Jumpers at New Ruskin College
www.NewRuskinCollege.com
Lecture Notes: 9-11 WTC Jumpers: Why did they jump?
Better to ask: Why didn’t they jump sooner? What kept them hanging on so long?
No doubt they had some story they were telling themselves. The firemen will come. A long ladder? Helicopter.
As I look back at my life there is an astonishing since of release.
Oh! God! It wasn’t just me . . . after all?
I too had a series of stories which served to explain the world for me. All this must be because when I was nine years old my teacher told my mother that I am retarded. This explained why the students made fun of me at school. “You were held over? Are you a retard?”
And this also explained my brothers and sisters. It explained everything. The universal explanation. I got my first pair of glasses when I was fourteen. My brothers and sisters regarded this as a great embarrassment. What’s wrong with him? And my parents? It must be me again, I let them down early on.
When things started going badly with Marlene, and though we had been together 19 years, for years I thought, this must be because of me. I assumed it was just me.
That is how life is for me. What can you expect? You are retarded!
Whenever things get difficult my mind always wonders back to my earliest memory of trouble. ‘Your teacher says you are retarded.’ All life was judged against this fundamental fact. This was the explanation for everything.
Of course, it is clear now that if the other children had not ridiculed me for being a year older they would have ridiculed me for something else. My brothers and sisters would have been the same no matter what.
Marlene was following her own course quite independent of me.
It is as though the world had been veiled from me by my explanations.
I created this constant excuse for it. They appear harsh, cruel, obnoxious, but it must be because I am retarded or something?
Now the veil is drawn away. This is how they really are. It has nothing to do with me.
For example, I always felt that there must have been something in my letters which caused Yvonne to betray me, for the people at KQED to inveigle Yvonne to bring us down to their studio. Something that I had written with which they disagreed. Or the way I wrote?
It must be me. Something I said.
NO, fool. Nor the Last Letter neither. Nothing. Nothing I did, nothing I said caused these cretins to harasse me.
Whew, what a relief.
I simply attracted their attention. One person heard something, said something to someone else. They had no arguments. There was no reason. Nothing. Word got around. And then when I criticized Yvonne in the Last Letter it was not the criticism, it was just the additional attention which it had created.
One thing led to another and fifteen years later . . . Michael Weiner, Don Imus . . .
There is nothing that I did. This is just how life is. People are like that.
From the beginning to the end.
Cruel. Stupid. Vulgar.
I had always thought of some explanation. I always looked for some reason. Something about me. Something that I did. The way I relate, or don’t, with people. Searching for some clue to explain what is going on. And if your own thought process is brought into doubt, as mine was at the age of nine, you always have to search yourself, double check what you are doing, what you are thinking.
Watching yourself once, twice, even three times. For how do you know that after you have double checked yourself you should not check again? Remember you are retarded. It must be me. Always searching for some reason, some story to explain what is happening. Why are things going badly? For it is when things are going badly that we search for explanations. When things are going well we tend not to inquire very deeply into the causes. Will except good fortune if only due to luck.
Now I see the world for what it is; without explanation or reason or theory.
Emptiness.
But I will not strike out at the world. I will demonstrate how not to strike out blindly, for how would you know when to stop? When would you have done enough killing? 3,000 in the WTC? Is that enough?
This is one of the problems with the President’s “kill them over there so we do not have to fight them over here.” If you have no strategic goal in mind, no professional military plan, no aim other than just to “kill”, how will you know when you have killed enough?
Killing people is not a very effective way to create social change. (That is not what the military, war, is all about.) Killing just confuses the dumb bastards even more than they are, makes them even more emotional, irrational, moves them even further away from reason.
I will kill just one person to show you that I have seen through the veil, this is not me. I have been singled out, Weiner followed me, obsessing on me, harassed me for years, Imus, Mrs. Jack Swanson joined in, and thought they were tormenting someone. What fun! They thought I existed.
When Michael Krasney called me at the AAA Auto Club he thought I was on the other phone. Ron Owens rejoiced in humiliating someone he thought was me.
And they have all been mistaken. And all the rest looking on, adding their jibes, they thought they were taunting someone, or not, thought that they were letting someone be destroyed . . .
I will show you all that you have been confused. There is nothing here. Watch.
For years I was like you are now. I thought that there was some reason or explanation. There is nothing. Watch.
Emptiness.
