want you to see that those who would even deny they are critics, who would insist they are simply social observers, are defending the status quo. Even if their comments are apparently positive: “Our culture in the last decade has undergone great positive change.” The unspoken part is always, “And it’s a miracle we survived it.”
If “too slow” were not the name of all ordinary change, there would not be activity such as This. If the rate of change possible out in life were enough, religions would be enough. The good old city proverb, “Time cures everything,” may be true, but the would-be revolutionist doesn’t have time to find out. For the revolutionist, time is not of the essence, time is the essence. Time is the heart of the essence of things. Real time is not something to fool around with. Not if it’s your full-dimensional partner.
To citified consciousness, for change to be proper and useful it must be conservative, gradual, and orderly. But out in the bushes, this whole matter is laughable. Look at how long you have been attempting conservative, orderly, gradual reforms. To what avail? Many of you are still employed part-time with those bastards.
The revolution has to have a certain combination of force and planning to succeed. But believe it or not, the revolutionist would know that, by and 3-D large, planning has almost no effect on, or relationship to, the ultimate action. And yet, planning must be done or the action will not come off right. I said, “Believe it or not,” because 3-D wise, this is absolutely irrational.
There has to be planning; if you’ve got no aim, you don’t know what to do. If you’ve got no map, you’ve got nowhere to go. But planning forever is not going to get the revolution off the ground. Planning forever is not even going to put food in your mouth. So, the proper combination of planning and action is necessary. So as to shock you only a little bit at a time, I won’t say “in everything” but in This activity, the ultimate action of it could be said to be not even affected by the planning of it. The ultimate action one must take has almost no relationship to what the plans were.
I admit again that verbally this is the height of sophistry, but think about it real quick. Think about the extraordinary things you have apparently done. If you could see it in a certain way, what you ultimately, apparently did is not what you were planning for. But if you had not planned, you’d just be a weekend mystic. You’d be sitting around waiting for the enlightenment fairy to dial your number. The planning, the “little bitty steps” you were apparently making, had almost no relationship to the payoff. What can you make of that? (Of course, if you’re ordinary what you can make of that is, “Let me out of here.”)
I’ll either come back to this sometime or forget it, but you shouldn’t forget it.
Next subject: the me’s — yet another investigation of what seems to be your internal universe. Now, everyone seems to have an “I.” You feel “I,” you say, “I.” “I” seems to be a general spokesman for you. But the operations of the city are performed not by “I,” but by the two me’s.
It is an accepted reality that man is apparently a binary creature. He is apparently divided into the physical self and the psychological self; the carnal and the divine, the unconscious and the conscious; being of a profane part and a pure part, a personal part and a cultural part, a real part (since I’ve covered that) and a pretend part. But now I am going to sketch for you a new picture.
It’s the me’s. And there are two me’s. One me, “The Me” seems to be civil. It feels as though it should be dominating the other me. And this me feels guilty when it doesn’t dominate the other me, either from forgetfulness or weakness. The second me, I’ll call the “Bubba Me.” This other one, to verbally compare it to the first one, is uncouth. It would seem to be an aspect of you that should be conquered, overcome, and just banished, if not reformed.
Now, think about it. There seems to be an “I” a general spokesman for everybody, but when you think to yourself it’s always on the basis of “me.” Not “I” but “me.” And there are two distinct me’s in there.
There are three profitable ways to study this apparent division in Man. One is the study of the reality of the division itself. It is not an illusion; the division is there. It is worldwide, and it changes in apparent intensity from the less civilized to the more civilized areas. Most of you already accept the belief in the conscious mind and unconscious motivations, because that is almost a genetic truth now in most neighborhoods of the city (that is, the entire race of Man). But that is no understanding. You were born with that genetic information. If you were born with it, you can’t use it, because it is irrelevant. You must, as it were, rediscover America. You must rediscover the reality of this division.
