Jan Cox Talk 0613

Speech Is the Ultimate Armor


Audio = Stream from the bar; download from the dots

Condensed AKS/News Items = See Below
AKS/News Gallery = jcap 1989-09-25 (0613)
Summary = See below
Diagrams = 
Transcript = None 


#613 Feb 23, 1990 – 1:01 
Notes by TK

Kyroot to :07. Protection by prepositions, or the refuge of instrumentality. Consider that the zenith of music production is the a capella voice; those who can’t sing, resort to the playing of an `instrument’ which could be seen as a form of protection, a defense of their inability to perform without same. In the same way man’s speech is protected by prepositions, which allow a ‘subject’ to be talked about. Speech is man’s instrumentality and the subject of each sentence is the specific instrument played.

This effectively keeps a man from knowing anything. Connection to the attraction of quotes/dictums; connection to the attraction of becoming educated, becoming an expert in some field (instrument). The expert of SL/secondary level affairs needs to know even less about what he is talking about than an expert of PL/primary level affairs. The SL expert is less subject to criticism because he is the expert, and his expertise is based in words, not actions The PL expert is much more subject to criticism because his mistakes are obvious to all observers (juggler dropping a ball, shooter missing the target, etc.) 

Prepositions connect the brain with ignorance; they act as a shield or bridge to the instrument/subject. which then passes for PL action. Speech is the ultimate armor; it is a kind of non-physical defense of the burgeoning intellect. Speech is the brain’s “fists or feet” (fight or flight) equivalent of the body. The more specialized the speech, the greater the defense it offers against criticism. For This Thing it is necessary to be able to talk without a subject and think without an object, to engage in unaccompanied, naked song to no known score.

In order for people to attempt to change they must “get mad”, i.e., experience some form of negative energy flow in the NS. In This Thing the change cannot have the impetus of anger—a very delicate process.

If This Thing be an indefinable, tricky process, at least it can he easily seen and remembered: all the things that This Thing is not.


On local levels, reality is bursting out all over.

As the dear father, (an intellectual pipe-fitter), was bundling up his son to be sent off into a better, more civilized milieu, he handed over the following
advisement, “Now that you will be out with the squires and the gentry take careful note that by sundry signs and signals may you properly divine a gentleman’s particular position in the social strata. By the cut of his clothes, by the political beliefs he embraces, by the friends he collects, and by the
kind of tattoo he has on his knuckles.

Just because a Real Revolutionist won’t admit something doesn’t mean that he’ll ever admit it.

(The following report is so pregnant with potential allegory and metaphor that I am loath to even make much note thereof, so let it be just every-man-jack-synapse-of-you for yourselves): The gate keeping guardian of one god’s paradise would periodically holler out to the awaiting throng, “OK, all the women with big thighs in first.”

As it turned out, although both Attila and Tennyson were deeply religious and spiritually committed men, their respective gods not only were not the same, but moreover
were just barely twin brothers.

The voice, up front on the stage, dressed in the expert’s garb declared,
“Selective memory is a sign of mental immaturity,” and a shabby, nude voice from the rear silently shouted, “May be, but a ‘selective memory under full control’ is a neon neural sign that flashes, ‘Hooray’ … ‘Welcome Home,’ ‘Happy Hour Now,’ and, ‘Hi There, Handsome.’”

When this one ragged voice cried out, “You haven’t heard the last of
This.” Eight thousand replied, “Hell, we ain’t heard the first of it!”

First aid ain’t much aid.

One guy said he was tempted to agree to commit suicide on TV except
being on television is “soooo tacky and embarrassing.”

One ole regressive sore-head declared, (me suspects, or hopes at least, partially with his tongue in someone’s cheek), “There are areas of modern life of which
I approve, economics, for instance, because it gives me someone to laugh at besides
just priests.”

The study of local realities, the study of man-the-individual and non-inclusive-truth
… whatever ELSE it may be, new intelligence is certainly none of these.

As the multitude chanted, “Confession is good for the soul, confession is good for the soul, one sole mused, “That’s easy for heels and
toes to say.”

One new to-the-business god, after hearing how all of the established ones required that after death their followers had to explain and justify their
lives to gain entry to paradise, went to look these operations over, and when
he returned he set up a table at the main gate where his recently deceased believers were assembling, and made this announcement, ‘One by one, all of you may come up to the table, introduce yourself, and tell me a little something about your mortal experiences, and I’ll tell you all right now –everybody that doesn’t whine
at me is a sure shot to get in.”

Whenever others would fall into comfortable cliches of equivalent comparisons, this one gentleman would ofttimes nod right along, and inject, “Yes, yes, yes indeed…no doubt about it; six-of-one, seven-of-another.”

Symptoms aren’t a sign of anything…in particular.

There is this formally obscure little planet that is now experiencing
a tourist boom ever since it was discovered that on their world advice is more beneficial than

This one tall little chap says he’s bloody well tired of hearing about “how much we owe to famous people of the past.” He concludes that they owe as much or more to us, or
they wouldn’t even BE famous.

I find those thoughts a waste of time,
that must be put into a rhyme…
…let me rephrase that…

In every land, in each generation, a voice declares that “power is not
to be trusted. (this usually
elicits a wink and a smile
from power.)

This one fairly anxious planet decided that the only way out was to simply leave… and I know you’re going to find this weird, but
it worked.

Only that which is yet to be truly belongs to man.