Look . . . geese!
www.NewRuskinCollege.com
Lecture Notes: 9-11 WTC Jumpers: Why did they jump?
Better to ask: Why didn’t they jump sooner? What kept them hanging on so long?
No doubt they had some story they were telling themselves. The firemen will come. A long ladder? Helicopter.
As I look back at my life there is an astonishing since of release.
Oh! God! It wasn’t just me . . . after all?
I too had a series of stories which served to explain the world for me. All this must be because when I was nine years old my teacher told my mother that I am retarded. This explained why the students made fun of me at school. “You were held over? Are you a retard?”
And this also explained my brothers and sisters. It explained everything. The universal explanation. I got my first pair of glasses when I was fourteen. My brothers and sisters regarded this as a great embarrassment. What’s wrong with him? And my parents? It must be me again, I let them down early on.
When things started going badly with Marlene, and though we had been together 19 years, for years I thought, this must be because of me. I assumed it was just me.
That is how life is for me. What can you expect? You are retarded!
Whenever things get difficult my mind always wonders back to my earliest memory of trouble. ‘Your teacher says you are retarded.’ All life was judged against this fundamental fact. This was the explanation for everything.
Of course, it is clear now that if the other children had not ridiculed me for being a year older they would have ridiculed me for something else. My brothers and sisters would have been the same no matter what.
Marlene was following her own course quite independent of me.
It is as though the world had been veiled from me by my explanations.
I created this constant excuse for it. They appear harsh, cruel, obnoxious, but it must be because I am retarded or something?
Now the veil is drawn away. This is how they really are. It has nothing to do with me.
For example, I always felt that there must have been something in my letters which caused Yvonne to betray me, for the people at KQED to inveigle Yvonne to bring us down to their studio. Something that I had written with which they disagreed. Or the way I wrote?
It must be me. Something I said.
NO, fool. Nor the Last Letter neither. Nothing. Nothing I did, nothing I said caused these cretins to harasse me.
Whew, what a relief.
I simply attracted their attention. One person heard something, said something to someone else. They had no arguments. There was no reason. Nothing. Word got around. And then when I criticized Yvonne in the Last Letter it was not the criticism, it was just the additional attention which it had created.
One thing led to another and fifteen years later . . . Michael Weiner, Don Imus . . .
There is nothing that I did. This is just how life is. People are like that.
From the beginning to the end.
Cruel. Stupid. Vulgar.
I had always thought of some explanation. I always looked for some reason. Something about me. Something that I did. The way I relate, or don’t, with people. Searching for some clue to explain what is going on. And if your own thought process is brought into doubt, as mine was at the age of nine, you always have to search yourself, double check what you are doing, what you are thinking.
Watching yourself once, twice, even three times. For how do you know that after you have double checked yourself you should not check again? Remember you are retarded. It must be me. Always searching for some reason, some story to explain what is happening. Why are things going badly? For it is when things are going badly that we search for explanations. When things are going well we tend not to inquire very deeply into the causes. Will except good fortune if only due to luck.
Now I see the world for what it is; without explanation or reason or theory.
Emptiness.
But I will not strike out at the world. I will demonstrate how not to strike out blindly, for how would you know when to stop? When would you have done enough killing? 3,000 in the WTC? Is that enough?
This is one of the problems with the President’s “kill them over there so we do not have to fight them over here.” If you have no strategic goal in mind, no professional military plan, no aim other than just to “kill”, how will you know when you have killed enough?
Killing people is not a very effective way to create social change. (That is not what the military, war, is all about.) Killing just confuses the dumb bastards even more than they are, makes them even more emotional, irrational, moves them even further away from reason.
I will kill just one person to show you that I have seen through the veil, this is not me. I have been singled out, Weiner followed me, obsessing on me, harassed me for years, Imus, Mrs. Jack Swanson joined in, and thought they were tormenting someone. What fun! They thought I existed.
When Michael Krasney called me at the AAA Auto Club he thought I was on the other phone. Ron Owens rejoiced in humiliating someone he thought was me.
And they have all been mistaken. And all the rest looking on, adding their jibes, they thought they were taunting someone, or not, thought that they were letting someone be destroyed . . .
I will show you all that you have been confused. There is nothing here. Watch.
For years I was like you are now. I thought that there was some reason or explanation. There is nothing. Watch.
Emptiness.
Look . . . geese!
www.NewRuskinCollege.com
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home