Secondly, you can profitably study the apparent human ramifications of this division. It is the study of the potential: how this division is manifesting itself, how religions have used it — carnal/spiritual, profane/divine, worldly/celestial — all that stuff, and including psychology’s conscious/unconscious.
And thirdly, why has Life so raised Man? Why has Man been created in this binary condition, and simultaneously to have an awareness of it? Or, to get real sticky, why does Man have an awareness that he is a binary being?
In a sense, you could look at the me’s as being an attempted dual monarchy. It’s like the king and his brother-in-law trying to rule simultaneously. If you have the wherewithal and the need to do it, it’s not difficult to be aware of it. But it is difficult to hold on to that awareness. Whatever king seems to be on the throne just now, there is, lurking somewhere in the throne room, this other king. Maybe he’s in the regal toilet. There is a struggle going on, and everyone is born feeling as though one of the me’s is more what they should be.
Some believe that the me they should be is a Jew me. Others believe it to be a Christian me, or a secular humanist me, a Buddhist me, and so on, but not the Bubba me. As I said, there is some practical significance for you in the fact that everyone assumes they have acquired this aversion to the Bubba me after birth; that their aspirations toward becoming The Me are due to cultural influences, when the real influence is the continuing broadcast from the secret station of WDNA. You are born with the me’s. What they are called is of no consequence. And it is not true that the me’s are raised and nurtured here in the city, here on the planet, here in your lifetime.
Something else about “me.” Would you note that the noun “me” only exists linguistically in the past. You can’t use “me” in the present or the future tense. You can’t say, “Me drinking this. Me going to go out later.” As always, I can drag that into the bushes. Look at it another way: can you see that the me’s have no future? They do not exist in the future. Our language denies the use of it in the future. There is no place in what appears to be now, much less the future, for me. Isn’t that strange (since I concocted all this) how it fits in and almost hints at maybe a more subtle mystical message?
The activity of the two me’s is like having a peg leg and attempting to dance the “Cotton-Eyed Joe” while your peg leg is in a knothole. You can dance all you want to, but for that kind of human activity to have any meaning a third factor must be introduced. The real Revolutionist has got to bring in and support another pretender to the throne. Without that, you are left with the civil me and the Bubba me. And since the civil me cannot subdue the Bubba me, the first suffers over it. This is commonly referred to as guilt which, of course, as you all know, is another synonym for “grow, you bastard.” More specifically, “Mechanically grow, you bastard.” (Well, it works.)
Another picture is life in the city as a baseball player. Everyone back in the city is born on a team and born to a position. You’re born in uniform, and if you doubt it, look at the color of your skin, your height, or down your pants at your naughty parts. A lot of people might accept that much, but you were also born to a position: short stop, or second base.
Two me’s make up one baseball player. After about the age of twenty, everyone finds himself on a minor league team. In baseball, there are the big league teams, and below that what’s known as the farm teams. And the minor league farm teams are supported by those who are “over the hill” — by players and coaches washed out or retired from the major leagues. Now, in the minor leagues, the players — that is, everyone after the age of majority — are just mediocre enough to be kept on the team, i.e., to be kept alive a while longer. Life knows that if you are going to be struck from the roster, your replacement will not be one whit better than you are.
There is not enough energy and enthusiasm on the minor league teams for the players to actually get out and practice any more. As I said, it doesn’t really matter because you’re not in any individual danger of being struck from the roster tomorrow. A hot shot is not going to take your place. You are as mediocre as whoever would replace you, and vice versa. Your enthusiasm for the game has gone down hill, if anything, but at best has simply leveled off and you have settled for being a mediocre player. But then you’re surrounded by it. That’s the team.
