Calogero Carlucci
June 24th 06, 03:03 AM
Dear Dick Pound,
For a while, people pretended they wanted freedom. But when the going got
tough and they had to throw **** overboard to stay alive, it suddenly became
clear to everybody that what they'd meant by freedom was really power.
This awareness was at its peak in 1985, the year he entered Harvard despite
bad grades, low SAT scores, no extracurricular activities, and a
recommendation letter that said: "This person inhales and exhales, can stand
up and sit down and walk in and out of doors. I have seen him eating on
more than one occasion. I can only assume from this that he most likely
defecates and urinates. Beyond that I can say nothing more about this
student, even whether or not he sleeps.
"He scores at chance levels on all tests, his papers appear to be random
assemblages of words taken from the vocabulary of the topic at hand, as do
his verbal 'contributions' in class.
"As far as I can tell he appears to lack enthusiasm for any activity, enjoys
nothing, shows no ambition, drive, or even desire to do or be or possess
anything at all.
"However, and despite not coming anywhere near any standard of popularity,
for some unknown reason he's respected on some unfathomable level by his
classmates, from the brightest to the dumbest, and is frequently elected to
school councils even though he contributes nothing to them and does
absolutely no work -- often, apparently, infecting the whole group with this
attitude so that nothing ever gets done by any council he's on, or on any
project he's involved with.
"I can only predict, therefore, that upon admission to Harvard he would no
doubt commence to do the same for you."
He arrived in Cambridge, on full scholarship, in October, long after the
start of classes, but his sudden appearance in History 135 -- The Age of
Capitalism - for Math Majors -- didn't seem to upset or disorient anyone, as
it didn't when he frequently raised his hand and mentioned how mythology is
preferable to history because at least mythology admits it's a lie -- and
when told that History admits it's a lie too, responded, Yeah, but History's
lying when it says that.
He didn't really sign up for anything and it was unclear where he lived or
even slept. He just walked into random classes, usually many minutes late
when the professor was already well into his spiel, and, as he sat down,
raised his hand and asked some seemingly innocuous question which somehow
caused the class, from that moment on and for all subsequent sessions for
the rest of the semester, to stop moving through the actual course material
and become totally enmeshed in the infinite recursive loop of
epistemology -- i.e. what right did anybody have to say anything about
anything, given the wack-a-mole relations between knower, known, and the
objects and operations of knowing? (Or whatever.)
By 1989 Harvard had to be shut down for repairs, and his class graduated
only in the virtual-digital world of Sims. He was given a postdoctoral
position in the MIT Psychology Department, based on his Harvard transcript
where the 100 occurrences of the printed word "INCOMPLETE!" all had a poorly
hand-drawn #2 pencil line through their "IN"s.
Meanwhile, the other members of his class, who'd never known him or even
knew who he was, yet had been profoundly influenced by his presence at
Harvard, and who, during their 4 years, had done virtually no work, read
virtually no books, and though they often sat around shuffling and
reshuffling decks of cards, rarely got around to ever dealing out a hand,
and when they did, it was always a completely different game from the last
hand dealt and no one else around the table knew how to play it -- these
graduates were immediately scarfed up by capitalism to become the CEOs of
all their high-powered massively successful companies -- which, within a
year had all failed.
Cut to 1995.
People live in harmony and happiness and bliss. There are no more stories,
so no one can win or lose and no one can have power.
By now he runs a small independent TV station in Cambridge, WBRI. It
broadcasts Princeton classes like Physics for Lit Majors, Religion for
Engineers, and Chemistry for Divinity Students, set to My Bloody Valentine
and The Pixies.
Everyone now lives on their own unique line of history and sociology.
Occasionally, these lines intersect and the information space is modified.
Occasionally multiple lines intersect and a temporary node is formed, set to
Sisters of Mercy and Joy Division.
Sincerely,
Calogero
For a while, people pretended they wanted freedom. But when the going got
tough and they had to throw **** overboard to stay alive, it suddenly became
clear to everybody that what they'd meant by freedom was really power.
This awareness was at its peak in 1985, the year he entered Harvard despite
bad grades, low SAT scores, no extracurricular activities, and a
recommendation letter that said: "This person inhales and exhales, can stand
up and sit down and walk in and out of doors. I have seen him eating on
more than one occasion. I can only assume from this that he most likely
defecates and urinates. Beyond that I can say nothing more about this
student, even whether or not he sleeps.
"He scores at chance levels on all tests, his papers appear to be random
assemblages of words taken from the vocabulary of the topic at hand, as do
his verbal 'contributions' in class.
"As far as I can tell he appears to lack enthusiasm for any activity, enjoys
nothing, shows no ambition, drive, or even desire to do or be or possess
anything at all.
"However, and despite not coming anywhere near any standard of popularity,
for some unknown reason he's respected on some unfathomable level by his
classmates, from the brightest to the dumbest, and is frequently elected to
school councils even though he contributes nothing to them and does
absolutely no work -- often, apparently, infecting the whole group with this
attitude so that nothing ever gets done by any council he's on, or on any
project he's involved with.
"I can only predict, therefore, that upon admission to Harvard he would no
doubt commence to do the same for you."
He arrived in Cambridge, on full scholarship, in October, long after the
start of classes, but his sudden appearance in History 135 -- The Age of
Capitalism - for Math Majors -- didn't seem to upset or disorient anyone, as
it didn't when he frequently raised his hand and mentioned how mythology is
preferable to history because at least mythology admits it's a lie -- and
when told that History admits it's a lie too, responded, Yeah, but History's
lying when it says that.
He didn't really sign up for anything and it was unclear where he lived or
even slept. He just walked into random classes, usually many minutes late
when the professor was already well into his spiel, and, as he sat down,
raised his hand and asked some seemingly innocuous question which somehow
caused the class, from that moment on and for all subsequent sessions for
the rest of the semester, to stop moving through the actual course material
and become totally enmeshed in the infinite recursive loop of
epistemology -- i.e. what right did anybody have to say anything about
anything, given the wack-a-mole relations between knower, known, and the
objects and operations of knowing? (Or whatever.)
By 1989 Harvard had to be shut down for repairs, and his class graduated
only in the virtual-digital world of Sims. He was given a postdoctoral
position in the MIT Psychology Department, based on his Harvard transcript
where the 100 occurrences of the printed word "INCOMPLETE!" all had a poorly
hand-drawn #2 pencil line through their "IN"s.
Meanwhile, the other members of his class, who'd never known him or even
knew who he was, yet had been profoundly influenced by his presence at
Harvard, and who, during their 4 years, had done virtually no work, read
virtually no books, and though they often sat around shuffling and
reshuffling decks of cards, rarely got around to ever dealing out a hand,
and when they did, it was always a completely different game from the last
hand dealt and no one else around the table knew how to play it -- these
graduates were immediately scarfed up by capitalism to become the CEOs of
all their high-powered massively successful companies -- which, within a
year had all failed.
Cut to 1995.
People live in harmony and happiness and bliss. There are no more stories,
so no one can win or lose and no one can have power.
By now he runs a small independent TV station in Cambridge, WBRI. It
broadcasts Princeton classes like Physics for Lit Majors, Religion for
Engineers, and Chemistry for Divinity Students, set to My Bloody Valentine
and The Pixies.
Everyone now lives on their own unique line of history and sociology.
Occasionally, these lines intersect and the information space is modified.
Occasionally multiple lines intersect and a temporary node is formed, set to
Sisters of Mercy and Joy Division.
Sincerely,
Calogero