From a certain real view, to each person’s teammates, to your family and to your fans, you’re a bum. That’s a common baseball term; fans yell it at almost anyone. But I mean something specific. In the minor leagues, everybody is a bum, hitting about 260, bobbling about one out of every four balls hit their way. And ultimately, although the me’s may not entertain it thought wise, the players themselves periodically realize it. The player periodically becomes aware that he is a bum. Under certain conditions, someone hollers, “You’re a bum!” And the feeling is, “Damn, they’re right. I am a bum. I know what my batting average is, I know…” Then, of course, it’s gone. The majority of the players cannot live consistently with that kind of awareness and still function as part of the people. Those that do, end up in institutions: the reserved injured list.
The truth is that you have to either be content with playing out the rest of your days in the minor leagues, or you have to attempt to become a superstar. Now, a superstar is given certain leeway. If someone is attempting to become a superstar, the other teammates, in a sense, will forgive him or her for being self-centered, for trying. (I was going to say “trying harder” but from one view, it’s simply “trying.”) Ordinary people are familiar with the appearance now and then of a hot-dogger. The guy that’s out there early, the guy who’s always wanting someone to “hit him a few.”
It would only be somebody striving to get out of the minor leagues who would remain fresh in the game. For everyone else, after the age of twenty, the game has become a job. It’s the only job they know, the only uniform they know, and the only position they’ve ever played. They’re surrounded by mediocre players, and they are themselves naturally mediocre like everyone around them. And they have some awareness that trying is unnecessary, because if they’re alive, they have a job on the team.
To become a superstar and to be a part of the revolution requires something very specific. And that is, you have got to look out for number one. You have got to look after yourself.
Now this is far removed from how Life is wired up. The rest of the teams, from sports to religion, are wired up in another direction. Need I point out much further that this flies in the face of all so-called spiritual philosophy? But, to say the least, the time has come for me to at least mention it. How far I go with it is another matter, because I’m getting close to the area in which, if I began to tell you certain things just verbally, some of you would be most, most distressed. Some of you would be so distressed that you would not even hear it, as simple as I could put it. And I can put it real simply.
At any rate, I am getting close to that by telling you, you have to look out for number one. You have got to. (Here, we should be saying, “old number two,” because there are two me’s in there playing.) You have to look out for old number two, and you have to simultaneously learn what it means to do so. Because to begin with, if we just left it to the me’s in you to hear it, it can’t be true. That can’t be the way to do something extraordinary. That is not the way to do This. Even though I seem increasingly disinclined to call it anything in particular.
It would appear that in some way, This has to be good for everybody. In some way, anything creative you do, surely, is helping those around you and helping Life. And I have more or less said, “It’s good.” That sounds real nice. It all sounds decent. It is wired into humanity that making good effort to improve oneself or to expand one’s consciousness would apparently be a charitable undertaking. It would appear to be anything but egocentric.
But it’s time. I have got to tell you, you have got to see it. You can’t do This unless you look out for old number two. I’m talking about yourself. You’ve got to know what that means, and you’ve got to do it. Whether you’re hearing this now or five years from now, I’m telling you that you don’t know this. It’s not natural. It seems even more unnatural if you believe you’re involved with such activity as This. But it’s a place all of you will come to and you’ll try to avoid it. You’ll believe it’s a river to be spanned, or a trap. Until you understand what it means and you can correctly look out for yourself — look out for I, not the me’s — you cannot look out for anybody else. You cannot look out for anything else.
All of you should know by now that you can’t really walk out suddenly and “help somebody.” The whole idea is specious. You cannot help somebody until you can look out for old number one, and I’m not giving you a new version of new-age psycho-babble. I’m talking about a secret kind of egocentric attitude that makes ordinary egoism a game for children. To do This, you have to be the most unfeeling, self-centered…, it’s almost that every breath you take, every thought you think, is, “How can I help me?” Me! I! Otherwise, your me’s will keep hoping to accidentally get on a hitting streak tomorrow. Or, if nothing else, you’ll begin to turn to your teammates and offer advice on how to hit better.
There are several of you who are right at that point. That is what, in a very real sense, is stopping you from going any further. You’re not misled or weak, and I have not led you into a dead end. When you start escaping the velocity of your game position, and go somewhere else, it ceases to be of any value to you, but you now feel that your effort here helps Life, like the good ole proverbial ripples in the pond. I have tried to direct your attention to find out that it doesn’t really make much of a difference what you plan to do in regard to other people. The time has come for a number of you to turn and look directly: you have to look out for you. In a real sense, it’s, “Look after me and fuck everybody else.” And I’m not saying that to be crude and profane.
Of course, I’m crude so often I guess it’s losing its effect verbally, but it becomes a matter of: “Right now, I’ve got to be seen to. My ankle is sprained; I can’t even keep up a 260 batting average. To hell with the team. To hell with the fans.” And in many cases, with you people it’s, “To hell with my family.” I have correctly pointed out that you have to stop all imaginary inner squabbles with your family. You just have to drop it. You do have to treat them in a way that is unique, because your blood relations are singular. It is good to have good relations with your blood kin. But with many of you it reaches a point that you have to see when, “It’s between me looking after my best interests right now, and me staying involved with apparently looking out for the interests of my family. Good bye.”
It’s not as harsh as it sounds, but that’s the only way I can put it that is of any value presently. There may come the day when you have the distinct awareness that, “I can no longer worry about you people. I gotta get back in shape. I gotta get closer to superstar status, or I’m gonna stay here in the fucking bush leagues the rest of my life.” I assure you I’m not being funny.
There is a sense in which only the pushy are free. There is a sense in which the blood only boils in battle, and not in the victory. There is a way in which I can point out that the hormones most actively percolate in the chase, not the capture. You have got to protect you revolutionary I at all costs. At all costs. There is no exception to this. If there is, there is an exception to your need for This. There is nobody — not your mother, not your children — as important to the revolutionist as the damned revolutionist himself.
I assure you, if I must fall back into such childish asides, that whoever was your imaginary hero — the Jesuses, Buddhas, Moseses, etc. — they were not what you imagined. If they existed and they were real revolutionists, I’m gonna tell you what. They were not the nice guys you thought they were. It is wired up into the genetic memory of Man that a Jesus, a Moses, or a Buddha was, “Oh, just Mr. Nice Guy. Their whole reason for living seemed to be to serve others.” I’m telling you that is a beautiful piece of propaganda. A Moses did not get to be Moses without looking out for number one. That was his reason for being alive. That was what made him Moses. That’s what kept him from being a 260 batter, and that’s why you heard of him. Assuming he existed. (Of course, now that you’ve heard of him it doesn’t matter whether he existed or not, because now that you’ve heard of him, he did exist.)
Jesus did not get to be Jesus by saying such things as, “Forgive them,” by smiling, being the proper figure to be artistically portrayed on black velvet, or looking off being humble. If there was a Jesus, and he got to be Jesus, he did it one way. The man, compared to 2-D sight, was an egomaniac. I want to remind you that 2-D verbiage is not covering this. It is imperfect. But I’m telling you, in one sense, he would have stepped on anybody necessary; he would have let his own family starve. As imperfect as the words are, he would have done anything to keep him going toward being Jesus.
I will leave you with one or two hints at what I am getting close to. It is a kind of willful practice of chemical self-defense. It’s the use of stuff that in the minor leagues is considered to be toxic waste. It is the use of the very things that the city’s prophets apparently forbade. It’s the use of the very things in you which, when your hear “thou shalt not,” bring forth the response, “Amen, that’s true.” That ain’t true. It has to do with a kind of defensive aggression. It has to do with a kind of uninhibited, but controlled, emotional flow. It has to do with the chemical lab running wild.
It, in toto, has to do with this: looking out for the old number two. Looking out for me. Me, me, me! Sorry — I, I, I! Nobody else. Not even the me’s that wanted to say that. It’s looking out after the old number two. Without that there is nothing.